The Gentle Doe

Five weeks into the deer-hunting season brought very unpredictable weather, that year in the southeastern part of the mid-western state. It had snowed the week before, although it had all but disappeared, due to considerably warmer temperatures at mid-week. Because of a very late plowing of an almost-neglected field, many roots had been upturned, and the wildlife was nibbling at them, hungrily. A Mother Deer was having a lamenting dialogue with the Wise One….the Sage Buck of the Woods:

“It has been a very lucky hunting season for my family and friends, and not for the Hunters. At the beginning of the season, there were a lot of hopeful Hunters, eager to take home the heads and steaks of my family. I’ve brought my five offspring, two bucks and three does, to this woods because it isn’t a favorite hunting ground. Hunters have got to navigate a lot of un-cleared land before they can set up their camps; one could easily get lost in theses woods. I feel it is un-travelled by the Hunters because it is undiscovered by everyone, except God Himself. He protects us here.”

She went on. “All of my children are intuitive; they sense approaching danger. They are very nimble and escape the powerful rifles. But I brought them here anyway—away from any Hunters, so they could grow up to be adult deer. One Hunter in particular was too persistent, too smart. I had to protect my children. a doe. I worry about her. She is so inwardly. She is always in such deep thought, with conceptual thinking that far exceeds her family’s understanding.”

“I need to talk with my both does, who cavort about, teasing the Hunters. They are both as light-hoofed as they are light-spirited…always outrunning danger. Their two older siblings, both bucks, are handsome and arrogant. Both escape danger again and again: their stately heads are much-coveted by the Hunters - to hang on their walls as prized trophies. My brooding eldest is not the prettiest of my offspring by far; she seems to have a careless attitude, in my opinion. She flirts with trouble—she is too slow. She comes so close to being struck down by the rifles. I must talk with her…alone.” The Sage Buck slowly lowered his mighty antlers a couple of time – in complete agreement with the younger deer’s lamentations.

The next week gave the Mother Deer an opportunity for privacy in a conversation with her eldest”

“Why, my Serious One, do you wander about in such a melancholy state? What is pre-occupying you so?”

“It’s of a nature that we deer have no control. The Hunters will win us, eventually, through their sport” to hunt, chase, shoot, butcher and finally mount the best heads—with such pride. But, what for? It always turns out the same; their rifles are swifter than our legs. It’s always the same, in the end: they will over-power us,” said the troubled doe.

“My dearest eldest,” the Mother patiently explained, “if it were not for the differences within our animal kingdom, the hierarchy… Life, as we know it, would cease to be. It is the fight and instinct for survival that keeps the larger, smarter ones pursuing and conquering the slower of us.”

“But sometimes that is not exactly the way it is,” argued the daughter, “sometimes there is a differences, I can sense this. Some Hunters are a different breed of animal.” The Mother Deer suppressed a smile. Her daughter went on. They look and act like the other Hunters, but they have a deer’s sensitivity. There was a Hunter,” she continued, “a few weeks ago, who could not make up his mind what he wanted to do: Kill me and bring me into his world, or let me run free—in ours. I wanted to play with him. To challenge him. Was his duty to his sport, or to the preservation of the targets of his sport? I stood up to him and his raised rifle!”

“My word!” exclaimed her mother, “what a reckless thing to do! Are you wanting a premature death? Have you no instinctive self-preservation in your soul?” The younger doe was silent.

“I sensed he was different. He just looked at me, somewhat bewildered. An eternity passed. He fired…but jerked his rifle out of aim, at the very last second. And he cried. His heart was not in the hunt.”

“I pray for you, my troubled Daughter,” Mother Deer simply stated, and she left her eldest’s company.

The doe thought about the conversation with her mother; trying to make sense of the contradictions that were ever-present in her world—her acceptance of them was very difficult: ‘Run from the Hunter, but surrender to the Hunt. It is part of the rhythm of our universe. I do not understand,’ pondered the doe. ‘I was was playing the game by those rules, but one different Hunter refused to. I chose that time to be the time to sacrifice myself, but it was the wrong time, in the Hunter’s eyes. I do not understand the way of the world.’

The next week, her Gentle Hunter appeared one bright morning: he was the first Hunter to intrude on the deer’s hidden ground. She remembered who he was, while the Hunter anxiously searched the woods with his eyes, for his beloved doe. He began the diligent preparation of his camp, as always. He had come with someone. She did not like the intrusion of another. The Hunter was hers. Alone. The presence of the Intruder confused. She did not know where she stood with the Hunter, as she once did. She did not know what was in store for herself. She tingled with fear, excitement…and anticipation.

Night fell. Dawn rose. She was up early, drinking from the small stream of water at the far edge of the woods; quite a distance from the Hunter and Intruder’s camp. They were up early, also. Both were anticipating a fruitful hunting expedition. The doe turned towards the direction of her family; they were still dozing, unaware of the scene before them. She turned back into the direction of both Hunters, swished her white tail and broke into a relaxing jog towards the heavily shaded woods. Both rifles were quickly brought out… raised, aimed—but only one was fired.

“No, oh God, no!!” cried the Hunter. The Intruder’s eyes gleamed with his triumph. His smile did not fade as he turned to the Gentle Hunter. “And why not??!! She’s mine!!”

It was too late. The bullet had sunk into her body cavity. Deeply. Many yards away, Mother Deer jerked up her head at the sound of the Hunter’s rifle, and saw her daughter sink heavily to the ground. The Intruder rushed to look at his kill. The Hunter sought the Mother Deer’s gaze, from many yards away. Their eyes were locked. The looks were both of anguish. As the Hunter turned away, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he detected the Mother Deer nod her head. In approval? He caught her eyes, again. And it dawned on him—that for one split second they lived in the same universe of unconditional understanding.

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