Shared homes

Today I was followed by a doe and her fawn. I'm not exaggerating, or misrepresenting events. I was followed by a doe and her fawn for several yards while I walked the dogs this evening.

It all started when I walked out of the apartment. As the three of us exited the apartment complex, I saw a doe and her fawn calmly grazing the grass in front of some apartments that overlook the road.

I tried to point the deer out to the dogs, but they are too old and senile, and while I was trying to direct their attention to the deer, they were busy snorting at and peeing on every spot they found on their way out of the parking lot.

As we walked down the road and turned the corner following our usual evening route, I was surprised to see that the doe was trotting toward us, followed by a hesitant fawn who seemed to be wondering what its mom was up to.

I told myself that, of course, the deer wasn't really following us, that it was just coming our same way. That seemed odd, though, because not only am I a human, and not really the kind a friend a deer should want to have, but I also have two dogs with me, which at the very least must seem like coyotes to any deer with dos dedos de frente.

Did the doe mean to attack me to protect its fawn? I didn't really relish the possibility of having a close encounter of the unwanted kind with wildlife so I rushed the dogs up the road, trying to leave the rapidly advancing deer behind. After all, it has four legs to run on and I have only two rather stumpy ones, and two rather slow, elderly dogs.

"Is it the same deer that comes to eat at my window and she's recognized me and wants to say hello?" I thought in a moment of Disney-like delusion.

At a loss as to what I should do, I called my husband on the cell phone, just in case I ended up mauled by a deer, so someone would know what happened to me. He suggested that sometimes deer will follow humans just to make sure they don't mean any harm. I felt reassured and continued on, while the dogs, their goofy faces on and their tongues out, remained utterly oblivious to the fact that the fantastic creatures they dream of chasing were right behind us.

As I was coming back around, wondering what the deer would do this time, my youngest nephew called to thank me for his birthday present, a set of Legos based on the Indiana Jones movies. When I told him I was being followed by deer and asked him what I should do, he consulted his sister, who screaming-laughing in the background suggested, variably, that I bang it over the head with a bat, find a gun and shoot it, or run it over with a car.

"And I thought you were the one who cared for animals!" her brother reproached her, as she insisted that she was only joking, and laughed merrily at her devilish suggestions. And I know that she was just being mischievous since I believe she is probably the youngest member of PETA.

"I think you should make it follow you into the woods and show her the way home," my nephew said seriously.

Well, I didn't need to follow his well-considered recommendation, since the deer had done just that. When I turned the bend on the way back here, the deer had vanished into the woods, melting into the brownish-green scenery as dusk approached.

"That's a great idea!" I told my nephew, adding that I'd do my best to follow his advise.

I wonder if this is the same doe and the same fawn that I keep bumping into, and whether she has become more used to my presence and to my dogs. In any case, I'm going to continue to assume that cross-species communications isn't a good idea, and when I see her next, I'll do what I did today: avoid her at all costs.

I don't think I'd actually want to walk into the woods (the ticks might be coming out about now), and I would certainly not know how to show her the way home. Although it occurs to me that perhaps what she's insistently trying to tell me is that I share her same home territory now.