Each Springtime the new mothers start bringing their babies by my yard to show off their new little ones. They seem proud, and don't mind if I go grab the camera for a few shots. I believe this is the second year in a row that this doe has had twins, but I'm not positive it's the same one. I do know that she's running about a month behind all the other mama deer to bring her babies around, and when I see how tiny they still are, I can understand why. They were either late being born, or they were so small she didn't bring them out of the thicket until today. (I refer to their sleeping place as a thicket because I read Bambi as a small child. It stuck.)
So here are a few more of the photos I took while they played in my paddock this afternoon, around 4:30. They were actually there over a half hour, and didn't mind at all that I stood right above them on the deck, talking to the mother and taking photographs. It's just one of the many joys abundant in life in the foothills.
This little one became very interested in John's tractor wind dancer. While he was playing with it, he failed to notice mama deer leaving through the gate. There's no door on the gate; just an opening.
The two of them played, jumping around together for awhile and running until they realized that Mama had left. Then it wasn't much fun anymore, and they ran to the edge of the paddock where she was standing, watching them.
The next thing you know, she had walked around the paddock to the back and was playing come get me through the wooden bars. They failed to grasp the concept of leaving her to go in the opposite direction to find the doorway they had come in by. She let them guess and wander back and forth along one wall for nearly fifteen minutes before she led them to the right edge of the enclosure.
I finally thanked her for bringing her babies by to see me, told her to have a wonderful week, and went on inside to start dinner. They were out of the paddock by then, but still in the yard, looking up at me. When I looked out ten minutes later, they were gone. They're polite guests, waiting for me to say goodbye, I guess. Now I'll get to watch them grow, and see the spots slowly fade. If either one is male, he'll get his first antlers next year. They'll be tiny, but I'll tell him how handsome they look. I wonder what they really think.
"Hey, Feline, there's that nutty old woman again. She won't hurt you, though, so you don't need to run. Besides, when it snows she'll leave corn for us." Nope. Probably more like, "Hey, what was that?"