The Crippled Mama Doe

by George Zidbeck

Fatal wildlife casualties regularly present their carcasses along our north county roadways. We may not inure ourselves to the slaughter of gophers, squirrels, miscellaneous birds, raccoons, skunks, possums, coyotes, and deer, but we seldom decelerate our steel chariots from our appointed rounds. Moreover, road departments generally clear the remains in short order. Hardly ever do we view any singular corpse for more than a day. Sometimes though, for those of us who live off the main thoroughfares, we observe many animals who, albeit seriously crippled, survive an auto collision.

In my neighborhood, even after four years, some of us bring up the matter of one doe with fawn who managed to nurse her young one for months after her left rear leg had been shattered at the knee. Remarkably, she hung on. The leg healed, even if askew to the point it jutted out behind her at a right oblique angle. The useless limb hindered her movements to where she covered ground with a cumbersome hobble.

Not until many weeks went by did I discover that a few homes in my neck o' the woods set out food for her, her fawn not yet mature enough to forage for itself. Oh, I know we humans are discouraged from feeding wild kingdom species, but our neighborhood's motivation focused more on the fawn's well-being than that of  the mother.

The doe partially habilitated herself to her benefactors because her injury prevented her from expanding her feeding zone. I suspect she kept her rounds to no more than six houses. I spied her sometimes when she lay on the ground to rest, the fawn keeping close—other does chasing them off should they approach.

Months passed. I took note that the handicapped mother and her offspring showed no sign of deprivation. The fawn grew out from its spotted coat and began browsing on its own. Even if I and my neighbors threw shrub cuttings and bread slices for the pair, no one believed that the doe had any chance of bearing young the coming year. Nonetheless, we monitored her daily traversing.

One morning, my lower neighbor, Richard Smith, told me, "You know that doe with the bad leg that we've been feeding?"
"Yeah, anything happen to her?"

"Yes, unfortunately. I heard a ruckus next door: dogs barking all get out and sounds of something big thrashing around. When I looked out I barely made out two dogs attacking a deer that seemed caught between a barn and a fence. I went over to the scene and drove the dogs off. I guess my neighbors were away or didn't hear what I heard. Anyway, when I got to the deer, I saw it was that doe with the broken leg that had gotten caught on the fence. She couldn't get through to try and escape. Not that she could've gotten away from the dogs. By the time I reached her, she was dead. I guess from shock mostly. I didn't see any wounds."

"That's too bad. But at least we kept her going until her fawn grew up enough to care for itself."

Mr. Smith and I drifted off into other areas of conversation after recapitulating the crippled doe's impact on our lives and reflecting on how we felt compelled to assist that mother doe to 'hang tough' with her baby.