The Hart...
The Naturalist, July 5, 2020
It was a little past midnight after the Fourth of July and the moon was full. Raven, one of our dogs, had woken up and needed to be taken out, so I came downstairs, found the leash, and attached it to her collar. It was her first Fourth, but other than not sleeping she had been taking it in stride and happily followed me to the back door, her tail wagging. I opened the door and she bounded out and off the porch, paused to relieve herself, and then began curiously sniffing and exploring the grass and shrubs as only a nine-month-old puppy can do. She was already quite large for her breed, coming in at about one hundred pounds, but I still had trouble spotting her as her black coat blurred into the darkness of the night.
Raven seemed to be oblivious to the sporadic cracks and bangs of the late night fireworks, so I endured my sweating in the summer humidity and let her explore to the full range of the leash, hoping she would get some energy out and go back to sleep once we came inside. She spent several minutes walking back and forth across the grass and I found my mind wandering as she sniffed shrubs and chased the occasional firefly when their brief sparks drew little zigzags next to her face.
Suddenly, my mind came back to attention as I realized that the dog had gone perfectly still and had been that way for several moments. She stood rigid; her attention focused toward the back corner of the yard where a crisscross of fencing separated our property from the different neighbors. I followed her gaze and involuntarily drew in a quick breath.
The object of Raven’s attention stood against the fence, framed by the light of the full moon. I had seen a few deer since moving to Illinois, but none in these suburban neighborhoods, and none of them had been close to this size. It was perhaps taller than I was, its antlers forming a great crown that spread to either side. Only one word could describe it, it was a hart. Like something out of fairy tale. A red hart, I corrected myself, for its red-brown coat shimmered in the moonlight.
The great animal’s gaze rested on Raven and I tightened my hold on the leash. Raven was always eager to give chase to any animal—or person—that entered the yard. This time, however, the jerking at the end of the leash’s line never came. Instead she calmly laid down and placed her head between her paws. A small whine escaped her throat, although it seemed more sad than afraid. The two animals looked at each other for the space of several breaths. Slowly, the hart dipped her head and one leg in a bowing motion and then gracefully turned, leaped over the fence, and sped away.
Raven and I remained as we were for several more moments. Then she slowly came to her feet, lifted her head and howled to the full moon. The sound was mournful in a way that I had never heard, and I knew that on that night, something had been lost, something precious. I didn’t understand but knew that I needed to.
It was then that the storm hit.
Read the continuation in …the Storm…
