A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [79]
Then, abruptly, she sucked in a lungful of air, got her hands and heels beneath her, and scooted backward. The deer took a step toward her. She froze.
A deer. She didn’t know anything about deer. But it had horns—kind of—and it was bigger than she was, and wild animals were supposed to be afraid of people. This one didn’t look to be afraid of anything. Not daring to take her eyes off the creature, she swept her hands along the ground until they closed around a stick. It was a rather spindly stick, to be sure, and didn’t represent much in the way of defense, but it was better than nothing.
She got her feet under her, and slowly managed to stand. The deer watched her curiously. She backed away. The deer came closer. “Scat!” she cried, and raised the stick. “Go away! Shoo!”
The deer kept coming and she kept backing up. “I’m not kidding!” ’ she said. “Go on, get out of here.” And, because she didn’t really want to strike the animal, she threw the stick over its head, into the bushes, half expecting it to chase the stick like a dog.
But the distraction worked. The deer turned toward the sound of the stick striking the foliage, and trotted over to investigate. Apparently what he found was tasty, because he began stripping the leaves from the bushes. And while he was thus occupied, Lindsay hurried away.
She hadn’t gone a dozen yards before she heard hoof beats on the path behind her. She turned, jogging backward, to see the deer trotting after her. “You have got to be kidding me,” she gasped under her breath. She waved both hands and shouted, “Go away! Go home!”
The deer didn’t slow down. Glancing around desperately, she saw a tangle of vines and fallen trees to the right of the path. Quickly, she scrambled over and ducked down, hoping the deer would race past and be on about his business. The hoofbeats slowed. She heard the crunching of leaves with footsteps, and then silence. Cautiously, she peeked over the barrier . . . and looked straight into a pair of big brown eyes.
“I don’t believe this,” she said, breathing hard. “I seriously . . . do not . . . believe this.”
The deer thrust its nose forward in a nuzzling motion, and she shrank back. It took a bite out of a slender vine.
Lindsay eased over the deadfall, moving as slowly, and as quietly, as possible. “Good deer,” she whispered. The deer munched the vine, apparently oblivious. “Nice fellow. You just stay there.” She edged around the animal, not turning her back on it, and crept carefully back to the path. The deer did not look up.
And the minute she started down the path, the deer abandoned his grazing, and trotted over to follow her.
Lindsay stared at the deer. The deer stared back.
“I’m in a Disney movie,” Lindsay said, resigned.
The deer, somewhat to her surprise, did not respond. It simply followed her as she turned to make her way home.
Bridget was measuring the living room windows for draperies when the barking of the border collie alerted her to Lindsay’s return. She glanced out the window, saw Lindsay coming up the porch steps, and almost fell off the stepladder. Cici came from the workshop with an armful of quarter-round molding she had just cut for the sunroom, and saw the half-grown deer scramble up their back porch steps, while the dog stood in the middle of the yard, barking its annnoyance. The molding in her arms scattered on the ground. Noah, who was splitting wood at the hickory stump behind the house, paused in his work to watch the circus, and a slow grin spread over his face.
Lindsay tried to ease open the screen porch door, shouting, “Shoo! Shoo!” to the deer, who sniffed the floorboards with interest.
Cici bounded halfway up the steps, saw Lindsay trying to wave the deer back, and stopped short. “What in the world?” she asked.
Bridget came onto the screen porch from the kitchen. “Good heavens!” was all she said, and they stared.