It’s unexpected.  That the plight (already resolved) of a wild baby animal should hold my thoughts captive for two days was not something I would have thought possible.

But, there it is.

Friday, being sunny, was mowing day.  The rainy weather of the last couple of weeks here in northwest Arkansas made it inescapable for me.  So, I did what had to be done.

The storms have dropped myriad small branches from the oaks and maples that dot the property, so that was the first item of business.  Pick up the limbs.  The Lovely Lady assisted me, wandering over the half-acre plot of weeds and grass in an undisciplined manner, bending occasionally to lift up the errant twigs and switches.

She avers that she had passed through the same area herself just minutes before I did.  I’m sure she did.  Camouflage is a wondrous thing.

As I leaned under the shade of the chestnut tree to snag a dead branch, I started back.  A little fawn lay there, white speckles on a field of brown, its black nose nestled between tiny front hooves.

I took the flexible branch I had just picked up and tapped the beautiful tiny deer on the haunches.  Eyes open, it moved its head and front leg an inch or so, but no more.  It didn’t even seem to be aware of me.

Oh, no!  It must be injured.  Or sick.  The thought took hold, and sadness grabbed my spirit.

I tried to think what to do.  Perhaps a wild animal rescue organization could help.  Maybe animal services for the city.

I stood for at least two or three minutes, just watching the fawn.  Wait!  I was missing something.

What about the mother?  Surely, there was a doe around somewhere.  Why would it abandon its baby?

I looked around, but saw no other wildlife.  There was no doe to be seen.

Abandoned. 

The poor baby must be a hopeless case, and the mama knew it.

I knew I would have to do something.  I could call someone to come and help.  But before I did that, I did one other thing.  Just to be sure.

Taking the flexible branch I held in my hand, I reached down and tapped the poor baby solidly.  Not enough to hurt it, but sufficient that it would definitely feel it.

Oh!  The squeal that came from its open mouth would have awakened the dead!  I jumped back.

The fawn leapt to its tiny feet clumsily, terror written in its beautiful brown eyes.

Two things happened in quick succession.  The tiny thing dashed across the neighbor’s yard, running into the chain link fence on the other side.  But, before it could get even that far, a smallish, light brown doe appeared in the field behind me.

Not abandoned!

Watched over.

Within seconds, the sweet fawn was reunited with its mother, trotting back into the trees that line the back of the meadow that abuts our property.

I said that my thoughts have occupied me for the two days since.  I’m conflicted.  Two things strike me about the event.

The first is my unhappiness at being the thing that terrified the sweet baby.  That squeal fills my memory, playing again and again in my head.

It’s almost like the feeling I had the morning years ago in the music store as I showed a sweet young girl the various instruments she had learned about from listening to a recording of Peter and the Wolf.

I demonstrated the different instruments that signified well-loved creatures and people in the story.  Then proudly, I told her I was a French horn player, only to see the shock and worry jump to her eyes as she digested the reality that I was the wolf.

No!  I am not the wolf.  I am not the villain!.  I’m the good guy—the one who wants to help, who wants to fix things.

But, imagine being that little fawn and waking up with a monster standing over you, holding a stick.

You went to sleep, knowing your mom was watching over you.  In safety and comfort, you lay down and, trusting the one you had always found to be trustworthy, you slept.

“In peace I will lie down and sleep,
    for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.” 
(Psalm 4:8, NLT)

And yet, there is that monster…

I’m not going to dwell on that.  It’s a reality that I live with, the knowledge that I’m not the good guy.

Not yet.

Even now, He is making me in His Image spiritually, just as He did physically in the beginning.

“And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.” (2 Corinthians 3:18b, NLT)

But, that second thing my brain is considering—sleeping in peace and being watched over—that has been working, not only in my brain, but in my heart for the last couple of days.

I watched that doe materialize instantly as the fawn screamed its prayer to the sky, and there was no mistaking the meaning.

We can sleep in peace.

The monsters, even the well-meaning ones, who think they know better than our Creator, who believe we are gods ourselves, cannot harm us as we rest in Him.

Our Father watches over us.  Even as he does the sparrows—and the fawns, He stands guard.

And He is faithful.  Every morning, His mercies are renewed to us.

Every morning.

Strength for today.

Bright hope for tomorrow.

It’s time for sleep.

Rest.

 

“Have peace now… until the morning! Heed no nightly noises! For nothing passes door and window here save moonlight and starlight and the wind off the hill-top. Good night!”
(Goldberry in The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien)

 

“You can go to bed without fear;
    you will lie down and sleep soundly.
You need not be afraid of sudden disaster
    or the destruction that comes upon the wicked,
for the Lord is your security.
    He will keep your foot from being caught in a trap.”
(Proverbs 3:24-26, NLT)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2025. All Rights Reserved.