The Deer of Radnor Lake

48 Creative Essay

The deer wasn’t dead when we found it. It lay in a light brown heap on the damp earth, breathing slowly, carefully. My uncle was the first to spot it. He always walked a few steps ahead so he could scout for wildlife to point out. On the day we found the deer, it was just me and him on the trail. Bulbous storm clouds had moved in over Tennessee earlier that day and the less adventurous members of our family had decided against hiking in the rain. But Uncle Jeff and I, we weren’t afraid of heavy weather.

As we started along the manmade trail that afternoon, Uncle Jeff said, “There’s no better time to come to Radnor than right before a storm.” He’d brought nothing with him other than a pair of antique binoculars that had belonged to my grandfather. They hung from a worn leather strap around his neck and bobbed with each step he took. We didn’t talk much. The woods demanded our silence.

Radnor Lake was located just outside Nashville, behind all the tourist attractions, garish souvenir shops, and college students clad in pink cowboy hats and matching, tasseled boots. A repose that none of the tourists even knew was there, which is why I liked it. The lake occupied the middle part of the preserve and several trails wove around it. We’d chosen the simplest, flattest trail because it was easy to traverse and offered a panoramic view of the lake as we walked along the paved path. The rain came not long after we started walking, heavy pellets that we heard hitting the lake but couldn’t feel. The trees above us created a canopy so dense that hardly a single drop was able to make its way through. I looked down at the umbrella in my hand that I’d taken along as a precaution. Now I wished I’d left it in the car.

“Probably won’t be many animals out today,” I said, voice raised over the rain. I tilted my head back and opened my eyes wide, taking in the sensation of being outside during a storm but protected, safe from its effects under a ceiling of leaves.

“You might be surprised,” Uncle Jeff said. “Animals are used to rain, and the trails are pretty empty. We might see some deer.” He held the binoculars up to his eyes, sweeping his body back and forth in great arcs so he wouldn’t miss a square inch of forest through the tiny, magnified lenses. I said, “You think these animals are still scared of people? I mean, they’re used to seeing them all the time. Like the squirrels and pigeons in New York City, they aren’t bothered by people.”

“Wild animals shouldn’t be used to people,” he said, “it doesn’t seem right.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly I felt wrong for being there. I hoped the animals would be hiding, that the rain would keep them inside their homes and maybe they wouldn’t even know we were there at all.

Abruptly, Uncle Jeff held up a hand and brought it to his lips, warning me to stay silent. I followed his gaze, trying to see what he saw. He was looking at a dense patch of bushes but I couldn’t discern anything interesting about them.

I whispered, “What is it?” Instead of answering, he grabbed the binoculars and peered through them again, taking a few steps forward. “Come here,” he said, and I followed quietly behind him. Half under a bush and half on the mulch trail lay a deer. I gasped softly when I saw it. I’d never seen a deer sleeping on the trail before.

But there was something wrong about the way the deer’s body was positioned. It wasn’t curled in on itself, hind legs resting comfortably under its haunches like they should have been.

“What’s the matter with it?” I asked, horrified. The deer’s belly was exposed, delicate and white, and it shuddered with each inhale. It was a female, I noticed, and she was clearly in pain. Her ears were pressed flat against the top of her head and her stubby white tail twitched every few seconds. Uncle Jeff didn’t speak, just pointed a trembling finger at a spot on the underside of the deer’s neck. A stick was protruding from it, knobby and nearly a foot in length. Blood dripped out of the wound onto the bright green leaves, turning them into a kind of macabre Christmas decoration. I wanted to ask my uncle how he thought it had happened, how that stick had become lodged in the deer’s

neck, but all I could do was look at her. I looked at the doe’s round, watery eyes and she looked right back, and it was like she was begging for something.

Uncle Jeff turned and began walking back towards the beginning of the trail. “We should let the Nature Center know. They probably have a protocol for situations like this.”

“Wait,” I called. The rain was getting heavier and a few drops were finally pushing their way through the canopy, landing on my skin in quick jabs. “Can we stay for a minute? I don’t want to leave her.”

His face softened. “Just for a minute.” I sat down on the ground, not caring that my pants and shoes were getting coated in mud. The deer was still looking at me with her big, begging eyes. I fought the urge to reach out my hand and rest it on the coarse fur of her back. I knew it wouldn’t do any good to touch her. “You’re gonna be fine,” I whispered. Her ears perked up at that. “You hear me, don’t you? You’re gonna be okay.”

The rain had crescendoed into a torrent. The pink umbrella was still clenched in my hand, useless. The canopy could only protect us for so long.

I turned towards my uncle. He stood, eyeing the scene below him with a mix of curiosity and pity. I asked him, “Have you ever seen Stand by Me?”

“The 80s movie? With River Phoenix?” “Yeah.” Jeff nodded. “Years ago, maybe. Why?” “There’s a scene in the movie where the main kid, Gordie, is camping in the woods and he finds this deer. Remember?”

“I think so. He doesn’t want to tell anyone he saw it, right?” “Exactly.” “I understand,” he said. He sat down next to me then, both of us soaked and freezing but not yet ready to turn the deer over to the park authorities.

The doe started breathing more shallowly then, each breath coming out in a little grunt. For a second I wondered if she was going to die right there, right in front of us, if she was going to let us be witness to that. I wondered if she had been waiting.

Suddenly I was thankful for the rain, thankful that it kept everyone away. I thought of the terrible commotion this deer would’ve caused if it had been a normal, bustling day at the lake. She was directly off the main trail and would have been easily spotted. I was glad it had been us. I was glad we were the ones who found the deer and not someone else because they would’ve ruined it. I was glad my uncle understood.

The deer looked at me. She hadn’t stopped looking at me. I stood slowly. “I think we should go. She’s not breathing too well. We should tell the Nature Center so they can help her.”

“We’ll tell them,” Uncle Jeff said, “but that stick is in there pretty good, you know?”

I didn’t answer. I wrapped the strap of my umbrella tightly around the palm of my hand and began walking towards the Nature Center. “We need to hurry.” *** When we got to the Nature Center, Uncle Jeff told the lady at the front desk everything we’d seen. She seemed a little shaken, as though things like this didn’t happen very often at Radnor Lake.

“Thank you for letting us know,” she said, a sad smile on her lips. “We’re going to contact animal control and see if there’s anything we can do to help her.”

I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. Maybe a guarantee that the deer was going to be okay. But I knew she couldn’t make a promise like that. I knew there was a chance the deer would die. I’d known that even when I’d made my own whispered promise.

“It’s a good thing you guys found her though,” the lady continued. She held a landline phone against her ear. “There weren’t many people out on the trails today. She probably wouldn’t have lasted long if it weren’t for you.” Before we left, Uncle Jeff grabbed a pamphlet from the top of the desk and wrote his phone number on the top. “Please let us know what happens to her. Can you do that?”

The lady hesitated. “I’ll try my best.” As we walked out the door and back into the rain, I turned and said, “Please call. We’d really like to know what happens.”

She gave a quick nod—too quick—and then the door clicked shut behind me. 49 Creative Essay