Despite this climate-chaos induced exceptional drought, the indomitable will to live that permeates all plants and animals keeps us living to our utmost. I am grateful for the resilience of Life.
I don’t have a picture. It happened too fast. This morning we were rambling through the woods, off the main trail, Stellar about two feet ahead of me. He practically stepped on and then stopped and stuck his nose into what I thought was a tiny dead spotted fawn curled up under a tree. I don’t know what happened first. If I hadn’t yelled, “Stellar, leave it!” the fawn might have just lain there. But it seemed like the same instant I called out, the fawn burst up and leapt away, startling both of us. A couple of yards away as it flew the fawn almost trampled Topaz; it screamed (a tiny little scream) and did a half-cartwheel, knocked against some small limbs, leapt a down log, and quickly disappeared.
Topaz followed it with her intent gaze, and though I looked I could no longer see it. I think she could, and I think it didn’t run far. We all three stood there for a few minutes to catch our breath. Then I asked Siri, “What happens when a fawn gets spooked?” seeking some reassurance that it would be fine.
None of Siri’s answers related to a fawn, and were along the lines of “Afraid of your phone? Here’s how to overcome that fear.”
So I tried again, spelling FAWN, and Siri directed me to a number of options which all told me not to disturb a fawn. Too late for that! But one of them did say, if I had removed a fawn from where I found it hiding, to return it to the same area and its mother would come searching for it. So I set aside my anxiety, trusting in the strong maternal bond to reunite the pair, and we rambled on our way. I’m grateful for spotted fawns, for seeing one so tiny so close, so fast and strong.