On Finding a Dead Deer In My Backyard

I saw them a few weeks ago. My wife called me, something urgent, so I left the computer and went to see what excited her. Three deer, 3 young deer meandering round our 1/4 acre backyard. They look thin she said, I agreed (not saying it was not a good sign with winter coming on). We enjoyed watching them through our plate glass door, their casual grace, that elegance of walk deer have when unafraid. They were special, even more than the occasional cardinal alighting in our yard like a breathing ruby with wings--I told her deer can only see what moves, so we stayed as still as possible, holding ourselves tight like a pair of insensate statues. Two of the white tailed beauties grazed daintily on the ground but the 3rd was drawn to our giant holly tree resplendent with myriad red berries like necklaces thrown capricious. I was concerned-- something alarming about a deer drawn like the proverbial moth-- safe, I wondered, for deer or tree? The triplets soon left us as casually as they had come and a week went by-- then one day a single deer came back. I say back because she went straight for the holly tree and I banged on the plate glass door and yelled as fierce as an old man can yell to scare off the now unwanted intruder, for something told me the tree would be death to the deer. She fled but next day came back again, again alone and again with eyes only for that tree, an Eve that could not say no to the forbidden fruit--or berries or leaves it appears. Again I chased her away and for a few days saw no return. Then one brisk morning our neighbor called-- he saw what we could not see in the deep green thickness of that holly tree: the doe lay sleeping under its canopy (so death always seems with animals, unlike a human corpse where something is gone), killed it seemed by the berries or leaves of the innocent tree. I called my township-- they said, put the carcass by the street and we'll send someone to pick it up. But I couldn't, or wouldn't not just because I walk with a cane and am old and unsure how such a moving would be done-- no, no, it was more-- when I saw the deer lying sheltered beneath the tree it loved, the tree it died for, it seemed a sacred place, consecrated-- I could not bring myself to violate nature's holy ground. Fortunately I have a neighbor who is not sentimental and he dragged the dead doe roughly to the curb and I knew, by its pungent unearthly smell of death, it was the only answer. [ Nature Contest, 5/8/21]