You'll Put Your Eye Out!!!

 One minute they were grooming and smooching, Ringo giving TinyTine a delightful massage with teeth and tongue, and the next thing I knew, Ringo was all of a sudden sorta jabbing TinyTine in the neck. You liked the massage? How you like this? Bucks will be bucks.

 

And the poky-jabby move morphed into a push-fight.

 I hope you click on these and view them all larger, because my eyes, at least, aren't good enough any more to see the detail at this size. Look at TinyTine's eye in the photo below. (he's the right hand animal). It's shut. I have seen enough buck sparring matches now to get really nervous about the combatants' big vulnerable eyes. I wonder why I don't see more bucks with one eye, the way those tines rattle and thrust around. Maybe there's something in the architecture to spare their eyes when they're locked together, but it makes me extremely antsy to watch these matches.

 

The other thing that makes me nervous is the possibility that their antlers will lock together. Then what do I do? Go out and throw a tarp over them and take a hacksaw to them? Arrgh. What an awful thought, and far too dangerous to mess with. You could really get banged up getting in the middle of two terrified, locked-together bucks. It'd be like climbing into a Cuisinart.

So I watch these matches with a mixture of excitement and anxiety, hoping nobody gets his eye poked out, or worse. Obviously, Lil' Pisser is watching with some concern as well!

I love this portrait of the three of them. TinyTine on the left; Ringo on the right, and Lil' Pisser in the middle, right where he likes to be, alla time. Do you know how lucky I feel to be able to witness stuff like this?

 

This is what it looks like from the couch. Thanks to Bill for this shot of the deerstalker, stalking deer from inside the big heated blind! Most of my sessions are done around daybreak. I look out, see deer, throw on a bathrobe and go. I usually freeze my tuchis off in the process. 

Worth it, though, because the deer never know they're being watched, and they do whatever they do, which is exactly what I want them to do. 

Sorry to dash the vision of anyone who thought I get shots like this while wearing a ghillie suit and jungle-crawling through the little bluestem.

 

Do click on this one, to see TinyTine (on left) get a prong-scrape to his jaw. That HAS to hurt! I just hate the idea of fighting with your head. I would make a lousy whitetail buck. I'd be all, "You two fight it out. I'm gonna see if I can find a doe while y'all are going at it." I understand that young bucks do exactly that, with some success. :)

 

And click on this one, to see what I mean about the eyes being so vulnerable.  I do love how Lil' Pisser watches so intently. He's picking up pointers, for sure.

 

 It's hard to believe that TinyTine and Ringo had that tender couple of minutes earlier, as Tiny drives Ringo to the ground. Tiny is long and rather short-legged, but he's got tremendous hindquarters and a lot of strength. He's clearly besting Ringo here. If I had to guess I'd say Lil' Pisser is rooting for Ringo. He looks quite concerned.

 

 Tiny keeps driving, and Ringo is still down.

Finally, Ringo breaks, and Lil' Pisser leaps backward, too, as the clinch explodes in a defeat for Ringo. 

 I don't care who wins. I'm just glad nobody got hurt. You'll put your EYE out!!

 The two pals became combatants. And not long afterward, they went for Round Three! I couldn't get good shots that round because they were too far down the slope. Clearly, Ringo hadn't had enough.

 I was about to say I don't know how we got so lucky as to have all this fabulous buck action in the meadow. But I give all the credit to my little gal Flag, for stinkin' up the place and bringing them into the ring.
Now I'm curious as all getout to see if Flag turns up with a late fawn in August!

So the story goes, on and on. I love a story that goes on.

photo by Bill Thompson III

This post is dedicated to the memory of my Canon 7D, seen here in use, which probably made more than 250,000 photos for me and you before giving up the ghost on January 24, 2019. It was not performing very well, having increasing trouble seeing and tracking birds in flight, and its low-light performance was flagging. A probably minor issue with the SIM card slot (I couldn't get it in or out!) was simply not worth repairing, given that the camera is pretty much done for. It went to South Africa three times, to Ecuador twice; to Costa Rica four times; it gave us Jemima and Chet and all the beautiful birds and butterflies of Indigo Hill and surrounds. So when I couldn't re-insert the memory card, I knew it was time. I called Sonnie the Canon/Sony Guy at Midwest Photo Exchange, who knows me and what I do, and asked him what I wanted. What a thrill, to recognize his voice the second he picked up the phone! The entire transaction was finished in minutes, though we spent quite awhile catching up on other fronts. Gosh, it's lovely to just cut to the chase, eliminate the research, pick up the phone and ask Sonnie what to buy. My Canon 80D  (I like saying it because it sounds like Canon ADD) camera body arrived the next day (Jan. 25) and I've been having a blast test-driving it. Photos soon to follow. 

