I was teaching a lesson to one of my adult students. It was his second time on a horse, and he was still riding with the earnest concentration of someone trying to remember which end is the front. Suddenly I called, "Whoa," and my ever-compliant mare stopped as if she had been waiting all day for the chance to show off her brakes.
"Look," I whispered, pointing.
My student let out a soft, reverent ahh, the kind usually reserved for fireworks or newborn babies. Two deer minced, yes minced, down the sidewalk of the newest housing development, tip-hoofing into a neighbor's backyard like they were late for a garden party.
Our acreage has been under siege since the day we moved in. At first, only a few houses dotted our dead-end street. Within a year, another side sprouted homes. Now, the last two borders of our property are in jeopardy. We are victims of living in an old logging town that is suddenly fashionable because it sits neatly between two major cities. Humans love convenience. Wildlife tolerates it.
New neighbors mean more riding students, but I will always welcome the wild neighbors who wander through. Over the years, the cast has been varied and delightful - like a nature-themed vaudeville troupe.
Birds of every feather visit. I am especially fond of the ones who nest in the arena rafters and barn beams. They are my unpaid, highly effective insect-control staff, chirping cheerfully as they work overtime.
Most years we have bunnies hopping across the property, performing their daily commute. I haven't seen any this years. The developer has already cleared the blackberry hedges that framed our land, and the rabbits have apparently unionized and refused to work without proper bramble coverage.
Earlier this year, a possum ambled across my lawn at dusk, looking like a small, elderly gentleman out for his constitutional. In years past possums have lived in the barn, and I welcome them. They keep the rodent population in check, and they never complain about the rent.
My son, who had property nearby, reported raccoons on his porch. They never visited me, possibly because the neighborhood cats have established a strict, "No Masked Bandits" policy.
Elk don't stay, but they cross behind our property nearly every fall, sweeping through like a migrating parade. That land is now slated for over a hundred homes, and I am not sure what will happen to the elk with their corridor blocked. In years past, when they were set to cross the road, the police would halt traffic, and give the herd right-of-way. It felt like the correct level of respect for creatures who look like they could be extras in a mythological epic.
About a decade ago, a friend who was custodian of the acreage below us came to warn that a cougar had brought down a deer in the back pasture. We appreciated the heads-up. Our horses were safe, but the message was clear: nature still had teeth.
We had leased that cougar territory for years, especially for our Exmoor Ponies. The Exmoors themselves could qualify as wildlife, just not North America natives. They are a breed officially categorized as "wild," and they take the designation seriously. All four of our ponies lived to old age, a beloved shaggy gang of characters.
When they lived on that pasture, they blended into the wild setting so well that the deer accepted them as honorary members. I would walk down to check on the ponies and discover I had acquired extra ones - slender, delicate, suspiciously deer-shaped ponies. They matched the Exmoors' coloring, and made use of the camouflage. It fooled me.
I believe the deer that the cougar took down would have survived if the Exmoors had still been in residence. My ponies were fierce protectors of their space, and none of them would have been easy targets. But the cougar had to eat, too. I respect that. I suspect the big cats still linger near the river, though their territory shrinks by the season.
Coyotes are plentiful. I often hear them singing at night. It is an enthusiastic, slightly chaotic choir. I think they will survive the development boom. They are crafty scavengers. Once I spotted what I thought was a grey dog enjoying the spoils of an odoriferous tipped garbage can. Only after I passed did I realize, "That wasn't a dog. That was a coyote having a lunch buffet in the center of town." As long as the White River runs nearby, coyotes will find a place to raise their families. I admire their flexibility.
The deer are not so lucky. They will likely be pushed out, though come autumn, they may return to nibble the windfall apples under our tree. I remember one lazy afternoon when a doe and her half-grown fawn felt so comfortable they lay down under our kitchen window by the tree where they had gorged on the fruit. We tiptoed around the house so as not to disturb their nap. I still hope they will return.
Our town is developing. More people. Fewer wild animals.
But on our property, the wild ones are welcome. Always.
