Too Deer

Sugar froze, one paw in the air, her head turned towards the woods, sniffing wildly. I glanced towards the woods. A bit of misty fog swirled lazily across the meadow separating us from the treeline. Suddenly, out of the fog a doe appeared, unconcernedly chewing her cud, stepping daintily over the dew laden grass. Behind her, a small fawn, spots fading, stopped to snip some clover from bending stems. Two deer, too dear.

Deep within Sugar a growl began to rise, rumbling through her chest and escaping in a huff from her nostrils, steaming angrily into the morning air. She did not bark but strained against the leash I held fast. Mother deer turned her frosty gaze on us, froze momentarily, then ambled forward, apparently dismissing us as no particular threat to her child.

Sugar lunged forward, managing to pull me a good ten feet toward the big doe she was challenging. The mother whirled around and planted her feet, staring us down while her baby moseyed toward the underbrush. Still Sugar did not bark. Her incessant growl rose within her, some primal longing aching to be followed.

Without looking, Mama knew her child had stepped into the shadows of the trees. She quickly disappeared herself. Sugar whimpered like a spoiled child denied some treat. Then she turned and trotted back toward the house completely unconcerned. What an odd way to begin a day.