Mule deer were an integral part of backcountry life. We were, in a sense, neighbors—neighbors that smile and wave from across the street but who don’t otherwise socialize. We crossed paths continually…saw one another every day, out on the trail or right around the cabin—thanks to a salt block on the stump just off the porch. ◦◦◦◦◦ Naturally, the constant exposure led to learning things about deer I never would have anticipated. One of the big ones was discovering that they’re exceptionally curious animals—and that they have a real thing for cats. They were absolutely intrigued by my kitties and, in their encounters, the cats were generally top dogs.
21 Jul 1993 ◦◦◦◦◦ Looked out the window not long after sun hit the cabin and there’s Spooner out by the salt block stump having a standoff with that surly 4-point buck who’s been hanging around lately. The buck was clearly intimidated and would come in for his licks with trepidation. Spooner would stare him down, back off a little, but kept advancing on him and the buck would retreat. Big grins to watch. This went on for a while and it was a thing to see. ◦◦◦◦◦
17 Aug 1993 ◦◦◦◦◦ Happened to look out my window: there’s a doe trying to get at the salt but Spooner, who weighs all of three pounds, is taking swipes at her when she comes in—with both paws. The ol’ up-on-your-hinds, double-paw swipe. Doe a little uneasy…unsure and hesitant but also very curious. When she’d try to nose in, Spooner would go after her with undercat bravado and evident feline I’ve-got-your-number-dialed glee. Pure mojo. Those double-paw swats! Tell ya what: it’s an amazing sight to see a three pound, pre-teen-equivalent, domestic half-Abyssinian who just wants to play with a (decidedly) wild deer animal. For these small gifts I give thanks. I hope he survives to cat-hood. He’s special, this one. Finally, since she wouldn’t play with him, Spooner got bored and ambled back over to the cabin while she got in her licks. ◦◦◦◦◦
6 Sep 1995 ◦◦◦◦◦ I’d started a BBQ fire and was sitting on the porch in my little camp chair when three does ambled into the yard. Coming after salt, of course. Velcro was out there, too, and when he saw ‘em coming ran for cover. Not really scared, just nervous. Nothing about his prudent retreat telegraphed genuine fear—no fat-tail, low-to-the-ground slink…just instinctive precaution. All three does gave chase, jogged toward the porch and stopped less than 20 feet away. (They pretty much never come this close to the cabin.) I’ve learned that some deer—conspicuously curious critters in general—are utterly intrigued by the cats, almost obsessed with them. Velcro was now squatting calmly by my side. All three does stood there gaping at us, their eyes darting back and forth from him to me, sniffing and craning their necks. No fear in them, either; just an innocent curiosity written on their faces and in their body language. Gotta say, it was a sweet moment in time. And they didn’t immediately dash off when I finally stood up. The smallest doe nuzzled (just a touch of nose, really) at the biggest one’s groin and I grokked that this was an almost-grown yearling daughter who still had hankerings for mothers milk. ◦◦◦◦◦ Minutes later, they were in the midst of getting their salt fix when the horses came splashing across the river which spooked everybody out of the yard pronto. A few minutes later, though, I looked up and saw Velcro perched atop the boulder, the one next to the porch. He was staring intently at something. Just then, that momma doe’s head slowly emerged from behind the big lodgepole, nose twitching away as she crept in for one last close look. She was only about six feet from him. Tell ya what: this was way better than television. ◦◦◦◦◦
5 Oct 1997 Sitting in my little chair at meadow’s edge, viewing my domain from time to time while writing off and on in this here cheap notebook. Deep satisfaction. At dusk, when the light became too dim to make out the pink guide lines, I put my pen down. A pygmy owl called from across the river—first I’ve heard this season. Two does in their brand-new gray winter coats strolled over. One went for the salt block but the other saw Feather romping in the tall sedges near where I sat and came to investigate. Getting pretty dark by this time. Feather went into deer-stalking mode. Doe watched her closely while grazing in desultory fashion (pretending not to be interested?) just twenty feet from yours truly sitting in the little folding chair. So many times now I’ve seen how there’s less-fear-more-calm when I’m in close proximity to the cats or horses, as if that turns me into “one of them.” (Animal, that is.) Pygmy owl hooting and lone tree frog creaking but it was otherwise so quietful I could hear the doe chewing and swallowing. Once, she let out a low throaty moan—a deerish sigh of contentment, perhaps? ◦◦◦◦◦ Feather, skulking about, had been watching all along but finally couldn’t resist and made her move. She advanced. Then, a theatrical bluff-attack. Doe leapt straight into the air (sorta like an antelope’s “stoping”) but didn’t run off despite my burst of hearty laughter. She came closer, nose down near the ground, all curious and quivery. Feather went into attack-mode again, advancing boldly. This time Doe ran off, heading for her comrade at the salt block. Feather went in pursuit, bounding through the tall sedges, and chased Ms. doe off into the darkness. This was all an absolute delight to witness. That cup-runneth-over joy filled me right up. I’ll take some more of that, any time.
5 Aug 2000 Woke up, got outa bed, looked out the window first thing as per usual. Yowza! Count ‘em: three huge, well-endowed bucks gathered ‘round the salt block stump. Never seen so much bulk deer-flesh and -antler in my yard at one time! Two of the trio were 5-pointers—twice forked horn with eye-guard [smallish nubbin, low on the antler]. The biggest of the big-fellas, he of the widest spread, had six points on one side (one tip just starting to branch) with five on the other. A magnificent creature who weighs at least as much as the ranger, fully clothed with boots on. Engrossed, I watched all three dipping to lick at the same time. From the window it looked like all their antlers were tangled in a snarled knot. Biggest big-fella became annoyed—mean old grump!—and flailed at the others with his front hooves, running them off. Then he went back for more while the other two looked on, visibly cowed. Alpha big-fella licked and licked…and kept on lickin’. He was at it for a full half-hour straight. (Makes me pucker up, just thinking about it….) ◦◦◦◦◦ Alpha dude came back repeatedly over the course of the morning and, later, I watched him go after Lucy. He was intensely curious about her—completely focused. Seen this before. Seeing him through the front window acting kinda funny, knowing what was up, I went out to watch the show—that is, my “favorite show” on what I call Station KTTY, TV. Lucy was hidden from view behind one of the bigger lodgepoles. Unfazed by my appearance, Alpha dude gazed at her with head lowered, nosing the air, eyes wide with seeming wonder…enthralled. He’d jump back every so often which made me wonder if maybe Lucy had taken a swipe at his nose. A bit later he approached her yet again right out in front of the cabin while I stood on the porch grinning, fifteen feet away. Alpha nosed up to her within an arm’s reach (human arm) at which point she went all flat with ears penned like an angry badger, a picture of raw menace, and hissed at him. He leapt back, shaken. “Watch out, bro!” I warned him. “That’s one mean cat! She’ll kick your butt!” It’s all about the mojo. And when it comes to mojo, size don’t matter a whit. ◦◦◦◦◦
©2021 Tim Forsell 5 Jul 2021
