Deer Drama

Sanctuary is a great place to learn new vocabulary related to wildlife. Take deer, for example. I have now had front row experience, so to speak, with stotting, rutting and ruminating. The black tail mule deer, who seem to thrive up here in the Sierra Nevada foothills, provide us with almost daily entertainment. Most folk up here tend to think of them as something of a nuisance. And when I caught them meticulously eating every new leaf as it unfurled from my newly planted rose bushes, I tended to agree with them.

But when you think about it, I am the one who has encroached on their territory. Fences are little more than something to relish jumping over, not unlike a downed cedar in the forest. They certainly present no obstacle to these creatures. Unless, of course, they are ridiculously high (by southern California standards). I’ve seen them do a standing jump over the fence at the back of the property without blinking. They are utterly graceful on their long slender legs.

Which brings me to stotting. This is what deer do when I come on them unawares and we startle each other. In this maneuver they literally spring into the air, nimbly defying gravity by somehow lifting all four feet from the ground simultaneously. They are able to cross a remarkably large section of land in no time at all, looking like they are on quadruple pogo sticks with their stiff, straight legs. I have no clue what advantage this gives them over a potential predator. But it is quite something to witness. I have come to recognize the very sound of stotting, and it is often the first clue I have that deer are in the neighborhood, as they camouflage perfectly with the flora of our woods.

Having grown up around cows, ruminating (cud-chewing) is nothing new. But I didn’t know that mule deer also bear the distinction of a four-chambered stomach. On a warm twilit evening last summer a doe and her twins were happily dining in my flower garden outside the kitchen window. She gracefully folded her legs beneath her and had a little rest on the path dead center in the garden. There we scrutinized each other through the window. Clear as could be, the tender leaves from the hollyhocks she had pulled into her mouth were chewed, swallowed, and regurgitated for a second, third, and, well I lost count of how many times. I could see the bolus moving up and down the gentle curve of her lovely long neck for another go. She was literally enjoying them repeatedly.

Then there is rutting. After witnessing this firsthand last fall, I realized just how realistic Bambi (the Disney movie) is. Having watched this movie with young grandchildren while camping in the Road Trek until we all had it completely memorized, it pretty much gives you the life cycle of a mule deer in 70 minutes.

So on one very wet fall afternoon, a mama and her bambi were hanging out by our fig tree. The pouring rain seemed inconsequential to them. Every so often they would stand up, give a good shake, and send the accumulated water flying off their naturally water resistant fur. Then they would lay right back down. In the rain.

Until a largish male deer with an impressive set of antlers appeared. We had some deer drama for sure. I thought that guy was trying to kill the little one, or the doe, or something. Then I remembered Bambi. The doe must have been sending out pheromones like crazy, judging by the buck’s behavior. There was wild chasing and dodging aplenty. But as far as I could tell, the doe was waiting for another suitor for comparison purposes. And indeed, the next day a second buck with less impressive antlers tried his luck. Hard to tell what the outcome of all this activity will be.  I guess spring will tell.