BIGGIE and ME
Preface
This is a story about how a man and a wild animal came to be good friends. It is a true and heartwarming account about my friend Biggie, a Mule Deer Alpha Buck, and how our relationship developed. By learning to share the land and it's bounties, we ultimately learned to accept one another into our respective worlds.
In the Bible we are told of how man and animals were intended to live amongst each other in peace, and how Bible prophecy promises that in a post apocalyptic world this will come to be. Perhaps some of us have been fortunate enough to experience, in some small but significant way, what our world was and is intended to be like.
Certainly, no man can live with or among animals for any length of time and not learn much about himself and about the animal kingdom. I'm not an expert on animal behavior, but I have been blessed to have a few profound experiences that no institute of higher education can match. These experiences were, as the reader will learn, "meant to be" whether by an act of God or some other force beyond normal human control and instinct. I sincerely do not believe that "chance" played any major part in the animal relationships that were formed over the 9 year span of this story.
I would also like to acknowledge and thank the following individuals who helped in more ways than one, to bring this work to the universe.
Eileen, my wife and best friend of over 40 years.
Dr. Laura Deghetaldi, a dedicated and loving wild and domestic animal rescuer and rehabber who selflessly donates her land, her time and her own money to care for orphaned, injured or ill animals.
Rick Basagoitia, Division of Wildlife Officer who helped me keep a watchful eye on Biggie.
Tina Jungwirth, Division of Wildlife Officer who brought me a precious gift.
Ed "Mulara" Drury, an experienced and able writer (and an accomplished musician) who allowed himself to be roped in to assist me with my shortcomings as an author.
My Aunt Louise Frey, author of several books and supporter and editorial assistant in this effort.
I dedicate this book to my good friend of 9 years "Biggie", a.k.a. "Big Boy," a.k.a. "Biggie Deer Boy." All profits from the sale of this book, or donations received by those wishing to do so are to be donated to either our local animal rehabilitation facility, the Greenwood Wildlife Rehabilitation Center, and/or our local Humane Society.
Chapter 1 It was meant to be
Since 1960 we had lived in the same older, 1930's stone and frame house. That was nearly 30 ago. It was there that we raised a son and two daughters. It seemed like they were grown and gone in mere moments. It was also there that we raised a pair of baby Robins to adulthood. They had been abandoned in their nest in one of the smaller trees in our tiny yard. That experience was an unexpected mountain of work, yet it was very rewarding and not without fun moments to be shared along the way.
We ran a small business from our home, using a converted detached 2-car garage as our workshop, with office space in the house. With the kids gone and more house than we needed, it was time to look for new housing. We had been talking to my parents about perhaps moving them in with us when we found appropriate housing. They were, after all, advancing in years, and though we didn't know it at the time, Mom was in the early stages of Alzheimer's disease. We needed something that would allow 2 families and a small business, perhaps a farmhouse with a bit of land, yet close enough to town for easy access to health care.
We searched for 5 or 6 months and we just couldn't find anything that felt like home and fulfilled all our other requirements. I think our realtor was ready to give up. One day she just blurted out something to the effect "why don't we drive around, and you show me something that looks like what you want?" That was all I needed. I had just the house in mind, but I knew that it surely wasn't for sale, and even if it were it would most certainly be out of our price range. I took her by another old 1930's stone house that was just a few blocks away. It was a beautiful old English Tudor, looking out over the entire valley and the Flatirons as well, with a nice southern exposure. She made a few notes and we concluded the search for that day. We didn't have any more showings that day, but the very next day we had made appointments to look at 2 or 3 more. Our realtor, whose name was Hope, also informed us that we had another house to look at that day, and much to our surprise, it was the old stone Tudor that we had driven by the day before. She said it might already have a contract on it, but we should look anyway, especially since I had been by the house so many times, wishing I could see inside. I was both excited and yet reserved, knowing that any chance of getting that house would be slim, and additionally, it probably wouldn't fit all of our criteria anyway.
