On Monday morning, I left my house for work, walked down the porch, got in the truck, started it up and backed it up all before noticing there was a deer, a doe, in the front yard.
She wasn’t far from the porch, and she also wasn’t the least bit bothered by me. She kept on grazing, looking once toward the truck.
When Brent got home, she was still hanging out in the front yard. I got home later and yes, she was still there.
Brent left to return bottles and got home just before the storm started.
He said she was close to the edge of driveway; so close he could’ve reached his arm out and pet her. And she didn’t move an inch on account of the truck.
The downpour started shortly thereafter and we turned the lights and television off, opened all the windows and set back to enjoy the sights and sounds of the storm.
Yes, I said open all the windows during the downpour; not close them.
Rather than put gutters on the house, the previous owners built it with six-foot overhangs all around. So it can rain and rain all it wants, it doesn’t even come close to touching the windows. I love hearing the sound of the rain.
We’d forgotten all about the doe that had been hanging out in the front yard, our time now mesmerized by the thunder, lightening and dark sky.
Our roommate got home at about 11 p.m. He called from his car.
“Uh, there’s a doe laying down in front of the porch,” he said. “Go look out the window.”
We did, and sure enough, there she was — maybe four or five feet away from the porch.
He came inside, walking past her. She didn’t even get up.
“She’s got to be sick,” our roommate said. “No way would a deer just lay there like that.”
At midnight I went to bed, and on my way back, I stopped and peered out the front window. She was up, grazing on the lawn peacefully.
Tuesday morning she had gone, but we figured she wasn’t far. She likes a tall grassy area over by our barn. We spot here over there all the time.
When I got home yesterday, Brent was working on the side of the house, stacking up our woodpile. We chatted for a few minutes and I headed inside to clean up and get dinner started.
Brent headed around to the backyard to grab a wheelbarrow, and that’s when he called me.
“Come out on the deck,” he said. “And try to be quiet.”
I stepped out on the deck, looking at him and held up my arms to signal, “What?”
“Look down,” he told me, pointing toward a corner where the narrower part of our house meets up with the wider part. It was just beside the deck.
I looked down and slowly, my eyes focused in on a tiny, white-spotted body. It was a beautiful baby fawn (see the picture).
My Dad is a wealth of knowledge when it comes to deer, and he’s told me that does usually drop their baby fawns off to rest while move around and get food. They hide their babies best they can, and their babies won’t move until momma returns.
The big-eyed fawn peered at Brent and I while we studied her, taking pictures and whispering of how lucky we were to have this tiny baby leaning up against the side of our house.
As soon as we both went inside for the night, momma snuck in and retrieved her baby. But I hope she likes leaving her there. We like it.
And definitely, it was a good place for that fawn to be during the storm on Monday. Thanks to our six-foot overhangs, I’m sure that not a drop of rain wet her spotted fur.
What a smart momma she has.