We probably built our house right on top of someone else’s home. No matter how
sensitive we tried to be to the land and the environment during construction,
at the very least we destroyed the dwellings of countless bugs and disturbed
the peace of many critters that inhabit the canyon below our house. Despite our
intrusion, however, we had irrefutable evidence — sightings of wild turkey,
ringtail cats, rock squirrels, a gray fox, raccoon, blue heron, hawks, and deer
— that we could coexist together. A peaceable kingdom like the illustration on
a syrupy greeting card.
Until last Tuesday, when our kingdom was invaded by evil. I was walking my
dogs down by the creek when Hudson — my only mutt not crippled by arthritis —
started barking and dancing in the tall grass. A large buck with an eight-point
rack rose from the waist-high grass and began to toss his head at Hudson, who
launched a rear assault. The deer staggered and fell, rose again and stumbled
towards the creek. I grabbed Hudson as the buck plunged into the water and then
just lay there. We were only a few feet apart, so when he turned and fixed me
with his huge, pleading eyes, the effect was emotionally staggering. I ran back
up the cliff and began phoning for help.
Wildlife Rescue directed me to Cheri Watson, one of the only volunteers
equipped to rehab adult deer. She sent out two of her cohorts, Evonne and Bill,
who arrived at my house just as it was getting dark.
The deer had stumbled far up the creek, about a half-mile from the nearest
road. When we finally spotted him in the thick cedar, he continued to try to
make good his escape, but eventually, exhausted, he lay down and stared into
our flashlight beam. Bill approached slowly and grabbed his horns. The big buck
hardly struggled when Bill and Yvonne gave him a shot of sedative and slipped
on a blindfold. I was lurching up and down the creek fetching the gear we’d
abandoned about midway on our dark, wet, slippery journey — a blanket, bungy
cords, a stretcher, a hack saw (for sawing off his antlers), and a medical kit.
When we lifted the docile animal onto the blanket, the full horror of his
injuries hit me. One front leg was nothing but bone from the shoulder down, a
nightmarish vision I’ll never shake. The other front leg had a hole in the
upper muscle I could put my fist through. The stoic bravery of this buck
brought tears to my eyes. Now we were going to have to muster some of that
stoicism ourselves to carry this 150-plus-pound deer a half-mile down a rocky
creek thick with vegetation and through a small opening in a fence to the
waiting pickup truck. It was incredibly physical.
The stretcher broke and was abandoned. The buck, wrapped like a burrito in his
soggy blanket and bound with the bungy cords, was so still at times I wondered
if we weren’t rescuing a hundred pounds of venison. But we made it. Bill, who
somehow carried the animal the last 300 feet by himself, said it was the most
difficult rescue in his two-and-a half year experience.
The deer, who I’m going to call Buster because he busted my gut carrying him,
is probably going to live thanks to the gentle attentions of Cheri Watson,
Yvonne, and Bill. His leg will be amputated and his remaining days will be
spent in captivity. He has Wildlife Rescue to thank for his life; he has a
lazy, cruel, and careless bow hunter to thank for his injuries.
The season of giving (and drunken hunting) is upon us and I can think of no
organization more deserving of our generosity than Wildlife Rescue. Staffed
entirely by volunteers, they receive no financial support outside of our
donations. To contribute to the general fund, send your check to: Wildlife
Rescue, PO Box 806, Austin, TX 78767. To give specifically to the deer team,
send your money to: Cheri Watson, 449 Hidden Oaks Loop, Elgin, TX, 78621.
Are you sure you want my advice? Then e-mail your questions to me at:
Suzebe@aol.com or snail mail ’em to: The Austin Chronicle, PO Box
49066, Austin, TX 78765.
This article appears in November 29 • 1996 and November 29 • 1996 (Cover).