Heading up Millstream Road last week, I was startled by the sight of a large black dog running toward us beside the road.
The dog wasn’t trotting casually — it was barrelling along in utter panic, barely keeping ahead of the blacktail doe that was right on its tail. The dog’s look was one of terror; the doe’s demeanour definitely inclined toward canicide.
We couldn’t see where the pursuit started, but the deer likely had a fawn nearby and was protecting its offspring from the dog. We didn’t see how it ended — we were going one way and the fracas was moving rapidly in the opposite direction.
The word “nature” easily prompts a mental image like a scene from a Disney film: a sunny meadow in which gentle deer are browsing, birds are sweetly singing and colourful butterflies are flitting about, all to the strains of Morning Mood from Peer Gynt playing in the background.
But that is the human interpretation of the scene. We don’t see the violence, the battles, the intrigues and the utter heartlessness that can be found in nature.
The deer can turn vicious, as we learned, or became prey for cougars. The sweet songs of the birds can be mating calls, but often they’re saying: “This is my territory — just keep flying or you’ll have to deal with me.”
A birdhouse at the corner of our yard was occupied two years in a row by wrens. This year, the violet-green swallows got there first and raised at least one brood. After the swallows had cleared out, I noticed a wren go into the birdhouse with twigs and emerge with its beak full of grass, which it dumped over the fence. It darted in and out several more times as it cleaned out the old grass and carried in clean twigs.
You know the drill — you’re all set to move into a new place and find you have to clean up after the previous tenants. Sometimes it’s hard to get good renters.
While the wren was working, a hairy woodpecker was sitting on the nearby fence watching. As soon as the wren darted off into the forest, the woodpecker flew up to the birdhouse and started pecking away at the opening, as if to enlarge it so it could move in. I’m going to keep a close watch — this could turn into a good turf war.
Hairy woodpeckers are not to be trifled with. As purple finches helped themselves to sunflower seeds in our feeder one day, a hairy woodpecker flashed past the window, striking a finch, which I found belly-up on the deck, twitching its last twitches. I’m guessing the woodpecker regarded the finch as a competitor.
It’s not hard to witness battles in nature. Walking along Blanshard Street one day, I heard a commotion in the sky and saw an eagle being pestered by dozens of gulls. For good reason — the eagle had a gull clutched in its claws.
Four deer ambled through our yard, one a fawn that still had its spots. It danced toward a buck, obviously looking to play. The buck, quite likely the fawn’s father, swung at the fawn with his velvet-covered antlers and then lashed at it with its front hooves. Bambi’s encounter with his father was probably not based on a true story.
We humans are fond of overlaying our emotions on birds and animals, but they are guided by reproductive and survival instincts, not noble sentiment. That does not mean we should not appreciate nature or treat it with respect. On the contrary, the more we know about nature, the more fascinating it becomes.
The fact that a bird sings to ward off rivals makes it no less pleasing to me. Knowing that a blossom is designed simply to attract pollinating insects does not detract from its beauty. I like it when I walk to my car and the deer at the edge of the driveway don’t even bother to run away. They just watch me calmly.
I used to think it was because we had a rapport. “We can get along with this human,” they seemed to say.
Now, after seeing a doe attack a dog, I’m not so sure, but that doesn’t take away the wonder.
