Defending a Dewdrop 9/13/2020

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

A topic was fleeting this week. I was battling with talking about the coming of autumn again. I kept telling myself that the people that read this are getting tired of me writing about my favorite season even though I could easily ramble on about the delicate and graceful dance of falling leaves that I am starting to see and the way the mornings have that endearingly hopeful touch of bite in the air.  See what I mean?  Rambling.  So, I was struggling with the urge to wax excessively poetic about the glorious time of year outside by the pool (burden of working mostly from home, I know).  As I was letting the unseasonable heat of the sun perched in the seasonably cobalt sky try to convince me that fall was not what I should write about, something happened. I was attacked, nay, threatened. I was approached in a manner that was undeniably bold and aggressive and unlike anything I had ever been faced with in all my days.  As you can see by my documenting this occurrence to you, I lived to tell the tale. If you are intrigued to hear of such things, read on.

I suppose I should quickly cut the suspense by letting you know that the origins of the threat so brazenly flung at me were not of a human source.  I wouldn’t want anyone to think that my neighborhood was plagued with ruffians and ne’er-do-wells.  In fact, now that I think about it, my neighborhood may have more by way of cows and chickens, with the occasional goat thrown in for good measure, than it does people of any sort.  Which, in discussing all the creatures living near my home, leads me to tell of the perpetrator at hand; a doe my daughter and I had affectionately named Daisy. I know, a deer isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when you think of combative encounters but I assure you that in this instance that most definitely was the case.

We had seen Daisy moseying about our property several times before she decided I was an issue that may have to be dealt with. Our acreage is a fair amount of grassy area but there is a good bit of forest framing in said meadow-esque bits. The forested areas are at this time of year finishing up their production of what is an abundant crop of muscadines (wild grapes for those unfamiliar). Now, we had seen Daisy very casually traversing from one edge of the forest to the other to partake of the tangled vines that hang heavy with fat, purple-black fruit.  I can’t blame her really, they are quite delicious, seedy, (though I doubt that is much of a hindrance to the discerning deer palate) but definitely delicious. As far as deer go, this one wasn’t particularly concerned with people from what we had seen.  She wouldn’t let you come up and give her a stroke or anything mind you, but if people were out in the yard she would just linger about until finally moving out of sight though she didn’t get in much of a hurry.  She didn’t even do much of the traditional high alert signaling by flashing the white underside of her fluffy tail. She meandered; she didn’t flee. I guess that should have told me what she was capable of, at least in part.

This day I was out by the pool and glanced up just in time to see two figures walk behind a large holly tree at the corner of my yard. I assumed Daisy was stopping by. I wasn’t sure who her friend in tow was but I didn’t think much of it she and I being on a first name basis and all. Actually, I guess she’d need to know my first name to for us to be on such a basis wouldn’t she? Maybe that assumption didn’t help with the confrontation. You see, as the pair walked from behind the dark, prickly mass, I saw her companion was far smaller than her in stature. Her small associate was made mostly of spindly legs and white spots. Daisy has a Dewdrop!  Yes, I named her fawn on the spot because the name came to me immediately and it’s what I do, I think of names for things (me applying words to things…you all know the drill).

She didn’t even notice me at first, or if she did I wasn’t very consequential.  But then, I apparently moved ever so slightly more than suited her.  She came at me stomping the whole way. Each step toward me had a louder and more deliberate stomp. Each advance shocked me more in its fearlessness. She marched closer, each footfall letting me know that while our interactions had been flippant before, now another matter was at hand. Briefly, I had a small wash of fear sweep over me. She was really going to do me harm! When she let out a shockingly loud, to the point that I questioned if it could have come from her petite frame at all, snort I felt the very real possibility that her mama instinct was going to insist she inflict injury upon me. Dewdrop stood casually behind her seemingly very minimally concerned with the situation. I can truthfully say, I was not certain how this reckoning would end but it had already shown me daring far beyond what I envisioned the graceful whitetail capable of.  At long last, Daisy slowly and purposefully walked to into the forest still occasionally looking over her shoulder, making sure that I knew that she would address my audacity of being present in her vicinity if necessary. 

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised by her ferocity.  She was already an undaunted creature, unconcerned with humanity in the style of most of her kind.  I had seen her several times before that day make no effort to flee at human presence but to remain cautiously optimistic at my intentions.  However, as a mother, when it comes down to the protective maternal instinct, her being capable of nearly anything shouldn’t surprise me.  The fierceness of a mother protecting her young is known the world over.  I think we all know that you are most certainly not supposed to get between a mother and her young of any species.  We always hear of mama bears though and the fear makes sense when paired with fang and claw. But it seems that I have learned that even if the weapons at hand are large, dark, long-lashed eyes and slim, graceful legs, the ferocity of a mother should not be underestimated.  The powerful mixture of love and instinct when combined can make even the gentlest of creation become a beast that can strike fear in the heart.  Perhaps mama bears shouldn’t be getting all the credit. I know firsthand a mama doe, despite their floral monikers, can be just as ruthless.