“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

Fall, 2006
It’s 7:00 a.m., 38 degrees and tiny snowflakes have begun to fall. The sun is climbing over the hills and a cold wind is blowing. Was I crazy to leave the warmth of my bed while it was dark and cold outside, drive the hour that it takes to get here to sit and wait and hope for a glimpse of the fawns that were released two weeks ago? I’ve come back to this special place hoping to see them just once.

I have seen an abundance of wildlife this morning. Creatures are waking up and starting their daily routines. I encountered a group of about 20 turkeys making their way across the highway. Half of the group had crossed and were standing along the roadside waiting for the others, as if cheering them on, offering encouragement, “Come on, you can do it!!”

I watched as each turkey approached the yellow line on the highway, put its head down and took a close look at the line and then ran away as fast as possible. Some of them made two or three of these attempts before crossing the yellow line. Some of the turkeys walked up to the line, looked closely at it and then quickly hopped over it. Others approached the line cautiously, flew straight up in the air and landed on the other side of the line. Mine was the only car on the road so I just sat and waited and watched as each turkey took it’s turn and eventually worked up the courage to cross the fearful yellow line. They made me laugh and I wondered if they begin each day with this morning ritual.

This is my sixth trip out here to look for the fawns. I’ve never been out here this early before. While I wait for the sun to chase away some of the chill of the morning, I think back on the three months I spent with the fawns and how much I enjoyed watching them grow.

Most fawns are born in late May and June. Does will leave their young fawns hidden while they go to feed. Very rarely are fawns actually abandoned. They are, however, sometimes orphaned.

The first fawn, a whitetail, arrived on June 6 th. Jeff Edwards, Conservation Officer with the South Dakota Department of Game, Fish and Parks, delivered him to Canyon Lake Veterinary Hospital that afternoon. The doe had been struck and killed by a vehicle. The tiny fawn, now known as Mr. Whitetail, was just a couple of days old, weighed only 5 pounds and still had part of his umbilical cord attached. The second fawn arrived two days later. He was a mule deer fawn. Also just days old, he weighed 6 ½ pounds. I called this fawn Gillette.

At this age they reminded me of young foals. Tiny bodies were supported by long, delicate, spindly legs. One of their biggest challenges at this age was learning how to get all of those legs folded up under their bodies in order to rest in the grass. Forelegs were folded under first and the front of the body would go down. Now…what to do with those back legs that didn’t seem to want to cooperate and a hind end that was now sticking up in the air. It was comical to watch them struggle with this problem. This was only the beginning of a summer filled with entertainment provided by “my boys”.

Sometimes you have to do what feels right and listen to your inner voice. I decided to introduce Quinn to the other fawns and see if there was any change in his attitude. This proved to be a positive move. The change in him was almost immediate and the three of them quickly became a close-knit little “herd”. He was weaker than the others, but he began to engage in play with them. They were a little rough on him, sometimes sending him sprawling in the grass. But he was determined and always got right back in the game. The blank, uncaring gaze left his eyes and was replaced with a sparkle and an alertness. His visible wounds healed, as did his wounded spirit. The only sign of trauma was the scab over the right eye that refused to release it’s hold.

The fawns grew quickly and before long were eating some grass, leaves and small twigs. I started letting them have free reign over the backyard when I was home. I spent many hours sitting on the deck watching them play and interact, taking note of their differences.

Strange and magical things happen in the animal world. You only have to have the opportunity and take the time to notice.

Quinn, the smaller, weaker mule deer, had formed a close bond with a young Canada goose I was raising. The two of them would stand close, side-by-side. They stood in this embrace for long periods of time, each drawing comfort from the other.

Were they sharing animal secrets? The goose was very protective of Quinn and would chase away the other fawns if they came too close. Why had this bond formed? Why this fawn and not the others? Was it because he was the weak one?

At this young age most of their play involved shoving each other with their heads and running as fast as they could through the yard bucking and kicking and tossing their heads.

The whitetail fawn was easily startled and anything new in the yard or any strange, loud noise would send him running to the protection of their enclosure.

The mule deer were curious about everything and more likely to approach a new object than run from it.

As they grew older, their play became more aggressive. Head butting became part of their play along with standing on hind legs and striking at each other with their forelegs. I was sure that at some point someone was going to be injured and it was most likely going to be me. I learned to stay out of the way when they were running wild through the yard.

The differences between the two species were becoming more noticeable as they grew. Mr. Whitetail began making long, graceful leaps, tail flashing white as he ran. He discovered the joy of jumping over things. Gillette and Quinn, while not as graceful, began displaying their stiff-legged hopping gait, or “stotting”.

One of the most difficult things for me was not to interact with the fawns any more than was necessary, no touching, no petting. When you see those little faces walking toward you, bleating, it’s very hard not to offer comfort. I gave in one day while sitting in the grass watching them run and play. One by one they grew tired of their games and came to lie beside me in the grass.

Quinn came toward me, bleating. He stood in front of me, nuzzling my clothing. I couldn’t resist. In my head I knew better, but the heart is not always as easily convinced. My arms went around his small body in a hug. I ran my hands through his soft coat and I kissed his sweet face. Was he missing his goose companion who had recently been released? My heart was lost and I had broken my own rule.

The time with the fawns was limited. I still spent any time I could sitting on the deck watching them, often until after dark. They had developed a routine, a pattern to their resting places and in the evenings after playing they rested in the grass in front of the deck. This was our quiet time, time to sit and think and start planning for their release.

There were many questions as far as where to release them. Could they be taken anywhere there were other deer? Were there areas that Game, Fish and Parks officials would not want them released? I wanted a place away from people and traffic I wanted a place where there were other deer, hopefully both species.

I called Conservation Officer, Jeff Edwards, with my questions. He very generously offered to help with the release and had a place in mind. I just needed to call him again when they were ready to go. I was excited about their release and the fact that they wouldn’t be confined for much longer. I didn’t often let myself think about things that could happen to them out in the big bad world.

About a week before their release I decided to remove the scab from above the right eye of Quinn. I grabbed onto it and pulled but it refused to come off. I pulled again and again and finally I had it. What I had thought was a scab all this time turned out not to be a scab at all. It was a piece of a talon or a claw embedded above the eye. What had happened to this little guy? If only he could talk.

September 2 nd – release day. I was nervous. Afraid I was going to cry, afraid the fawns would just stand there after being released, afraid they’d run after the truck when we left them. I had no idea how things were going to go.

I didn’t cry; the fawns didn’t just stand there and they didn’t follow us as we left them behind. I felt good about the release. I felt good about the place. We’ve done what we can do and now whatever happens is out of our control. But I can’t help caring about what happens to them. The day I stop caring about what happens to the creatures that are released is the day I should find a different line of work.

A few days after the release I spoke to Officer Edwards again. He told me about having seen the fawns a couple of days following their release. Read Story by Officer Edwards

Thank you to Jeff Edwards for giving so unselfishly of his time. He certainly didn’t have to and I greatly appreciate it.

So I sit here two weeks after the release enjoying my sixth visit out here to this special place. It has warmed up a little and I left my car for a while to wander around. A short time ago I saw a small group of Bighorn Sheep standing in the sun on a hillside. I have seen a small bird of prey, turkey vultures, many small birds and a few chipmunks. I have seen a few whitetail deer. I have not seen any mule deer. On three of my visits I have seen a lone whitetail fawn in the place where we released the three fawns. I suppose it could be Mr. Whitetail. I did not see him today.