Gifts of the Spirit Animal – Moving In

(This is the second part of a series, the first of which you can find here.)

As dawn broke the next day, I resembled a child on Christmas, eager to take in nature’s gifts. Hopeful anticipation, not caffeine, fueled my double-time step. I bounced out onto the patio, but cautiously screeched to a halt. Ahead at the fence line was momma, all stretched out, looking comfy and relaxed. She watched as I walked slowing to and then clambered over the retaining wall, but she never budged.

Once on my neighbors’ dew-damp lawn, I beelined it to and peeked behind the shed. The babies were gone. GONE! My heart sunk so fast I mentally dropped to my knees. I looked back to study momma. Was she relaxed or in a state of dismay that her babies had been taken, wandered off, or otherwise disappeared? My imagination ran as wild and made as many leaps as the wildlife I’d already come to adore.

Frantic, I turned back to my immediate surroundings and began a perimeter search. They were nowhere around the shed or neighboring wood pile, and the row of maiden grass sheltered nothing, including my fear. Then my eye caught a hint of color. There, nestled up against the far fence was one baby, eyes partially open, but showing no sign of movement or breath as I closed in. The sight and speculation added to the morning’s chill, leaving me momentarily frozen in fear.

Not knowing what response to nature or disease may have caused the fawn’s potential demise, my intuition screamed, “Don’t touch it!”  so I dashed across the  lawn and clumsily back down into our own. Once inside, I grabbed a towel and bolted back out to the far fence and fawn. And still momma never budged.

Gently scooping the fawn up, its outward appearance never flinched; its eyes remained half open, its torso still, and its limbs exhibited no signs of life. Fighting back tears at the thought of this young life ending before it had truly begun, I somehow carefully made it back down the half wall into our own yard with the baby safely wrapped in the towel.

And then one leg moved. Just the slightest of twitches, but like an electric shock, it brought my hope back to life. I set the baby down in the yard a few feet from momma, who looked concerned but still didn’t advance.

Back to the neighbors’ yard I went, frantically searching the rest of the fence line, under bushes and patio, all while seeming to hold my breath. Finally, I found the second baby, safely under a low-growing shrub, frightened but unquestionably alive. With towel still in hand, I carefully lifted then carried it back to join the rest of its family. Within minutes the two were up and moving, momma bewildered but beckoning them to her with a grunting sound.

In no time, both babies were lumbering around and tumbling down the short hill in our yard. Sensing I didn’t pose an imminent threat, momma then ventured to the other neighbors’ yard, continuing to observe and groaning an occasional reminder to be safe.

Along with the morning sun, I stood there soaking up the light and delight of young life without a care. Looking at the two spotted precious wonders that gathered at my feet, I realized I (and hopefully momma) could now finally relax. Our enclosed yard, with bushes and trees providing shelter, would help keep our yard squatters safe. I soon would also realize they’d moved into more than our physical space. The seeds of joy flourished through watching and learning about (and learning from) the wonder of this wildlife in our yard, a joy and love that would come to grow with each new hour.

(The story continues here.)