Touching the Wild

by Joe Hutto

  Although not often so precarious, there are inherent liabilities in what I do, and regardless of any intention to maintain an objective detachment, I find that deep affection toward these intelligent and engaging creatures is unavoidable. Any treachery that befalls them, at least to some extent, befalls me as well. Often I wonder if there are other people in this part of the world who, at any given time, might actually be grieving for the loss of a mule deer? How odd or even unacceptable would the perception of my personal identification with a mule deer be to the average Wyoming resident? I really have no idea, but, let me remind you, with clear eyes, with detachment, and without undue sentimentality, when you pass that bloody heap of a fresh killed deer on the road, that was not just another deer—that is not just the end of something, but rather someone, with a real life, a fascinating and complex history, and a purpose, who, just like the rest of us, simply wanted to remain alive in his or her world.

  One December morning, as deer entered the yard in a foot of fresh snow, I noticed that Lanie was addled, nervous, and alone. Even though the confusion of the rut had gotten underway, and deer were erratically dispersed with mating activity, something was not right, and my heart sank immediately as I feared the worst for Shady and for this dependent young fawn who was without his mother for the first time. The large predators always descend on this land with the snowfall. I paced around the general area like a cat for hours, looking for some sign of Shady and anticipating the inevitable convergence of eagles, ravens, and magpies at the scene of some bloody mayhem on the surrounding snow-covered mountainside. That day, no scavengers appeared. The following morning, while standing on the mountainside among thirty or more deer, I counted noses and watched for Shady’s sweet face. But, as I feared, Lanie returned confused, agitated, and once again alone. My heart ached at the prospect of never seeing that gentle little deer again and at the thought of Lanie being all alone in the world. As a buck, Lanie would not be allowed to remain among the maternal clan but, like many young bucks, would choose or be forced to migrate toward some other home range and only with luck would find some consolation with fraternal affiliations among other similar, lonely young bucks.

  A few days later, I happened to pass by a rear window in the house, and the silhouette of a lone deer standing in the snow caught my eye. Immediately I recognized Shady, and I saw that she was in some horrible distress. With ears and head hanging down, and with mouth agape, the deer was bloodied from her midsection back and was struggling to stand. When she attempted to move, she haltered with a stumbling and exaggerated limp. Not wanting to disturb her, I calmly walked outside in deep snow and with a reassuring tone attempted to approach close enough to see the extent of her injury. From thirty meters I examined her closely with binoculars and was shocked by what I saw. Obviously, a mountain lion had caught Shady from behind, and in their struggle the great cat had penetrated Shady’s left hindquarter with its enormous “thumb” claw and had, as with a scalpel, opened her up from the base of her tail, down the back of her leg, all the way to the joint of the hock in a deep gash an inch wide and an inch or two deep. Furthermore, the cat had bitten completely through the hock, severing the hamstring (Achilles) tendon at the calcaneus, and the white stump of the tendon was protruding outside the gaping hole. The tension on the severed tendon had caused the other end to retract, and was now hopelessly lodged far up into the more proximal area of the hind leg. The opposing, retracting tendon on the front of the leg had not been severed, so the leg was being held up and was not dragging in the snow. Her hindquarters were covered in dried blood, indicating that she had lost an enormous quantity, but the femoral artery had been spared and most of the bleeding had stopped. Judging by the complete immobility of her lower leg and limpness in the foot, it appeared that she had suffered some catastrophic nerve damage as well, and the leg was probably rendered forever useless, ruling out the possibility of even minor convalescence and recovery. Ungulate locomotion requires that most of their “drive” comes from the stronger hindquarters, even though a majority of weight is carried on the forelimbs. Shady was barely capable of any locomotion at all. Her useless leg required that all of her weight and drive had to be supplied by her one remaining hind limb, meaning that each step required her to lift both front legs simultaneously, balance precariously, and drive the entire body forward with the remaining leg. Her attempts to walk were an impossibly awkward, exhausting, and excruciating exercise in futility. Predators are keenly aware of any unusual gait in an animal, and Shady’s attempts to move could easily gain your eye from a half-mile away. She was defenseless prey for even the most poorly endowed predator. That she had obviously survived for two days in this condition seemed all but impossible. Defying all reasonable explanations, after somehow escaping the lion, she must have simply remained motionless in the snow in some hidden location for two days, and no other predator stumbled across her or her blood trail.