Because life without wildlife photography is just breathing, eating, pooping and sleeping. Thank you, 7D, for all the memories. 

Shooting a glorious sunbittern at Villa Lapas, Costa Rica. Trying hard to remember who took this. And it was Amy Girten, my dear love. Thank you. Glad to smoke you out. And yes, I remember dropping my iPhone 4 down over the bank onto rocks, and the sweet guide who retrieved it for me!

Who Was That Young Buck?

The whole time I watched my Christmas buck, the little voice was talking to me, tugging at my sleeve.

You know this boy. You know who he is. You know his mama.

I trust it won't sound silly to regular readers when I say his face looked familiar. After all, it's my self-proclaimed job to notice things. To make connections. To see a doe trying to cross the road at an odd time of day, and put it together that she's approaching a plaster lawn ornament wearing taped-on antlers that, in her hormonal haze, looks mighty fine to her.  Connecting the dots.

I studied the buck's face, his way of moving, and his behavior and yes. I know him. I know him from before.

Ellen the crooked doe showed up early this year, October 15, 2015. We were so glad to see her. Haven't seen her again, but we're waiting. She first showed up on our property in March 2009. She's getting on for a whitetail. We usually don't see her before November. But there was no mistaking her crooked face, even at a huge distance. Bill called it first as we stood in the tower, taking in the fall splendor. "That's got to be Ellen!"
The telephoto confirmed his hunch.

Here she is from January 29, 2015, her first appearance last winter. But then, it's been so warm this December, she probably hasn't missed her corn, and I haven't thrown any out yet. This photo comparison makes me smile. Compare her ears and the tilt of her head in this and the shot just above. Yep.

So, thinking out loud, I called up some photos of Ellen from February 2015. There she was with her son of the year, who'd been born in April or May 2014. 

She was pushing him around on this snowy cold day, wanting him out of her way. 

Bopping him with a front-hoof kick now and then. He didn't seem perturbed. And I saw something in this photo that made me stop.

 Look at the little buck's feet. See anything unusual?

What? The white lightning stripes between his toes? All my kids have those. Very astute of you, Zick.

Now, the 2014 buck would be about 19 months old right now. Let's take a look at him. Notice anything? Oh look. White lightning on his toes. Great big grin.

As I said in the last post, the number of tines on a buck's antlers aren't as indicative of his age as is his body structure. But I'm thinking this fine high 8-point rack is stretching it for a 19 month old buck, no matter how well-fed. It's not impossible but highly unlikely that a 19-month old buck would be this magnificently crowned. Let's look at another of Ellen's children, another buck, born May 2013. He'd be 2 1/2 years old now. 

True to form, Ellen's bopping him. First, she lays back her ears as best she can and gives him an ugly look.

January 31, 2014

Here's the windup...

And the kick. Bap! 

And bap! again!

I can't see much of his toes, the snow being deep and the angle wrong, but it looks to me like he might have a lightning stripe on his right rear foot in the photo above.

What I like about the 2013 model buckchild in the sequence above is his dark forehead. Darker than his mama's. The 2014 buck has a pale forehead. That dark forehead, and the white toe stripes...it makes me think.  He's awfully familiar, walks around the yard under the feeders as if he's been here before. Even though there was no corn when he visited, he went to all the spots where I used to throw it.

Wild things hold their secrets close. But if you're kind to them, and give them a reason to come visit, sometimes you can be privy to their secrets. I have a feeling this buck is Ellen's child.

February 16, 2015--A young buck visits, with fresh pedicels from antlers already dropped. Dark forehead-check.

White lightning--check. 

That was you, my beauty. Whenever you were born, I think your mama's Ellen. And I think that's why you come here for a snack of corn. Come again soon.

Hide when the hunters come in November. Come back out to see me when all is quiet.

 I'll tell your story as best I can.

And if you see Ellen, tell her I love her, and I said hello.

Will do, Nice Snack Lady With Large Tracts of Land.

My Christmas Buck

 I was in the studio, working away, when I realized it was time to go pick Liam up at the bus stop, about 15 minutes away. I looked out into the yard to see who was around the feeders, as I do perhaps 50 times a day. And I caught a glimpse of bone-white shining in the tall sumac behind our blue spruce.

My antler-seeking laser homed in on what looked like a smallish, but very nice buck. But he was obscured. Being a buck, I figured he'd stay that way, so I got up in one fluid motion, grabbed the big rig, trained the Canon 7D on him, and started shooting. This might well be the best shot I'd get.  I was trying to count tines, in case he decided to go deeper into the woods.