Our first showing was the old stone house that we felt compelled to see, if for no other reason than we had always wanted to see it. We met the realtor early that August morning and we took a slow tour of the half-acre grounds. It quickly became apparent that the place had been unattended for some time, but yet the grounds surrounding the house held a certain inviting charm, if not suffering lack of care. What a gorgeous view this place had and there were several mature trees and shrubs strategically placed to avoid blocking too much of the view. Some 60 years earlier the builder had selected this spot for obvious reasons. Sitting on the north side of town and overlooking the entire valley below, one could see almost forever, and even though this was well inside the city limits, it felt and looked more like "in the country." This visual fairytale somehow didn't seem real but it oozed of warmth and love and peacefulness and serenity. The sort of thing only found in older homes as far as we were concerned. We were told that the place had been empty for at least 6 months, with a few broken windows adding to our concerns about the condition of the inside. There wasn't a crack in the thick old stone walls, however, and that was encouraging. Ivy clung to much of the Northern walls adding even more character.
Going inside we felt like we were in a spooky adventure. Dust and cobwebs greeted us in every room.There were obvious signs that animals and birds had been the most recent occupants.
The roof had been leaking for some time and it didn't appear that any interior work had been done since the early 60's or maybe even the late 50's. Someone had removed all the fixtures and we wondered what they might have been like. What a shame, such a beautiful old place and no one was taking proper care of it. The first floor was spacious and bright and had a charm all its own in spite of the unkempt condition. Then we discovered that the second floor had been converted into an apartment, probably in the late 60's or early 70's. The views from the second floor were even better, and the sloped ceilings added to the old English charm. This is getting better all the time, now we have three of the four criteria, view, multi-family capable, close to town. Would there be enough room for the business too?
We finished touring the basement, also charming but needing work, took some measurements, and took in a bit more of the outside ambiance before leaving for our next showing.
All the rest of the day, everything we looked at just wasn't right for us. We couldn't get the old stone house out of our minds. It was love at first site, but we had just spent nearly 30 years working on another fixer-upper and we didn't know if we had the energy to tackle another one this late in life. Besides, it was likely already taken, and we really couldn't afford it without some help.
It was out of our affordability range and it needed so much work that others felt it was a "plow under." Yet our hearts had been captured by the warm, inviting feeling we had experienced when we were there. We didn't want to leave and we couldn't wait to go back for another look, at least to justify reasons for not taking it or not getting it and to verify whether it indeed had enough room for the business too.
There was one another place that we would have taken had it not already had a contract on it. In fact we tried offering more to see if the contract could be broken, but it wasn't meant to be. Disappointed, we decided that there must be something better waiting for us.
We were badly smitten and there wasn't much hope. We took my parents to look at it, just to see if it would have been something that they would feel comfortable living in. Dad, in his usual Swedish way, pointed out all the negatives. Yet at the same time he could see the potential. Both Dad and Mom seemed to like the feel of the place, so he offered what financial help he could. Would that be enough? Would it matter anyway? Our realtor had a feeling that we should write the owner a letter, telling something about ourselves and why we wanted the place to be ours. Boy did we pour out our hearts in that letter.
It seems like we waited weeks after writing that letter and we filled the actual few days with dreams of what we could do to fix up the old house. We also made several more visits to do a little "just in case" renovation reconnaissance, and because we had fallen hopelessly in love with the place. The more we looked, the more smitten we became, and the more we discovered that this place fit all of our criteria better than we could have hoped. Interesting too, was the fact that it had been in the same family from the beginning, and that we might become only the second family to own it
Hope called us one day to tell us that we had a meeting with the owner because the deal in front of ours was faltering. We found out later that the first contract individual had intentions of doing things tantamount to plowing the place under.
Apparently the meeting went well, because within a few days we had a deal, and the owner agreed to carry the note until we could get our financing in order. We were in simultaneous ecstasy and disbelief. Our dream was coming true and with all the obstacles that we had faced earlier we were feeling very much like "this was meant to be." Things like this don't happen to people like us," and we still pinch ourselves now and then just to make sure we aren't in a dream state..