  Shady looked me in the eyes with desperation, and seeing the fear and pain in her beautiful face filled me with a helpless heartache. Desperately wanting to help, my mind scrambled for options. Should I just help her die with a more quick and humane option than nature and circumstance were sure to provide? And, of course, Shady was never a “hands-on” deer, so no form of medication or treatment could be an option. Confinement or restraint here is never a consideration. In addition, and not that I would hesitate for one second under the appropriate circumstances, it is technically against the law to render any assistance to an injured or dying deer in Wyoming. Stop your car to end the agony of a mangled deer struggling with a severed spinal cord in this state, and you are breaking the law.

  But, clearly, no orthopedic surgeon was needed to declare Shady a lost cause. The majority of sound four-legged deer do not survive for long in this country. It seemed obvious that any action I might take not only was hopeless but, worse, could only contribute to her ongoing horror. Cowardly, I lacked the strength of character to go get my rifle, so I simply proceeded to the equipment shed and retrieved a bucket of mixed grain, pellets, and alfalfa cubes. As Shady cautiously eyed me from a few meters away, I broadcast the feed across a sheltered concrete apron in front of the shed and retreated to the house. As I watched, Shady stumbled her way over to the feed and began to nose around, picking a few morsels from the snow. Her limp leg swung in a slow elliptical orbit below her side—like the clapper in a bell that had sounded for the last time. Certainly Shady had not eaten a bite of food in the greater part of forty-eight hours.

  This is a perfect example, I thought, of why I cannot continue to maintain this relationship with so many eminently fascinating but also unavoidably lovable creatures, whose prospects are so filled with sadness and treachery, for I lack their bravery and am far more fragile than they are. The natural world is the epitome of beauty and perfection—but only so long as you are a human born into a culture that ensures you will remain entirely removed from its reality. As Thoreau once suggested, “Do not ask how your bread is buttered; it will make you sick.”

  Mule deer are driven to avoid all contact with other deer when they become gravely ill or injured. This predisposition toward absolute solitude even includes severing ties with their fawns. Shady lingered somehow in the vicinity of the house, visiting the feeding area once or twice a day but completely avoiding all other deer, including her confused and frightened fawn, Lanie. That she interpreted my good intentions correctly and allowed me near was astonishing. But mule deer are intelligent creatures, and there is no doubt in my mind that Shady immediately recognized that I was attempting to be her ally, when, in fact, all her luck and any other option had run out. Each time she visited the area of the house, she would attentively watch for me to exit the back door. With only the occasional reassuring glance, I would, with eyes averted, proceed to the shed to retrieve her ration of food. Nervously, but with eager anticipation, she would inch forward in my direction as I spread food on the concrete apron. As I turned my back on her and began returning to the house,
she would immediately move in.