To my delight and amazement, he came forth from the north border. Eight points! 

I can count the adult bucks I've seen in our yard on one hand. I see them way out in the meadow and orchard, and sometimes up under the pear tree, but only once have I gotten a halfway decent buck photo from the house, and that was many, many years ago, with an Olympus point and shoot. 

Lord have mercy, he's coming out!

The thing that amazed me most about this is that a buck this fine made it through this hunting season, which by any measure was horrific. Horrific in number of people firing guns from 45 minutes before daylight until well after dark, in a ring all around our 80 acres. By the eighth day of that I was on the ragged edge. I couldn't run any of my regular routes. The two times Chet and I tried to run out on our road, we came back thoroughly terrorized by the fusillade. One good thing: I didn't hear any shots from our land, which is posted. In the past, that has done us little good, but this year was different.

This buck feels safe here, that's clear to me.  To be able to look at him at leisure, to shoot portraits of him, was a rare gift, and one not wasted on me. There is very little the natural world gives that is wasted here. I use every moment all up.

 The time to leave to pick up Liam came and went. He's old enough now to wait at the corner; the bus driver won't insist on taking him to the bus garage because no parent showed up to get him. I'd text him when I was done, let him know what was up. He knows I get tied up sometimes...often...

As I squeezed off frame after frame, I let my eyes run over his well-fleshed form. He looks young to me, maybe only 2 1/2 years old. He's had a good start in life. His coat is smooth and shiny. No scars mark his perfect flanks.  He doesn't look like he's known privation.

I think he's young, too, because his neck is not swollen; his facial profile is more like a does'; dished, not Roman-nosed. He doesn't look massive through the chest just yet. He just looks fat. He doesn't look like he ran himself ragged in the rut. He looks like he smiled at the ladies, let the big bucks do the chasing, and ate right through it. 

The number of tines on the antler doesn't mean a whole lot; ageing deer is more a body mass thing. I'd be happy to hear from anyone more knowledgeable, though, on your guess as to his age. Paco?

Anyone? There's always someone more knowledgeable out there. That's why we speak in quiet voices.

I found only one imperfection, and that was a hole on the underside of his left antler, a gouge, which probably happened when the antler was in velvet, and soft and vulnerable. It had long scarred over.

His antlers, not enormous or massive in the beam yet, but his tines are long, high and proud. He's a beauty. He's perfect. And he's nosing around for bird seed under my Colorado blue spruce. I couldn't be more tickled!

He fixed a liquid eye on my beloved Japanese Stewartia treeling, which I've been growing for five years, from a tiny seedling. I only planted it out in fall 2014, and it wintered over fine, grew a lot this summer, and got some nice fall color, too!

He made as if to browse a tip, a tip that might just have a camellia like flower next spring, that is if he doesn't browse it off. EEEEP!!! I considered tapping on the window, but that seemed so crass. 

I sent him my best nonononono telepathy, and he dropped his head and ate some spicy creeping Charlie instead.  Just messin' wit ya.  Oh, the curl and sweep of those antlers. How I'd love to find them, cast off, in February. I'd know them in an instant.

What was really cool about this whole exchange was that I was pretty sure he could see me, standing just inside the studio window. He looked at me, and right into my soul. I could see the small scar on the underside of his left antler beam. 

If you would please throw some more millet and sunflower and corn on the ground, I would definitely leave your tree alone. Maybe you could buy some cracked corn like you did last year. I like cracked corn. 

I used to come here in the daytime a lot last year, but you wouldn't have known it was me.  I'd come out in the daytime this year, too, if you'd leave me snacks. 

 I also very much appreciate this heated dish you put out for me not long ago. I liked it last winter, too.  I'm the one who's been drinking it down in the dark. It's going to be especially nice when everything else freezes up.

My inner chimp was pant-hooting, seeing this magnificent beast ambling around the side yard as if he owned the place, at 3:30 in the afternoon on December 11. We've lived here since 1992, and I've never had a big buck do this. Ever.

He made a thrillingly close pass, and looked me right in the eye as he came by.

So. We understand each other? Your part: Corn.  Fresh clean water. Apples, maybe. 

My part: Daytime visits, thrilling you with my antlertude. At least until they fall off. 

Oh, and thank you for the sanctuary in the holler to the west. I may be young, but I'm not stupid. I found a  good place to hide last week.

And off he walked, leaving me breathless and grinning like a fool. 

I texted Liam on my way to the car. I'd be about 10 minutes late.

 He understood. He's been  

my boy for 16 years.

Next: Bucky, I believe we've met before...