Approached by a White Tailed Deer fawn

It’s lunchtime and I’ve brought lunch out into the garden here in Virginia. As we walk down to the lawn there’s a startled deer. It looks at us and then walks off away into the shade of the trees. We’re so busy watching it that we don’t notice that its bandy-legged fawn in still sitting on the lawn.

“Oh no,” I say, reflexively.

It struggles to its feet, all strange articulated joints like a shopping bag on stilts.

Then it starts wobbling towards us, swaying as if it’s going to collapse at any moment:

Stretching its legs it gets confidence and momentum. It’s heading straight for The Puffin Whisperer:

I’m having problems knowing how many legs it has. Logic tells me there are four, but this little fawn is making me doubt my own senses:

It stops as it gets closer. It is sniffing the air, full of trepidation:

It is so close to us now, The Puffin Whisperer could touch it. It has a huge underbite and such a delicate poise.

Its mother is still in the shade. We leave and watch from above as it is reunited with its mother. It can’t be very old – they are born in May or June.

We talk about it for ages afterwards.

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