  With almost daily visits from multiple mountain lions, large organized packs of marauding coyotes, and a recent wolf sighting out the kitchen window, we knew that death would find Shady in some form at any minute. Each time I looked toward the back of the yard and saw her now-familiar mangled form, and painfully exaggerated ambling gait, I was stunned at how implausible her life had become. It was obvious that her every move was excruciating as multiple claw wounds slowly attempted to knit back together. This deer not only was cut to shreds but also had deep-tissue bruising puncture wounds from numerous bites. However, Shady continued to force herself from hiding, and managed to eat the food I provided, but then would quickly disappear somewhere below the house near the creek and draw. Here, dense thickets of currant growing at the base of the sandstone cliffs provided a labyrinth of passageways and vegetative chambers below a dense canopy covered with billowing snow. I never attempted to follow or discover her secret places for fear of forcing her to some less secure location. Even Lanie was unable to discover her whereabouts, and his sense of loss and confusion over her absence continued. He was a sad little deer, which seemed to compound the tragedy of it all. Some days we would not see Shady, perhaps missing her appearance, and then assumed that the worst had finally happened. But, then, once again, to our relief, she would reemerge and continue to eat the meager food we could provide. Her physical appearance seemed to improve but little day by day, and her movements were still painful for her and painful to watch. She would struggle with a few awkward lunging steps and then stop, as if to catch her breath and retrieve yet another small amount of energy from some internal reservoir, then try again. Almost immediately we could see that the entire upper leg and hip were beginning to atrophy. With no stimulation to the muscles, they began to waste away in only a few days. Day after agonizing day, Shady managed to elude predators, get enough supplemental food in the midst of a hard winter, and, to my amazement, never developed any abscesses or infections. Each morning her arrival in the backyard seemed like an exercise in the impossible, and even now I fail to understand how a small deer who always appeared so fragile managed to survive those first few horrendous days and weeks.

  But seeming to somehow defy the laws of nature, Shady must have been making all the right choices, for she did survive. One morning, after several weeks into this ordeal, I looked outside and saw Shady standing on the periphery of a group of fifteen or twenty deer, and then realized that she had apparently let Lanie return to her side. Two lonely little mule deer had been reunited. Shady obviously still felt vulnerable in the presence of other deer and kept away from the confusion of the more active herd but now allowed Lanie to maintain a position nearby. In a gesture of possible consolation, I saw Lanie grooming Shady on top of the head as her tired eyes sagged, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation and pleasure.

  Shady would stand off on the edge of the yard and avoid the rancor of any aggressive feeding activity that might be occurring around me, but cleverly never diverted her watchful gaze. We quickly began an interesting little game that involved delivering food to her in such a way that no other clever deer could move in on her special pile of feed. This process involved modifying our strategy each day to a new and secret location within the area of the yard or just beyond. Many other deer were aware of our little charade and would try to circumvent our designs, but by modifying our feeding strategy each day, we were largely successful. She was completely attentive to my clandestine efforts to get her food and would work with me to outsmart the other deer. Eventually she realized that I would never let her go without food, so the best strategy involved her remaining hidden somewhere nearby and then mysteriously appearing the minute the last deer had left the yard. Shady knew that I was always waiting. Her thoughtful cooperation with my efforts was undeniable and completely fascinating. All I had to do was make a certain eye contact with Shady, and, without a word, she clearly knew it was “game on.” I found this whole experience particularly revealing by further illuminating, in a most unexpected way, an intelligence and a resourcefulness in mule deer that I already knew were extraordinary.

  During the day, Shady began lying in the snow within the protective cover of the plum thickets on the edge of the backyard—further evidence that she was feeling more confidence. Ironically, the atrophy occurring in the useless muscles of her hindquarter relieved some of the weight on her remaining rear leg, enabling her to gain better mobility, and she had survived long enough for the healthy leg to strengthen and start to compensate. She would even join in with her mother and other clan members when they were near, but still sadly found it impossible to keep up with their daily movements out around the surrounding mountainside. It was pitiful to watch her follow her group outside the yard in the mornings, but then become exhausted and stand alone in the snow watching the other deer disappear in the distance. Still, she was managing to find some comfort from the company of her fawn and her family—and, of course, this was encouraging for her and heartening for us. Nevertheless, seeing her pathetic attempts to move about was a constant reminder of her complete vulnerability, and there was never a time when we were even hopeful that she would survive that winter. Given the realities on the ground, it seemed to be only a question of when and where she would be discovered and killed. But just to see that beautiful hopeful face each day represented some distinct triumph for her and some testimony to an unlikely but undeniably powerful young animal with a boundless determination to survive.

