hunter out searching
buck enjoys hunter’s back yard
and hides in plain sight.
Category Archives: Deer
Hurry up and Hide
On this rural road, I came upon a doe and two fawns. Yes, there is a second fawn in front of the one that is obvious. I had to count legs. Either there were two fawns, or one fawn had more than four legs.
Over her shoulder, the doe lowed to the fawns, “Hurry! This way!”
“Get into the thicket here while I distract them.”
And as I drove past very slowly I saw that there was already a well-worn deer crossing and path down into a property thick with shrubs and trees.
Not much concerned when cars come by,
Their courage doesn’t fail,
The fawns melt through the thicket high,
And fade into the trail.
Oh, Deer!
“Hmm … I used to be able to check out that garden … and those fruit trees had delicious leaves. Too early for that, I guess, but there’s always a few new sprouts of something over there. Darned fence. There must be a way to get over there.”
“But what’s this? A little black critter, trying to look like a dog. Doesn’t look too fierce. I could probably give it a good kick and it would go yiping home to Mama.”
“Don’t you come over here. And don’t be fooled by my sweet face and my small size. I may be a teddy bear at home, but I’m told I’m a wolverine in the field.”
Backyard Buck
tree sheds no teardrops
hunter away seeking game
visiting buck smiles
F is for Fawns in the Flowers
In nature, when a mother deer or its fawns need a break, the doe stashes her babies and tells them not to move until she comes back for them.
In the places near the outskirts of town, where houses have encroached on their space, the does bring the fawns to places like my herb garden to put them down for a nap.
“Here,” Mama says. “You lie down and have a nap by this lavender, or over by that big rosemary bush while I go find your brother. Now don’t move and you’ll be safe.”
“Okay, Mama. Ooh! This smells yummy.”
“Ah, there you are, little brother, having a nap by the lemon balm. Come on, my boy. Let’s go back and get your sister.”
“Okay, kids. Just eat the little dandelion leaves. The grass isn’t all that nourishing, but a dandelion salad is good for you.”
F is for fawns eating the weeds by the flowers in my herb garden.
Then I had an afterthought. F could also be for their father. So here you have the mothers and fathers of fawns in the days when they were very hungry and I fed them for a while.
F is for fawns, their fathers, flowers, food, and a fine day.
The Hunter
I heard him stalking through the brush,
But Mama told me, “Always hush,”
He muttered, “Come on out, you dopes,”
So, he had found me, dashed my hopes.
“There you are!” The voice of doom.
But his gaze had found the shroom.
Oyster mushrooms on a tree,
Maybe now he won’t kill me.
Busy picking, he ignored me,
But at last he looked toward me.
In his pocket was a gadget,
I was glad it was no hatchet.
Staring at me, still and lone,
Whispered “Smile” and clicked the phone.
He seemed harmless, clicked again,
Cameras don’t cause me pain.
I suppose I should have smiled,
But as critters go, I’m wild,
I’m not one for vanity,
That would be insanity.
***** All photos, courtesy of my friend Pat.
Fawn Finding
“Come on, kids,” the mother lows,
“Sniff the herbs now, use your nose.”
“Right in here’s a lovely place,
Duck right in and hide your face.”
“Wait!” says Junior, “I can see,
Some delicious weeds for me.”
“Okay, now I’m lying down,
Are you sure I won’t be found?”
“Rosemary, oregano,
Fennel too, oh what a show.”
“Look at me, beneath the leaves,
How oregano deceives.”
“Did you think I disappeared?
Scared you, Mom, I know you feared.”
“Now you only see my tush,
Hiding ‘neath the beauty bush.”
Tiny sister on the ground,
If she’s still she won’t be found.
Where’d she go, that little tease?
Camo colours, if you please.
“Here I am,” she flicks an ear,
Sage and lavender are near.
“All right, come on out, you two,
Weeds between the grass to chew.
