I Saw A Deer.

During my daily walk along the aqueduct trail passing through Yonkers, I saw a deer just before my vision reached its vanishing point.

It was standing perfectly still with its limbs extended.  It was ready to dash away at any moment, or perhaps it was preparing to defend itself.

I wondered:  Do deer defend themselves with their hooves?  I remembered seeing a video many years ago of a stag raining a flurry of blows from its hooves from a hapless hunter.  Of course, my memory could have been playing tricks on me.

I could tell it saw me, but it didn't dart away.

I narrowed my vision and I thought I saw a faun standing next to it.  Was the parent a doe?  A stag?  Was it prepared to fight for its offspring?

Could it smell me?  Did it detect some pheromone my body was secreting?

I decided to turn around and walk back the way I came.  At least, I would walk a part of the way and then return to where I stood.  By then, I reasoned, the deer and her/his faun would have left.

I walked out of the deer's range of vision.  Then I turned, and returned to where I stood.

The deer was still there.  It looked like it was crouching.

Was the deer nursing the faun, if there was indeed a faun?  It looked like it was not moving any time soon.

I decided on my strategy again, I would turn, walk away a further distance, and then return to see if the deer was gone.

There and back again, I returned to the spot where I saw the deer.

It was gone.

I continued on my path.  By the time I reached where the deer was standing, I heard a rustle to my right.  I turned to face the source of the sound, but I could see nothing.  Just the trees and bushes.

I became very aware of my surroundings as I continued along the path.  I was aware of every sound I would normally take for granted.

Non-human animals are endowed with a sense of smell our species no longer possesses.  They have an advantage over us.

Suddenly, I saw a woman coming from the opposite direction.  She was wearing earbuds wired to her smartphone which was fastened to her hip.  She spoke loudly and was oblivious to everything around her.

It's times like this where I begin to wonder if Parks and Rec have overlooked a pack of wolves in the vicinity.  Would they pounce on us immediately as our attention was distracted?  Is that what wolves actually do, or is that something I learned from watching films like The Grey?

As her voice faded away, I continued my walk.  Aware of every animal call, every brush against the verdure, every snap and soft breeze that surrounded me.

Again, I mused, my sense of smell is "blind."  I can't sense what other animals can sense.  I read in a book, Homo Deus, that our ancestors had a pronounced sense of smell, but agriculture, urbanization, writing, and commerce made that sense underused.  Our primal sense of smell atrophied.

I took no photo of the deer.  I only have the memory.

- JJB