The doe cocked her head, and raised her ears.

And my heart jumped.

Maybe, maybe...

But no. She and the other three deer in her band continued their slow meander amongst the headstones. Each in turn turning to stop and stare in Patty's direction, but none approached where she was hidden. If anything, they avoided her spot.

Patty.

That's not her real name, of course. Have no idea what her mother called her. Probably couldn't pronounce it if I did. But I thought she needed a name, and Patty Hearst came immediately to mind, so "Patty" it was. For like Miss Hearst, this poor little girl has been kidnapped.

Twice, in fact. In just the last 24 hours.

Although, for a deer, being snatched up, loaded into a car and driven almost instantly across town and deposited into a cage inside a strange building is probably more akin to "alien abduction" than "kidnapped".

Stupid fucking people.

The first call came well after dark, a warden many miles away relaying a report from a young man that had picked up an "abandoned" deer fawn from their front yard. The wife recognizes the young man's name. Same age as our eldest son, she's known him and his family for many years. "He should know better!"

So I am again cruising residential streets after dark, wishing I had a spotlight on this new rig to light up house numbers. At their home he leads me through the gate into the backyard enclosed in a high wood fence. The fawn is laying on the patio, wrapped in blankets.

"We looked it up on several sites on the internet, and they all said to keep it warm..." he explains.

I am less than curt: And I know every one of those sites started out by saying "Leave baby wildlife alone!" He doesn't defend himself.

Not to mention our annual spring news release on leaving newborn wildlife alone was in the paper just last week. Just like it is every year. I immediately unwrap the fawn ("Patty" now), swathe her in a clean towel and carry her back to the exact spot in the front yard where they swiped her away from her mom. Before she settles in I take a quick peek up between her hind legs with a flashlight.

No umbilical cord. Even though it is weeks early for most deer to give birth, this little girl is already at least 3 days old, probably a couple days older.

I use the flashlight to point out how pointy and erect her ears are. If she really hadn't been nursed for many hours, she'd be dehydrated and her eartips would be droopy. Just 'cause they didn't see a doe with her doesn't mean one hasn't been here. It's not like the doe hangs around and babysits at this age... it's nurse, lick clean, and leave. For hours.

Don't know if it's my smell, or my voice, but Patty comes across the yard to us, making a beeline for me, not the two kidnappers.

Ohhh, damn! Newborn fawns are so cute. I want to scoop her up, take her home and start heating bottles. I know how. I've done it. But, as I explain to the young man and his younger sister as I use the towel to carry the fawn back to the bushes, she has only two possible futures.

Back with her mom, or

Death. Probably by my hand.

I prefer option 1.

I'm back in town before sunrise, cruising the same neighborhood streets. Patty is gone from the yard, there's other deer wandering a block or so away, and a handful in the cemetery, one block south. One is a no-longer-pregnant doe with swollen, lactating udders. No sign of the gorgeous spotted little fawn, but I'm happily comfortable knowing her mom came and took her away.

Thirteen hours later the phone rings. Dispatch. Someone in town found an "abandoned" fawn in their yard and took it to the pound. I cannot make myself repeat the curse words that flew from my mouth. What are the odds of two unusually early fawns being born in town?

I call and ask the town's animal control warden where this fawn came from. He is hesitent to tell me, probably knowing what those people did is illegal, and not wanting to get them in trouble. But I insist.

Across the street from the cemetery. Exactly halfway between where Patty was last night and the doe with swollen udders. She'd managed to hide her fawn in a backyard this time.

And it got kidnapped anyway.

Again.

Stupid fucking people.

So, Patty is soon deposited in one of the northern sections of the cemetery, and left. And hours later, here I am at sunset sitting in my truck, watching four deer walk past her hiding place, alarmed. I roll down my window and can hear Patty bleating with hunger and fear from more than a block away. I try not to listen, 'cause it really does hurt to hear.

I notice I'm sitting close to Mark's grave. After thirty years, I recognize most of the names on the headstones around me. Our two plots are halfway between me and Patty. Usually I enjoy my time in cemeteries, but not tonight.

I watch two other does walk through Patty's section. My hopes are up, but no, they also just look worried and alarmed, and walk away.

There are no other deer in the northern half of the cemetery. Time to go home.

I awake to rain. Heavy, wet rain.

Craaap.

Hypothermia on top of hunger. I wonder if I should have done as one warden suggested, and just used the hammer on Patty right away. Quicker is almost always kinder.

I watch another sunrise from the cemetery. Patty is not where she was left. I walk the entire two north sections, and drive the perimeter fence.

No deer fawn. No deer fawn carcass, either. There is one doe walking to the south, so I stay away from that part. But after almost an hour, she is still alone.

Later in the morning, I'm back in town. Yet another injured animal call (a raven this time), and I swing through the cemetery before heading home.

There are no deer. None at all. The crews are out and about, mowing, trimming and digging. I stop where a gal in orange safety vest is headdeep in a hole, fixing sprinkler controls.

You guys didn't happen to see a deer fawn around here this morning, did you?

"Yeah, she was walking with her doe out that way when we came in," she answers, pointing towards the northeast pedestrian gate.

"They left together."