A move, a woodland creature, a tropical storm

In one week.  ONE WEEK.

What I expected was “hey, welcome to country life. We know you’re new to this whole I Have A Farm thing so we’ll take it a little slow. Relax, open a beer and enjoy the peace and quiet. Go on, build a bonfire, make some smores. It’s all good, dawg “

 

Okay, day one seems to be going well

What I got was “Oh good, you’re here. Listen, I know you don’t even know which box your raincoat is in but there is a tropical storm headed your way in, um . . . let me just check the radar. . . oh yeah, now.  There is an unfortunate doe in the drainage ditch in front of your house who appears to have been on the receiving end of a front bumper and when you go investigate you will find a day old fawn bleating pathetically nearby. And just one more little tiny thing, that cranky thoroughbred over there is going to kick the living snot out of your right leg (double barrel, even) because he wants to be in the other paddock. Ok, so . . . welcome!”

Here she comes!

 

After the swelling went down. Horses.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. More wine in, deep breath out.

Ever try convincing 3 teenage girls that they can’t keep a cuddly little fawn that is trying to nurse on everyone’s neck?

DD #3 with the baby

DD #1 bonding

“Pleeeeease???? Look, he loves us!”

Ugh, someone get this knife out of my heart. He was awfully cute and I admit I toyed momentarily with the idea. I mean, c’mon, just look at him.

But then reason grabbed me by the hair and said “Get it together, woman! You can’t keep this adorable, snuggly, loveable little baby. You don’t even have a place to keep it safe from predators. Now get your butt in gear and come up with a better plan before I have another tropical storm sent your way!” So I did.

He was delicious.

Kidding. I will likely never be able to eat venison again. I called the emergency wildlife number and they gave me the name of a fawn rescue in Wilmington. We loaded up little Walter and drove the 2 hours so he would have the best chance of a safe and happy life. Those people know their stuff and in no time had him drinking happily from a bottle (not as easy as it sounds).  He will spend the next 4 months growing with the other fawns and then move to a different rescue where he will be transitioned back into the wild in a protected area.

DD at the rescue, they see a bottle and come running!

It feels good to know we did the right thing, and now we can go back to figuring out farm life.

I will be busy trying to remember which box I packed my sanity in.