We felt such a strong welcoming energy as this place wrapped its inviting arms around us and held us so close we didn't want to leave. Many visitors have felt the same thing. They would typically say things like "I can only stay a minute," and 2 hours later they are wondering what happened. Even the wildlife seems to feel that safety and peacefulness.
Chapter 2 Meeting the Deer
The first several months were filled with repair and renovation projects that would seemingly never end. Each project seamlessly turned into more projects. We had three furnaces and three hot water heaters to replace, outdated wiring and plumbing to upgrade, a new roof to put on, windows and doors to replace. Much of that had to be done before we could actually move in. When we did move in, the projects kept coming. Often we had to shift living spaces to accommodate construction crews.
So much was going on that we had barely noticed, at first, that we had visitors watching us from nearby areas of the yard, a yard that was in dire need of attention. But the deer did finally catch our attention and we began to slow down and pay closer attention. We saw quite a number of deer in those early months and they seemed content to observe, and not very skittish at our constant movement. We were amazed at how unafraid they appeared, some more so than others. We eventually learned that the former owners and others in the neighborhood had fed the deer on occasion, but not by hand.
The first time we saw Big Boy was shortly after we moved in, around mid to late October. We were in one of the North rooms that originally had been a dining room, but had more recently been used as a bedroom. We were busy converting it to shop space for our in-home small business. It was a bit small but we made it work for our needs. It had an East facing window, a West window that could see thru a separate entrance hallway to a portion of the yard to the West, and two large North facing windows. I remember looking up and seeing an enormous buck staring at us thru one of the large North windows, his antlers spanning an area that was bigger than the window. What a handsome creature, studying us with a "kingly" stare, perhaps trying to decide whether we belonged or not. We must have locked gazes for a full 30 seconds, but I felt a mysterious connection in that short span of time. Little did I know how "much" of a connection. He resumed grazing on the dried lawn area and browsing on whatever bushes still had leaves and maybe a few fallen apples. There was an elderly apple tree just outside the East facing window, and we noted that the deer were quite happy to clean up the fallen apples for us. The previous and only other owner had grafted this now 60 plus year-old tree. It bore at least 3 different kinds of apples, as well as pink and white blooms that came on at different times. None of the varieties were particularly edible to anyone other than the deer, and we suspect they may have been intended as cooking apples. The handsome visitor must have just recently come into his prime, judging by the size and span of his antlers, and by the size of his body. We would later guess that his age at that first meeting must be some where between 5 and 7 years old. When he was through inspecting us and dining on a variety of yard offerings, he strutted slowly out of the yard with a confidence that let us know in no uncertain terms that "he was king." What a magnificent specimen we had just seen, and here we are, in the city. We were absolutely breathless. We wondered if we would see him again.
That first brief encounter with Biggie and with all the other deer that were coming around, just served to help us fall more deeply in love with our new "old" place, in spite of the state of disrepair. This was becoming magical. It was almost like we were in another time, not connected with today or tomorrow, but with yesterday. We almost felt like we had been here before, but of course we hadn't, yet "it was meant to be" was being reinforced on a daily basis. The deer, the birds, the breezes, the views and countless other things offering daily greetings, continually contributed to the feeling that we were living in a dream. To this day we still don't totally feel that this place "is ours." Rather we feel more like we are being allowed to reside here, for now, for a small slice of time in the continuum. Actually, isn't that all we are really about? We are the current stewards of this place, in this time, and we feel privileged and honored to have been chosen for such a pleasant task.
Over the next several months we had many more deer meetings. Our relationships and learning experiences were filled with so many gifts from nature. Tags, the first buck that we befriended, seemed to be most at home in our yard, spending hours at a time resting here. We could tell that he was an elder. His name was an obvious choice, wearing 2 orange tags (one in each ear) with the number 79 on each. We later learned that orange tags meant that DOW had tagged him at some point. Tags too was a handsome old man, and we think now that he may be kin to Biggie, if not his father. He also was frequently found with an older doe, whom we named Missy Tags. Missy Tags was afflicted with some condition that left her mottled looking face without much, if any hair, but she was part of a set, Mr. & Mrs. Tags. The relationship between Mr. and Mrs. Tags was a very unusual one, in that we normally see 2 or more bucks hanging out with each other. An older and a younger buck as pals was more the rule in our observations. What we don't yet know is, what causes a pair of bucks to select each other as buddies. Is it a case of Father/Son or some other blood relation? Or does a younger buck pester an older buck until he gives in? Sort of like, "would you let me follow you around so I can learn the ropes"? I hope to learn more about this phenomenon.
