Nature's Way

(Source)

The young doe was gravid, new life stirring within her as thousands of years of instinct drove her to seek a safe place to give birth. As she walked through the stillness of a cold, wet New England dawn, she found herself drawn to the place where she herself had been born, just a year ago.

There was low brush up against the side of a cliff of oddly shaped stone, the cliff faced the south so there would be warmth when the sun was out. The low lying brush would hide her young. She also knew that her herd had lived on this land for many years and that predators were few, though coyotes were sometimes scented on the north wind.

She settled in and waited, she knew not what she waited for, but instinct would tell her and be her guide. She didn't think, she didn't fret over the many things that could go wrong, she was a wild thing, a child of nature, she would do whatever instinct called her to do.

The first fawn was born just before the sun rose, the eastern horizon alight with the promise of a new day. The birth was easy, the young animal dropped to the soft ground and lay there trembling as its mother licked the fur of the young animal clean of evidence of its birth. When she was confident that her newborn was breathing and was well, she lay back down. Something wasn't quite right, she didn't know what it was, just that it was.

The two legged animals which shared the land with her herd were starting to arrive. She was alert and wary, but as they did not bother her or her fawn, she did not start or run. Which was just as well, she sensed that she was about to give birth again.

She moved to another low bush nearby, she could see and smell her firstborn, but she had to be ready to go through the birthing process again. Deep instinct told her something wasn't right, even though this was her first time, her species had been doing this for thousands of years, she somehow "knew" something was wrong.

The second fawn wasn't coming out, no matter how much she strained, shifted her body position, or moved, the young one seemed reluctant to be born. When the head broke free, she sniffed at it, licked it, almost willed it to be born. But it wasn't even trying, it wasn't moving at all.

Eventually the second fawn fell to the ground beneath the brush. It wasn't moving, the young doe licked at it for a long time, to no avail. Not knowing what else to do, she moved away from the stillborn little deer. Though she knew something was wrong, her instincts told her nothing in this instance. She had tried so hard to make the little one stir, now she was exhausted. So she lay back down...

All of that above played out beneath the southern facing windows of where I work. My lab is just inside that part of the building, a hallway separating the entrance to the lab from those windows. In the morning one of my co-workers mentioned that there was a deer just outside with a newborn. So yes, I went to look.

Sure enough, they were there. One perfect little fawn obeying instinct to not move unless its mother prodded it to do so. In that morning stillness, a number of us sensed that the miracle of nature being played out on the other side of the heavy glass wasn't quite over.

Word spread, more people came to see the spectacle. I was worried for the doe, she seemed stressed, whether it was from all of the spectators (the city bred among them doing stupid things like tapping on the glass, until told in no uncertain terms to "knock that off") or from the problems she was having with her second fawn.

It was a long struggle, during that struggle she would go over to her firstborn and nudge him and lick him. I watched as the little one took his first steps, awkward but game, the little guy made it to all fours for about five seconds before laying back down. I believe that he could sense that his mother was in distress.

Sometime in the afternoon she finally gave birth to a well-formed, but stillborn fawn. It is unusual for a yearling doe to have more than one fawn, but not that uncommon, it does happen. Whether she wasn't strong enough to push the second one out in time, or whether the second was already dead, I'll never know. All I know is that it took over five hours for that second birth.

Nature is harsh in its beauty, a lovely breathing new life laying not six feet from its stillborn sibling. A lesson as old as life on this planet, sometimes things go badly. The whys and wherefores are, to me, unfathomable. But the One who created all things has His reasons, of that I'm sure.

Still and all, as familiar as I am with Death, I hate seeing it touch something of such innocent beauty. Sometimes the Universe speaks in its outdoor voice, all we can do is listen, and wonder.

Sarge out.