Feed

I've been feeding the deer that wander through this back yard, off and on, for as long as I've lived here. (It's feed that's meant for horses, but it's sweetened with molasses, and the deer adore it.) I have continued to do this, even though I'm really not supposed to (and for good reason), though less frequently, now mostly in the cooler months.

Each year there are regular visitors that I come to recognize — often because they come to recognize me. I'll see them peer in through the back door, as if they're hoping to find someone at home.

For the past several months I've been watching a group of five, three young adults and two fawns that still seem very small, much smaller than I would have expected at this time of year. They would turn up every few days, more so as the season wore on. I'm concerned about the size of the fawns, and feel obliged to help (in whatever small way I can), so I'll almost always put food out when I see them. They haven't grown all that much larger, but they're obviously putting on weight for the winter.

Another pair I only see every so often, a young doe and a fawn, both with a noticeable limp. They get around with some difficulty, yet they seem to manage, somehow. But I want to help them, too. Or, at least, to believe I am.