“We’re quite safe now, don’t you fear,
No more danger over here.”
Note* These pictures are from several years ago, but at this time of year, when the fawns are born.
Paradise Lost (Poem not for little children)
A long time ago, I took this picture from my bedroom window.
A young deer felt quite at home, and the pheasant in the background was one of about nine who did the daily rounds of our place. I felt like I lived in paradise.
Now, 31 years later, subdivisions have sprung up half a mile down the road and the horde of people who want their dogs to poop somewhere away from their own yard comes here to walk where there are still a few trees standing. That alone wouldn’t be so bad. I don’t dislike people and I love dogs (and cats and all sorts of animals), but when the dog walking came to our neighbourhood, many dog owners thought that once they left the cement and asphalt of their subdivision, it was okay to unhook their dogs and let them tear around in rural properties.
If I didn’t want my garden torn up, I would have to build a fence.
Sadly the deer can’t come in to wander through the yard anymore, and the pheasants and many quail we used to see have all become victims of unleashed dogs, stray cats, and the loss of habitat.
We still have trees and lots of shrubs for cover, so songbirds and little animals still come here. I don’t mind people walking by with their dogs on a leash; many of them are very pleasant, friendly, and considerate. Others are more self-centered. After virtue-signaling that they pick up their dog’s poop, they wait until no one sees, and fling the used poop bags into the shrubbery or into my yard.
I’m uncomfortable listening to personal conversations being shouted between two people walking together, or bellowed into the phones of people walking solo. I don’t need to know how much their last massage cost or that their credit card was rejected when they tried to pay for it.
I don’t understand why some of the people who visit our neighbourhood can’t enjoy the quiet of nature. Why are they so loud and rude? Why is it all about them?
Among the walkers who are considerate of people living nearby, are a few intrusive women between the age of 25 to 50, many of them behaving like teenagers. This small segment of society seems to be working hard to be noticed. I see them around town, in the grocery stores, in traffic, everywhere.
Yes, I believe in women’s rights. Very much so. But I believe in all people’s rights. No single group deserves more attention or privileges than another.
This special breed of women has inspired the muse in me today.
Me, Me, Me.
I’m important, don’t you see?
Everything is all ’bout me.
“Likes” on facebook overflow,
Watch my popularity grow.
When I walk for exercise,
I soak up admiring eyes,
With my leggings up my crack,
Men’s attention doesn’t lack.
When I drive I spare no thought,
If it is my turn or not.
They’ll back off and let me pass,
‘Cuz the right goes to the lass.
Ringing phone, who can it be?
There’s so many who love me.
I’ll be loud ’cause I am free,
And it’s all ’bout me, me, me.
It’s my right to cross on red,
You must wait, I go ahead,
All the world revolves ’round me,
I’m so special, me, me, me.
Giant Cedars
Do you see a tiny dark creature at the base of one of the forest giants? It’s Emma the Explorer.
Look at me, Anneli. I’m at the foot of the Empire State Tree. I can’t climb, and there’s no elevator. It sure looks huge from where I am. Click to make the picture bigger and maybe you’ll see me. I’m black and have a white nose.
Giant cedars standing tall, Many here have yet to fall, Others tumbled to the lake, Fell so hard the earth did shake. Still they keep their feet on shore, Though they won't grow anymore, Flooding waters soaked their boots, And by force they lost their roots. What these giant trees have seen, Since they first began to lean, Has a bear once scratched his hide, On the cedar's sunny side? Has a buck his antlers rubbed, Losing velvet as he scrubbed? Did an eagle perched aloft, Make his nest there, downy soft? Cedars lying in the lake, Tangle trout that lures do take, Lucky fish will break the line, Swim away and feel just fine. Silent sentinels await, And one day they'll meet their fate, Younger trees will then stand guard, While the old ones fall down hard. But the cycle carries on, Wood in water will be gone, Many seasons come and go, And the young have room to grow.
wordsfromanneli 