  Then, early one morning, I looked to see a line of ten deer approaching the yard in the snow and realized that, although lagging far behind the group, Shady was following and bringing up the rear. Then, to my amazement, in an effort to close the gap between her and the small herd, she broke into a smooth, loping, three-legged gallop, and in a few absolutely graceful bounds joined the end of the procession. Shady, with the loss of dead weight on one side and vastly improved strength on the other, was now capable of running with the herd! Of course, when she began to walk, she resumed the awkward, hobbling gait that looked so uncomfortable and strenuous. Shady was never truly able to keep pace with other deer, but she was at least able to spend some time with her protective maternal herd and, more important, it was evident that she might now even be capable of eluding certain dangers.

  Crippled Shady, after one year.

  This remarkable little doe managed to survive a brutal Wyoming winter that took the lives of other members of the greater herd with further predation, and some disease that took three fawns—Piper, Elvin, and one unnamed fawn from of a set of triplets whose mother joined us from an adjacent, deteriorating herd that had finally fallen into extinction. But now Shady was again challenged by another obstacle that would surely be life-threatening. The dire question arose: could Shady have conceived a fawn before her injury during the first weeks of the rut? There was no question that she would have completely avoided any deer after the time of her initial injury, and of course she would have been physically incapable of standing for a two- or three-hundred-pound buck. But there could be little doubt that her ability to carry a fawn to term was out of the question. Her pelvic muscles were probably at least partially compromised by such an extensive injury involving all manner of nerve damage, and it was improbable that she would be able to sustain the contractions necessary to deliver a fawn.

  As spring progressed, we watched Shady carefully, and by May, as other does began to “show,” Shady retained her girlish figure and mercifully had either failed to get bred before her injury, or had quickly aborted as a result of the overall trauma. In any case, we were convinced that Shady had once again beaten the odds, as a pregnancy and birth in her condition would have very likely been a death sentence. Shady began to adapt to her new life, and although she was still gravely impaired, her overall condition seemed to be remarkably good, and with the exception of one useless leg, she at least gave the outward appearance of a systemically healthy deer. Lanie seemed to be all the more attached to h
is mother and, without being displaced by a new fawn, was allowed to remain in Shady’s company, which seemed to provide great comfort for them both. With her young buck fawn sprouting velvet antlers at her side, they gently and politely shared the same feed container as I continued to offer Shady every advantage I could. The powerful bond between a doe and her yearling buck fawn seemed to grow even stronger. And each time Shady and I made eye contact, something truly remarkable transpired as we seemed to offer each other something approximating both gratitude and hope. Then, one morning, as I had always dreamed, I turned and looked behind, and there was Shady standing directly by my side. As I turned and fed her grain from a small container, I felt her warm soft nose, and as she nuzzled in the feed, she allowed me to run my hand along one of her plush and opulent ears.

  Months passed, summer came and went, and even though most large predators had moved into higher elevations during the warmer months and would return only with the snow, Shady continued to defy all the odds. And although hunting season was upon us, we had a more optimistic outlook on things. We are surrounded by thousands of acres of unoccupied private ranch lands that separate us from the National Forest and Bureau of Land Management (BLM) lands that lay just above us on the mountain. Our ranch neighbor who borders us on two sides had become somewhat sympathetic to our plight with this mule deer research project. He was disturbed by the uninvited hunters who had been coming onto his land and indiscriminately shooting deer on our property, even alarmingly close to the house. One afternoon four hunters walking on the open hillside across the draw, shoulder to shoulder in blaze orange, opened fire on fifteen does and fawns leaving our yard. The deer scattered across a sage brush slope in terror. As we stood in plain view, the men began shooting into a herd of running deer from a distance of two hundred yards. As if arbitrarily firing into a covey of quail, these people were apparently perfectly content or even hoping to accidentally gut shoot or break a leg on a deer. Considering my state of rage—unlike anything I have ever experienced—that they all missed entirely and failed to cripple one of these deer was probably the single luckiest thing that will ever happen to them—and to me. As a lifelong hunter, it was the most disturbing act I have ever witnessed with a single group of hunters, and as a former hunting guide with many years involved in the outfitting business in Wyoming, I’ve run across one or two worthless bastards in my time.