Deer

Down in the woods

While out jogging yesterday I bumped into a herd of around twenty-five deer. They were bleating and bawling all manner of nonsense to each other. So I joined in.

I should explain that there is a deer park past the bottom of the garden where I am currently staying in the south east of England.

There were several fawns in the herd, probably par for the course for this time of year. Slightly more unusual was the white deer amongst them. As I shambled along short of breath, vision blurring, I must admit the first thought that popped into my head was, “Why’s that goat hanging out with all those deer?”

The deer really do make my runs along this route something special. It makes me feel like I’m communing with nature – once I switch off my iPod, let my North Face gear wick away the sweat and conveniently forget I’m not wearing Nike Air trainers (the puppies I wear are unbelievably light… I was going to link, but the Nike site is a exercise in idiocy, all flash and no usability).

On the return leg of my run, I came across the same herd. They’d returned to the field where I had first encountered them. This time I saw them early and stopped so I wouldn’t spook them too much.

As I slowly edged closer I discovered how stupid young deer can be and how much they are drawn to the apparent safety of the herd. If I had been out looking for a tasty piece of venison, I could have had my fill with no real effort.

First, as I drew nearer and the deer scattered, one hapless Cervidae decided it would be a good idea to run across my line of sight on the open path in an attempt to join its mates, rather than hiding in the ample cover of the forest. A little further on another dopey doe charged straight towards me on the path. God knows what was going through its pea brain. When the penny dropped, this deer did a fast U-turn and bounded off in the opposite direction.

My sympathies did extend to a poor little fawn. Running down one side of the path, separating it from the fields in which the rest of the herd were grazing was a wire fence. The fawn had become stuck on the wrong side and was desperately trying to cross over. The little nipper even began jumping repeatedly into the fence in the misguided notion that it would suddenly be transported to the other side.

I left the deer to get my dinner. If they’d made it any easier I might have been tempted to bag one of them instead.

. . .