Surely, it’s just the season; surely I have too much time on my hands with no classes to teach, no papers to grade, exams to correct. Nonetheless I seem fixated on the critters who share this suburban development with us.
Each night, when I am ready for bed, I follow a small ritual. I swill a few vitamins, I check to make sure the house alarm is on, I turn out the lights and I pause by the front door to peer out the sidelights into the front yard. One night, a long time ago, a red fox (“Francis/Frances”) trotted down the slope toward the house and slipped around the corner, out of sight.
Ever since then I have looked out of the windows every night to see what there is to see.
Mostly I see the nightlights gleaming on icy patches of snow in winter and turning humidity to mist in summer. Grass thickets, mounds of juniper and mats of creeping phlox are bristling shadows almost beyond the reach of the lampost’s glare.
The front of the house is is like a Hopper painting, still and empty, a place where life is implicit but rarely evident. The back of the house is a Red Grooms Ruckus.
In addition to the squirrels assaulting the bird feeders, rabbits playing mad games of tag, birds jamming the air space and toads, turtles and snakes, there are many, many, many deer.
This morning, as I squished through the swamp, chestnut flanks and a white tail flashed past me. “Aha,” thought I, “no herd, just one doe. No doubt little Trippy is nearby.” Sure enough, an hour or so later as I stood on the deck, there she was again and there was Trippy right behind her. Whoops! And there was another fawn! This little fellow went springing over the large trunks of fallen trees like he was shod with Flubber. Away from Trippy and the doe, deeper into the woods then out into the open, through the yard, and finally back into the trees.
“Twins?” I wailed, “Again!” Two years ago the herd numbered about 5 or 6; last year it swelled to 8. Ye gods, this is a Baltimore exurb, not the depths of the Alleghenies. But no, not twins. A second doe appeared. Two does, two fawns. Separate families.
And just at that moment, the smaller doe, Trippy’s Ma, charged the new arrival. She chased her off, not once but two or three times. Now I think of them as the Ladies Hatfield and McCoy. Or maybe the Ladies Capulet and Montague. Obviously playdates for Trippy and her rambunctious peer Zippy are out of the question, at least for the time being.
Then all was quiet through the afternoon. I went down to my desk to get some work done, settled into my chair, and as is my wont, looked out the window as I gathered my thoughts. Didn’t gather any thoughts, though, because all I could see was another deer, small, probably a yearling, strolling down my patio.
I flew upstairs to get the camera, snapped a picture through the next window, then quietly opened the back door. The deer wasn’t too concerned–it just stepped down to the next terrace and looked at me. Then it started to chew on a luxuriant stand of sedum. As I slid past the screen door, it decided I was being a bit intrusive and bounded to the bottom of the yard where it nibbled on a black willow then ambled off.
Each night I peer out the sidelights of my front door hoping to see some wild thing making its nocturnal rounds. Now, every time I sit in my office chair, I’m going to look out my window and expect to see a deer looking back at me.