And Too Many Deer
by Marjorie Davis
His voice was surly and insolent.
"I live in Glen Ellen on six acres of land," he began. "I saw your letter in the Sonoma Index Tribune about needing help to raise fawns."
"Oh, yes..." I began to answer.
He cut me off, then quickly went into his tirade. "Wait, I have something to say about what you do. There are already deer everywhere I look. They tromp around and eat whatever they please. The whole county is already overloaded and you go out and round up more to put out there to destroy everything. You think it's cute, raising little Bambies. You do-gooders are as bad as the deer. There are too many of you."
"Do you really think that's what Fawn Rescue is all about?" I asked, determined to keep calm. I had heard all this before.
"What we deal with is not cute little Bambies that we cuddle and play with. What we deal with are does killed on the road, leaving behind defenseless fawns. What we deal with is blood and broken bones, fleas and ticks crawling in our hair. Picking up a badly injured fawn that has been hit by a car and left to die slowly in the hot sun. What we do is cut down a fawn that has been hanging from a fence for hours."
I continued: "What would you suggest that we do about this? Is it okay with you for these animals to die an agonizing death?"
"We pick them up, get them to the nearest vet and put them out of their agony. Very few of them can be saved for release back into the wild. Most die, but because of Fawn Rescue they die quickly."
"Oh, I know, this gives you comfort and you feel so proud of yourself. This is your reward," he answered hatefully.
"Comfort? Rather than comfort, let me tell you about stress and exhaustion," I said. We have no time to think about feeling good when we pick up a fawn needing immediate attention. Yes, it's rewarding to know an orphaned fawn will live to go back out where it was born to be. That's our only reward."
"Did you know this is volunteer work? This is not a salaried job. Do you begrudge us a good moment to be glad we can help an animal?"
"And, by the way, these fawns are all born in Sonoma County, we don't add to the population. If humans hadn't interfered with their habitat and corridors, they would still be with the herd, living far away from your six acres. They have no place else to go. They instinctively try to survive just as you do. Is that so wrong?"
"I know you're volunteers and you need to stop it. You're making things worse. Those animals shouldn't be surviving, that's my point," he answered.
"Where are the mountain lions and the coyotes? Why aren't you out there helping predators to multiply so that they will kill off these deer?" the caller demanded.
I told him that he'd be the first one to scream for help if a coyote was seen in his yard.
"Yes, there needs to be a balance. But man is destroying the habitat of these large predators," I tried to explain.
"Why don't you call the Department of Fish and Game and make your suggestions known in a positive way?"
"Fish and Game?," he mocked. "They're a bunch of do-nothings. Any person that works for the county or state does nothing. They sit on their butts, that's all they're good for."
"So you don't like the do-nothings, or the do-gooders," I put in.
"I live near the game warden from this area. His truck never moves from his driveway. It's there night and day. He sits on his butt all day drawing a salary for nothing."
"Funny thing," I answered. "When I call for help, he is always quick to respond, so he does get off his butt and into the truck. You know, it's the fault of the public that the predator population is down. They constantly want everything shot, or removed that's in their space. Bears, mountain lion, coyotes, foxes, raccoons, even fawns. Where do you suggest they go? You live in the Valley. You can surely see the fences that are closing in the habitat. Is that okay with you?"
"I think I'd better just give you my name and telephone number and you can call me when you're ready to talk about changing your way of thinking, or if you think you can convince me to change mine," he replied.
I told him: "If you aren't ready to change now, you'll have to wait until something drastic happens to convince you. I'm not the one to do it."
The man gave me his number and name and hung up. Surely his time to learn will come.
Marjorie Davis is director of Wildlife Fawn Rescue in Kenwood, CA. She wrote this article for Wildlife Rehabilitation Today.