Dear deer

It is safe, I think, to assume that anyone who decides to check out a blog with a name like this one has some affection for animals. I will therefore not apologise for the frequency with which I post photographs of my many friends, furry and feathered. If I should come upon one, I’d post a scaled friend, though I am unlikely to find one hereabouts.

As a very little girl I had a goldfish and realised later that the poor thing cannot have been happy swimming around in its small glass bowl, but it did not survive long. Still, I remembered it and retained, if not quite affection, at least admiration and empathy for fish. A dentist that I went to for many years kept an aquarium in the waiting room, so I never minded going there.

My parents were not animal lovers but they did like birds, so we had budgies and after the poor fish met its untimely end, I was allowed to have a hamster which is rather surprising considering that it was very mouse-like in appearance. Mum would not have been afraid of mice, but she certainly did not approve of them. The hamster was named Tim and he lived in the old birdcage that became redundant when my father constructed a very much larger one, though I’m not sure why, since that budgie soon learned to open the door and spent most of its time at liberty in the flat and on one occasion, outdoors on my mother’s shoulder.

Tim the hamster probably didn’t enjoy being played with by small children. I remember that he expressed himself often by making copious deposits. He was a golden hamster that fitted in my hand and I loved him. When we went to Cambodia, I was told that he was going upstairs to live with his namesake inn the flat above, but my brother thinks that was fiction and I shall never know 🙁

Pippy, the budgie solved the dilemma of what to do with her by dropping dead one afternoon, as she flew across the kitchen. “That solves that problem”, said my brother gloomily 🙁

The cats of my childhood were strays, given nicknames by my father. The only one I remember was Oliver. My parents did not tolerate any of them and they got shushed off before I had a chance to say hello. A relative had an elderly cat that had been rescued from the Blitz, but it was not much interested in being fondled by a small child, understandably.

Over the wall behind the flat lived a Scottie dog called Twopence. I don’t know if that was really its name, but that was what we called it, though we were destined never to meet.

However, this post was supposed to be about friends present – and wild:

.

Returning one day, we came upon a young deer that stared at us briefly, then took flight.

.

.

.

Morning and evening, Grant puts a little corn under the apple trees just behind the house.

The apples are ripe now which has attracted the deer recently.

.

There appear to be several small groupings. Two young adult does, above.

.

The fawn, above, comes down to the walkway and appears to look at me through the window.

At least I like to think so.

It has been in the company of the mother but as it constantly cavorts about, it has been impossible to capture a shot of them together.

.

This may be a young buck, judging from the little nubs on its head.

.

There is a reason they are called white-tailed deer. This poor mother has two little reprobates in tow. Going by size, we assume the one on the left is male and the other female.

The babies provided entertainment the other night when they turned up with the other fawn, neither mother in sight.

.

It was a little difficult because they rushed about so fast.

But I did my best to capture their antics.

.

The white streaks on the window are to prevent bird strikes.

Not exactly helpful to photography.

We believe the two male fawn were having a face-off and eventually the single fawn went off up into the woods, which is when the mother of the other two turned up with a look that said:

“What’s going on here?”

.

“And who gave you permission to wander off?”

As they grazed on the grass, the naughtiest fawn continued to skip about while the smaller one stayed close to mother:

.

We wondered what they were suddenly staring at so intently…

.

It was another sweet friend, but most foxes are not named because they are so alike. We haven’t seen the one we called Torn Ear for a long time and the original Peanut had no distinguishing features to identify her from the many foxes that came after.

The deer soon went on their way, but Grant saw the mum go into the woods while her wicked kids went off down the hill and disappeared behind the old wall.

We hoped they would all find each other before it got dark and in the meantime we turned our thoughts to the fawn that was alone. Where was its mum?

Next day, the fawn turned up alone again.

.

But with great relief, the day after, I got the above photo of the two together.

.