(This essay appeared in my essay collection Lake Forest Moments. I also adapted it into a short story called “The Hunt” that was published in American Airlines inflight magazine. You can read “The Hunt” under the Short Stories category on this website.)
For two days the fawn has appeared alone outside the north windows, searching out whatever Providence our yard has to offer. The first time I saw it, I stood and looked out the windows for other deer, but saw none. It was the first time I’d seen such a young deer alone in the neighborhood.
I called my daughter over, cautioning her not to make any sudden movements, so that the fawn would not be startled. Right away she asked if we could feed it. I told her I had no idea what deer ate, but I imagined berries and plants. I recalled friends complaining about deer eating bulbs and tender young shoots of new plants, but I always thought that was just the way of life. Deer have to eat, and since their habitat is continually shrinking, they must forage where they can, tulips or not.
But actually feeding the deer is another thing altogether. It’s not like feeding a neighborhood cat that comes around every now and then. Or even like feeding birds, because birds are on a journey, and you are but a stop on their flight path. I had recently read news stories about how animal control officials were trying to thin out the deer population. If we fed the fawn were we adding to that problem? And what about natural selection? Did we have the right to interfere in that process? Continue reading
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