Our hearts always went out to the older, injured and handicapped deer for some reason. They seemed more ready to accept assistance, if not downright expecting it, and so we began giving small amounts of help during the cold winter months. At first only to Missy Tags. She was already quite tame and she readily accepted the apples that we picked up from the old tree. Within days she accepted feedings by hand. We suspect that she had been hand fed by others. It seemed as though all the deer we encountered responded to "soft-talk". They seemed to find it reassuring and calming. Perhaps it was that they responded to the calming effect it had on us?
Apples are like candy to deer, and even though we have many apple trees in the neighborhood and in our own yard, deer would always be at least curious about any apple offerings. We wondered why they would accept them by hand if they were plentiful on the ground. The deer were always curious about us and our yard activities.
Apples were presented gradually by offering pieces rolled across the ground from at least 10 feet away, in the direction of the deer, but in a manner that made it clear that things weren't being thrown at them, as some neighbors routinely did to chase them away. Cutting the apples into quarters or eighths was a big help because their small mouth openings made it difficult to get started on a larger apple. Then the distance between the apple pieces and I was shortened over a period of a few days such that soon the deer was taking apples directly from my hand, all the while the soft talking continued. Trust between man and animal developed relatively quickly amongst most of these "already acclimated to humans, born-in-the-city deer." It was not at all unusual for us to be able to be sharing yard space without the deer leaving or spooking. As my relationship with Missy tags developed, soon Tags became curious enough to investigate what we had going. "Was she getting something I should be getting?" we could hear passing thru Tags' head. Well, Missy Tags and Tags may have been a "couple" be she wasn't in a sharing mood when it came to apples. Anytime Tags got too close, usually within a few feet of the so-called "feeding zone", she would become irritated at Tags and push him away. He always complied, though reluctantly. Only when she was finished and she walked away, did she allow Tags to enter the "feeding zone."
If there was "pecking order" or "dominance" among Does, Missy Tags was the Queen. She seemed to have the respect of all the other deer, including the bucks, and in spite of how ragged she looked from whatever was causing the baldness on her face. Just to watch how they all interacted was a special treat. We were so privileged to experience "social order" in this small clan of deer, up close and personal, as our yard remained what it apparently had been, their "little half-acre haven." We were delighted and proud to share it with them, and at the same time honored and grateful that they would share it with us. This was "their" home and their presence made it a magical place to be. We wanted to let them know that they were welcome and that they still had a safe place to be.
Finding deer in the yard was practically a daily occurrence, and we were glad for that. Tags always curious, would peer at us through open doorways whenever he was around. I suppose he was making it known that he was available to dispose of any apples that we just might want to get rid of.
Missy tags, on the other hand, was too proud to beg. She would come when, and only when she "knew for certain" that there would be apples, but she rarely hurried. She wasn't about to demean her Queenly status by appearing too eager for handouts. Besides, she could get them herself anyway, from all the trees nearby.
It always amazed us how quiet deer were, especially when moving about. We could be outside working in the yard and suddenly feel eyes watching us. We would look up to be greeted by one of the gang, standing mere yards away. More than once, a nighttime trip to the yard resulted in near collisions with a deer or two. Curious how much less afraid they seemed to be at night. Maybe the cover of night made us appear less a threat than by day. Their quiet presence somehow always reinforced those "living is a dream" feelings we were experiencing.
We discovered that the trails used by the deer were well traveled through our half acre. At times we would see as many as 18 deer in the yard, and in all likelihood many, if not most, were blood relatives.
