I had to smile yesterday morning while watching a local sorority of white-tailed deer work their way through our North Field. There were six does, two yearlings, and a summer fawn. The field is high with goldenrod, tansy, and Queen Anne’s lace, but there still are sweet green slips that are moist and tasty.
The fawn was racing back and forth, gamboling raucously with one of the yearlings around and through the group. It suddenly stopped and walked over to a doe, which stared at it several seconds, as you see here:
And then – here comes the smile – the doe gave the fawn a real good neck hug and the fawn enjoyed it as much as any well-stroked cat:
The fawn then walked off, subdued.
I have no way of knowing what I saw, but I do like to imagine endings to stories that need them. I imagine that the fawn was a young buck and he was driving the slow- browsing adults crazy. His Mom called him over and gave him a stern lecture. Mom then “said” (audibly or not) “Now, be a good boy and play slowly.” And, as good Moms do, she hugged him hard and let him go. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2023.)