Open Season

It's open season here now. I could hear the crack of guns all day, coming from the woods that hedge up to my river-side office. I started singing loudly each time they popped, hoping to keep Snippet from hearing them, too. He didn't seem to notice either way---wasn't bothered at all. He hears a lot of strange noises in my office: the beeping fax machine, chainsaws chiseling through limbs slated for pruning, ladders banging, leaf blowers zooming over the driveways. He was unphased by the sound of firearms engaged in deer hunting, but I hated knowing he could hear it, so I sang loudly, or else chastised the hunters by yelling at the windows.

During the day, mother deer and their babies are separated while the mothers graze. Our groundskeepers often find the babies curled tightly in the grass, waiting out the long day. Then, their mothers return to nurse them in the late afternoon and stay with them through the night. We see single babies nearly just as often as we see twins.....lots of twins this year. The deer population has galloped out of control, so my employers finally allowed hunting on their property. Though the deer are beautiful, with their long white bouncing tails, they will be starving by February. We are hopeful that the hunting will humanely control their numbers. I understand that this is necessary, but it turns my stomach and my heart, even so.

I was nervous leaving work, worried that I would see that gorgeous young buck from earlier in the week, but instead of darting across the field, he would be stumbling, gut-shot across the road. My eyes wavered back and forth from the woods to the fields, watching for a spooked doe or frightened fawn. No sign of anything. Kept driving. And, then about 10 minutes later, I saw the first deer: just a tiny baby, nervously grazing by the roadside. He was too small to be out there eating alone. Why was he alone? He looked terrified of the traffic, but was brave enough to remain, nibbling at the grass, all by himself. I surprised myself by crying, when I saw him there all alone in the world. I could only draw the morbid conclusion that his mother had become some hunter's prize, off deeper into the forest, and his fear drove him out to the road.

He seemed to akin to my Snippet in that moment. Snippet, who, for the very first time, refused to nurse today. There have been times throughout his life when he wasn't interested at some specific moment, but would come around a little later. This time it was different. Now that he is 12.5 months old, and only nurses a few times through the day, it was a big deal for him to skip his afternoon nursing session. The last time he nursed was at Noon, just before his nap. By skipping his 3pm session, this meant he wouldn't nurse again until bedtime at 7:30pm---a long 7.5 hour gap, the kind of daytime gap that only older babies eating solids can sustain.

I was briefly sad when he refused to nurse, but being at work, I didn't have time to dwell in my sadness. As I drove past that little deer, all alone at the road, I couldn't stop crying. I know that Snippet is growing up, but he seems yet a baby, too. I am happy to see him accepting solids more readily, and I do feel a sense of pride that I have escorted him through this transition, difficult as it has been. But, I am also sad to see this move away from a baby's dependency. When he refused to nurse, he smiled at me and looked wistfully away at his room full of toys. I tried to tug him back a few times, just to make sure he knew he had the option, but he smiled again, and tugged away. I eased him up from my lap, and he went waddling off across the room. He came seeking snacks a little later, and happily gobbled up his Puffs. He made it to dinner time with no sign of regret.