Living with Deer.3

Now that you know about the matriarch doe (Old Mamma), I have a story about her daughter that just happened this past early summer. She was in the pink of health and very pregnant early in June. Some days later I saw she’d had two beautiful fawns. She had raised two very spunky fawns 2 years ago: a male and female, who still remain inseparable and are quite healthy.

But trouble began shortly after last spring’s fawns arrived. She showed up in my front yard, as her mamma had done when she was in trouble. She could not graze because she had a huge swelling in her nose, possibly an abscess (in photo below, you see her swollen nose). She was desperate for food. Her udder was nearly empty, and her babies were crying constantly for nourishment. Her babies, also desperate, lost their necessary wildness and didn’t hide from me as they should have.

I sprang into action and tried one thing after another so that she could get something down her throat. She could not grasp food with her lower lips. The item that worked best was chunks of grain cakes I routinely make for my parrots – very nourishing and filling – and when she could get the food in her mouth, she’d then raise her head high and let the food slide down to where her molars could break it up.

It took me three days to get the right combination of size and composition so that she could get most of it down. Before then it was hit or miss. It was frustrating and emotionally draining to watch the fawns try to nurse and the mamma unable to feed them adequately. And if you’ve never heard a fawn bleating from hunger, you’re lucky. It’s heartbreaking!

When I called the Oregon Fish & Game Dept, they said to let nature take its course. Sorry, not good enough for me! But even so, despite my daily efforts to ply the mamma with food, one of the fawns did not make it.

Not long after this, the tide turned. I looked out of my window one early morning, and the mamma’s nose swelling was down. Her milk bag was FULL.

She was exhausted and was resting where she knew it was safe. And the remaining fawn lived! Well, until it was weaned. Unfortunately, the fawn had been born with a jaw deformity that didn’t allow it to grasp grasses and fallen leaves. And so, one day, it just disappeared. I often wonder where these animals go to die so quietly. Well, this time we lost.

Living with Deer.2

This painting "Waiting for Apples" was inspired by a family of deer that stick together most of the time (except at breeding and fawning times). After watching deer for five years from my front window, I’ve observed a lot of their life cycle and general and individual behaviors in these suburbanized deerfolk. It’s been utterly fascinating being able to see them up so close and observe nature in this way. Because they feel safe in this area, they feed, rest, groom each other, bask in the sun, and even sleep soundly – behaviors that we aren’t always able to see often. I never grow tired of watching and photographing them – and of course, painting them. (More paintings of the deer are planned in the future.)

I’ve mentioned before the story about the matriarch doe that broke her leg awhile ago. I call her “old Mamma.” She’s raised generations of deer, but she tends to stick with a specific daughter who seems to have learned most of her mother’s wisdom. I take it that she’s going to take on the matriarch role once her mother is gone.

Of all the does I’ve observed, old Mamma seems to continue caring for her daughter and her “granddeer.” At quiet times after they’ve eaten in the meadow next door, she’ll groom her daughter and the daughter’s fawns, even after they’ve grown. They’re a tight group, and that tightness seems to filter down through the generations in producing good mothers and proper behavior in the deer world.

The matriarch’s daughter is quite big in the belly right now, carrying twin fawns. Based on her pattern, I expect they should be arriving early June. When I see the fawns I will post photos of them for you to enjoy.

My front yard has become a part of their daily route for this family and they will often stare into my living room window because they know I’m a total softie. “Apples,” is the message they’re boring into my skull. It works. They always get the apple…

Living with Deer.1

I love animals. I love them so much that sometimes I think they know I’ll be there for them when they get into trouble.

We have a constant presence of Pacific blacktail deer here in the small town where I live. They amble about freely in the lawns and gardens of people who have bowed to the inevitable: deer eat what’s in gardens unless you fence them out. They are loved, cherished even, by most. They cross the streets – usually at a leisurely pace – and for the most part, they survive very well. They’ve adapted to living with people. I’ve watched many generations of deer traipse through my postage-stamp front lawn.

I’ve watched as does swell with pregnancy begun in the cold of winter,

I’ve cheered the mammas as they lead their fawns’ debut into the world, I’ve watched the antics of older fawns cavorting in the empty lot next door, I’ve seen the young bucks develop antler buds, and admired the full racks of the breeding bucks.

I’ve also watched the small tragedies unfold. Some turn into triumphs, and sometimes we just lose some members of the population. I know that’s normal, but when you get to know families and can recognize the buck who broke his leg last summer and live to walk into another year; or the wise doe who keeps raising beautiful healthy fawns, it sure hurts to see any of them in trouble.

Three years ago last August, I drove up to my house after work, and the matriarch doe of my group was patiently lying in my front yard for me. These deer are totally wild and do not stick around if you’re close. But since she didn’t spring away, I saw something was wrong: a broken hind leg. She needed help with food. It was dry and food resources were getting sparse. So I spent the rest of the summer supplementing her food with apples and grain from the local grange. I worried she would not last through the very cold winter we had that year. But she survived! She’s got a large lumpy spot where the break healed, and the break didn’t heal totally straight.

But three years later, with more gray around the muzzle and more raggedy edges around the ears, she’s still going strong. She favors the leg in intense cold, and doesn’t jump on it unless she has to. But she can when she needs to. She won, through her smarts, lots of luck, and maybe a little help from a friend.