Janice and I had a close encounter with a bunch of deer last Friday. It was by appointment.
Our friend Don has started a deer farm. He’s been ready for his ruminant residents for months now, but the state ag and natural resources held a long turf war about which entity should have jurisdiction over what aspects of such enterprises, delaying the arrival of the deer by months. He was supposed to receive seven pregnant does in the spring. What he got instead, in late July, was those seven does and their ten fawns.
The pens he built for them are impressive—the fence posts especially. He made them from retired utility poles, cut in half the short way. He used tree planting machinery to set them in the ground. The wire part of the fencing is so shiny it looks like stainless, and it extends way up from the ground. It has to. We’ve seen deer at Daughter Number One’s house clear five-foot fences from a standing start.* And, speaking of impressive jumps, this whole deer operation is a leap of faith, not expected to generate any income for the first four years.
Some of Don’s deer developed illness at the time of transit to their new quarters. Treatable, but treatment is injections on five successive days. Don and his helpers are getting good at catching deer. So far, Don says, the best method for catching an adult deer has been to get her into the horse barn and turn out the lights. Then a helper shines a light at the deer and Don injects the animal while it’s in deer-in-the-headlights mode. All concerned will be glad when the treatment period is over.
Janice and I asked him if he’s naming the deer. He’s said he’s trying not to, but that it’s hard not to. As of our visit, he was referring to individual animals by the color and number of their ear tags. He and his helpers spend a lot of time observing the herd. One helper in particular likes to get up early, fix himself some coffee, and go watch the deer for a couple hours.
The observation is necessary. Horses are handled every day. Deer are not. The way to tell if a deer is injured or ill is to watch. Of course, watching them reveals their personalities as well. All of the does just had fawns. Not all are equally excellent mothers.
An indifferent mother was in an isolation pen with her baby, whose injections weren’t finished yet. He was hungry, but she wasn’t much inclined to feed him. In the main pen, a doe Don called a super mom was pacing the fence line, trying to gain access to that fawn. The super mom nurses not just her two babies, but four more as well, including the one in isolation, and she wanted to feed him.
Another fawn was isolating in a stall in the barn, and Don said we could pet that one. This would be a fourth time he’d caught that one for treatment. A zoo program on TV once showed aerial footage of staff capturing some exotic ruminant. The animal careered around a wooden enclosure with such speed that it was running on the walls, not the floor.
So did this fawn. Don caught it pretty directly, and cradled it in his arms. “You can pet it now if you want to,” he said quietly. “I’m holding on to his back legs.”
We absolutely did want to, and the deer baby seemed perfectly calm about whatever was going to happen next. No panting. No pounding heart. He trained his big dark eyes on us with interest. I petted the little fellow and learned that the hair on his back was a bit coarse but not wiry and that the hair on his tummy is softer. He didn’t draw away from my touch.
Janice took a moment getting her phone ready for a selfie, and while she was distracted, the deer decided to see what she felt like. The long-lashed baby reached over and licked Janice’s face. And he must have enjoyed the experience, as the baby leaned over again and took another taste.
She said it felt like being licked by a puppy, albeit a big one. Yeah, Don, we wish you a lot of luck in not giving names to the cervids you have added to your life.
31 July 2026
*Through study and discussion with other people who raise deer, Don has learned that it’s important not to spook penned deer because they can panic, run right into the fences, and break their necks.