Upon hearing my screams of terror coming from the bathroom as a small child, Mum would rush up the stairs knowing there was a gigantic human eating spider in the bath tub, it’s black shape more prominent against the white enamel.

Picking it up, she would say, “Look at the poor thing, no one loves it with all those hairy legs.”

We would walk downstairs and out the front door where she would carefully place it on the grass saying, “You can’t live here, poor darling.”

My mother also believed in fairies and when it would rain, she would bring in the ceramic ones from the flower pots because she couldn’t bear to see them standing in the rain.

This explains why I never moved past the world of Peter Rabbit.

Poor Darling arrived on the afternoon of the Winter Solstice last year.

A small herd of deer often drifted by, checking the bird table and licking up any leftover seed. There was Big Mama and the Twins, Big Daddy with his elegant antlers, white muzzle and slow walk, four swaggering young bucks and some shy does.

So when a young buck arrived alone on three legs, I was heartbroken.

A phone call to an animal sanctuary told me what to look for: failure to continue feeding, infections and open wounds, lack of appetite, slow decline towards death.

Grown deer cannot be rescued apparently, they lay down and die, but fawns may thrive.

The best they could do was humanely euthanize him.

Every day, I left water and grain out for him and days would go by before he returned. At the mere sight of me he hobbled into the woods and left the grain where it was.

Sometimes he would arrive with a few other deer confirming he was still alive at least.

Over the next few weeks, if he came alone and there was no grain, I would move in slow motion to the grain bin and put out the food on the ground.

He would stand behind a tree and when I had reached the deck, slowly come and eat.

It was a slow and heartrending wait as I watched his recovery, swinging his injured leg as he struggled through the deep snow, then over fallen branches in the woods. But he made it

Today, his hip remains swollen and his ankle, if deer have ankles, has healed but he cannot  bend it.

Over the months since Winter Solstice, Poor Darling has healed the best he can and is now walking with a limp but able to take care of himself.

(Thanks Mum. Thanks, Pat, who helps buy grain to feed him).

(C) Chris Beryl, 2019.

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