Last week’s column recalled death on Angelkeep ground as a result of deer being the losers from an encounter with a massive railroad locomotive. Death at Angelkeep always remains a constant from the slap of a fly swatter to the gulp of a fish going head first down the long neck of a great blue heron. Hawks of all sizes, like the two-foot-plus hawk appearing recently, swept in for the singular purpose of finding live animals for its food supply. God-created nature included a cycle of life. That must be understood to fully enjoy it, even its deaths.
Witnessed deaths at Angelkeep typically come with an instant of image. Some are limited to the seconds needed to fully swallow a kicking frog disappearing down the long beak of a heron. A yellow jacket’s demise at the stroke of a swatter takes but two seconds. One stroke down, one stroke horizontal, ridding the table of one more yellow jacket. It’s about the only animal despised by Angelkeep’s columnist.
Wasps are feared, but few attack. Even with Angelpond’s habitat, mosquitoes are few, and if palm-slapped, it is but a knee-jerk reaction, fully provoked. Feathered friends and dragonflies take care of most of that annoyance. Death by digestion.
Ant deaths are typically accidental steps. Ants have been observed dragging a deceased comrade across the patio cement. Angelkeep’s assumption was that the ant was not intending a burial but a buffet. Are ants cannibalistic with their own?
Antpestcontrol.com stated “in most cases, it happens when it’s an ant from another colony.”
Pest controller, termmax.net, contradictorily published, “No, this is a myth. They actually will bury their dead to protect against disease.”
The truth? A Few Good Men have stated “You can’t handle the truth.” But ants are a diversion of the death this column intended to focus on. We’ll save ants for another day.
Angelpond was dug in 1999, filled with water in Y2K. Since then the threat of a visiting animal going through the ice seemed alarming. A meandering cat known for being the first animals to cross Angelpond’s ice each winter once jumped off the pier and went through the too-thin ice layer. The incident proved that cats’ nine lives included swimming ability. It swam to the shore, breaking the ice skim with each stroke.
In the latest past winter’s final days a doe munched on an arborvitae shrub between the patio and Angelpond. Snow fell as wet groundcover that also blanketed the doe’s back and head. A camera auto-focused on the action in video mode. The doe circled while munching, ending with its hind legs on the slope of ground at the pond’s edge. Suddenly it slide downward, out of sight.
A race to a bedroom window allowed a new view of the doe half submerged with front legs and head on land. It frantically attempted to jump out, failing several times. Video rolled once again. At the same time thoughts flashed as to who to call for help. Police? Animal shelter? Fire department? God was petitioned.
Then with a short, frigid rest the doe lunged again, all caught on video. This time it gained some footage. Hoof contact with mud under the pond, inspired repeated frantic 4-legged leaps. Persistence succeeded. The doe soon stood dripping muck, scum, ice, and water along the bank of Angelpond. Like the cat of years ago, this doe refused to be drowned by Angelpond. Thank you Lord.
The doe climbed to level ground. Ten feet from the living room window, it stood in somewhat of a trance for about an hour. A younger deer, presumably her yearling, who had witnessed the near drowning, came to her rescue and began licking off mud and ice to cleanse its mother’s hind legs and rump. Mamma licked her own sides and forelegs, even as the falling snow again built a blanket on her back.
Watching a doe’s life flash before your eyes was not an experience desired to repeat ever again. The heroic, self-saving, leaping frenzy, while not wanting to be ever repeated, will forever be remembered. Her thrill of escape could not have been any greater than my own as only an observer. Same true for her yearling. The recovery period and clean-up shared by mother and child was a testament to the truth that animals do experience a bonding and a form of family love.
“The Lord’s eye is on the sparrow,” likewise on the doe.
What a horrific observation experience it had been.
What an awesome reminiscence it became.
Mr. Daugherty is a Wells County resident who, along with his wife Gwen, enjoy their backyard and have named it “Angelkeep.”
