An Encounter on the Trail

Me and Kudo relaxing on the den sofa.

A couple of days ago, Kudo and I went out for a late afternoon walk.  As usual, she meandered about, straying away from the trails into the lush spring undergrowth of the woods and I found myself having to stop and wait for her.  This was an aimless wandering moment that I posted about recently.  She was sniffing all around, seemingly oblivious to me, when I finally called for her to come.  And, in good time, she did come.

I let her precede me on the next stretch of trail which is through a part of Twin Oaks we call “The Wicked Northeast Corner” because it is more tangled and unkempt than the rest of our property.  She had just started to trot ahead when we both heard a big “thump.”  Whether it was a branch falling or something else I had no clue but we both stood perfectly still and listened.

Nothing happened so after a minute or so I started again my leisurely gait and Kudo, slightly in front of me, took that as her clue to proceed.  Kudo began to lengthen the distance to between us when I suddenly saw, crossing the trail immediately in front of Kudo, a newborn fawn casually saunter through the thick underbrush.

It was the tiniest deer I’ve ever seen, no more than a foot and a half tall.  It could not have been more than a day or two old.  It was covered in white spots accenting a bright tan coat.  It simply silently walked from one side of the trail to the other.

As I froze, Kudo instinctively charged.  Oh god, I thought.  I hastened my pace.  Kudo stood in the trail over the fawn which I could no longer see in the brush.  The dog was not barking but it was panting and agitated, not sure what to do.  I walked right up to Kudo and stood between her and the little fawn.

The newborn deer had instinctively lowered itself into the brush and was lying flat on its stomach on all fours, ears lowered, trying to seep into the ground.  It was perfectly still and made no sound.  Playing dead.  It seemed to me beautiful and wonderful and fragile and helpless all simultaneously in that instant.  Perhaps the thud I heard earlier was the mother bolting.  Perhaps it was an unconnected coincidence.  In any case, all of this happened in a span of a few seconds.  I hardly had time to think.

I looked down at Kudo and pointed both my hands over her to signal “away.”  Then I marched into the dog’s body, commanding “Go!  Go!” repeatedly, driving the dog down the trail and through a ditch and into the upper field.  She desperately wanted to go back but I would not allow it.  I drove her all the way back to house where I rewarded the dog with a couple of treats for being so good and obedient.

Then I put Kudo inside and walked back to the spot alone, cautiously.  By the time I got there the fawn had gone which was a relief.  Of course, this was one time I did not have my camera with me so I missed a golden opportunity to take a photo of the helpless young animal, doing the only thing it instinctively knew to do under the circumstances.  It had been less than three feet from me.

But it is better that way, actually.  I can now only see it in my mind’s eye, so pristine and precious and no doubt fearful for its life.  If I had taken a moment to snap a photo it might have emboldened Kudo even more and the situation could have become more difficult to manage.

As it was, no harm was done.  I missed a great photo opp but Kudo proved herself loyal and compliant.  Hopefully, I’ll see that fawn again sometime this summer.  It will undoubtedly be bigger if I do. 

Despite its brevity, the moment seemed saturated with significance; the infantile size of the animal; the helplessness it must have felt at the agitation of my dog; the beauty and fragility and sometimes cruelty of nature. I experienced this in an instant of time, now only captured in my memory by a quick glance before I shifted my focus completely to my dog and persuaded her to go with me all the way home so the fawn could rise again and continue its precarious new life.