THREE DEER CORNERED

Rex Burress

 

Jutting out into the river above Bedrock Park is a long finger of a rocky peninsula anchored by ravaged shrubs and small trees. The twisted tangles that repel people, fashions nice habitat for thicket critters, and my attention was taken by three deer and one little stray dog.

 

There's something about deer scent that excites dogs, and the brash mutt was barking even though the over-looming ungulates could have slashed it. Two of the deer decided to swim the river to reached the high bank on the other side, while the third slipped off into the brush. I watched as they laboriously swam the swift current with slim legs and sharp pointed hooves that are not designed for swimming. They scampered to the top dripping with water and soon faded back into the bluff woods.

 

Next day I looked the peninsula over again, and saw one deer standing in a snug covered clearing. It started to lay down, front legs folded first. Soon a great egret came sailing in and settled at the lagoon's edge next to the deer. Two mallards began dabbling in the peaceful setting, and crowned sparrows pecked under the thickets joined by kinglets overhead. It was as if they all shared the protection of added surveillance, or were one family like Thornton Burgess' Peter Cottontail and friends. They didn't seem to mind the man with binoculars across the channel and I thought how wonderful if I could be accepted and walk among them and take closeup photos. But previous mankind has put the fear in them and I can only watch their wildness at a distance.

 

I have noticed before on occasions when different species were hunting the same area more freely than when alone. If tolerant of competition, that is a neighborly way of sharing the environment. Different species are assigned their level of domain, though, and stick to the habitat best designed for their beaks and belly. Towhees and sparrows are mostly on the ground, kinglets, bushtits, and warblers in the thickets and trees, swallows overhead.

 

The animals that have a herding instinct, not only antelope, buffalo, wild horses and the hoofed type, but otters, lemmings, wildebeest, honey bees, and other social creatures, depend on one another not only as lookouts, but for the social comfort. Some species are more solitaire, except for the pairing- off in breeding time, notably among birds such as hermit thrushes, dipper, solitary sandpiper, and most birds of prey, except for the mass migration along the hawk-flyways on each side of the continent.

 

Deer and elk herd up in winter “yards,” although moose are quite individualistic. When Lewis and Clark made their historical expedition in 1804, they reported herds of deer along the Missouri River of 100 or more. But when populations plummet, the animals become more secretive.

 

Migrant waterfowl are quite spectacular when they get together for the massive flights during migration, but once at the Tundra nesting grounds they pair off.

 

Most noticeable during the winter along the Feather River are the diminutive Bushtits. Flocks of 30-40 swarm through the thickets, fleecing minute insects and aphid eggs from the branches. They busily stream along the river from bush to bush as if following the leader, and seem quite anxious not to be left behind. But sometime in spring, they too, feel the call to break away in pairs and silently plan to build their bag castle.

 

 

 When deer are chased by larger dogs it can be fatal. Deer have that quick burst of speed but not the stamina, and a pack of dogs can trail and catch them. Such was the case near the Feather River Nature Center once, and as the deer weakened, it swam out to the brink of the Fish Barrier Falls and stood at the edge, photographed by Loren Gill. On another occasion, dogs were chasing a deer and it ran right beside me, tongue hanging out, as if seeking my help, and I helped! When the bawling pack arrived, I flailed them with my walking stick! “Defend wildlife when you can!”