The Christmas Deer

The Christmas Deer

It was almost Christmas in Colby’s Point. The tree’s had lost the array of colored red, green and gold leaves. The forest was bare except for the full nests that the busy squirrels had built before the cold weather was to come. Our little pink house was nestled at the end of a dirt road. It was a small vacation town called Colby’s Point. Some of the homes were only inhabited during the summer months and then there were a few brave souls who decided to make this little dirt row of homes their permanent place to dwell. We were a family which consisted of my Grandma Cleo and my Grandpa Bill, my dog Tinkerbell and me, Margie. What was mysterious about this place is that the animals that were subject to this area all seemed to trust my Grandpa. They would venture onto our yard at various times in search of food or in search of help or sometimes just curious on what breed of animal lived in a pink box? Living in Colby’s Point that nestled onto the green banks of the Fox River was endless with its beauty and experiences.
At this particular Christmas I was just turning eight years old and I really was careful when I did go out into the woods because we had hunters that would come and drift close to our land. Another reason I didn’t venture into the woods was because Mr. Greer had a numbering pheasant farm and this was his busy time of the year.
I didn’t understand the concept of hunting. I felt like every single living thing in that area belonged to me and that I was going to be like Grandpa, a keeper of the wild animals. I was in the backyard and working feverishly to find the hidden acorns that had fallen to the ground and now were covered with an inch of snow. If I had enough acorns then I could fill the pretty glass jar that I had saved from our grape jelly and tie a red ribbon around it and give it to my grandma for Christmas because she loved to have grandpa bake the acorns that would then pop in the heat and we would devour them like drops of gold. All of a sudden there was a shot. Tinkerbell yelped as she ran frantically into the garage and made sure he immediately called for me to come into the house. I ran as fast as I could home leaving all my gathered acorns scattered across the snow. Once I was safe inside Grandma and I looked out the back window as Grandpa spotted a young buck stumbling across the cornfield into our back yard. Grandpa ran back into the house and told us, “That young buck, he’s a shot. Cleo, where’s the vegetables that you cut up for dinner? I need them now!” Grandma wheeled herself into the kitchen and pulled open the ice box and there sat in her best yellow bowl with the white trim along the top our dinner vegetables that were going to be put in her roast that night. Grandpa proceeded to strip down to just his shorts and took all the apples, carrots and potatoes and sliced them in halves to get at their juice.

Grandpa just at that moment did the strangest thing; he rubbed all those vegetables all over his body. Hands, arms, chest and legs and then he took a fresh handkerchief that grandma had just pressed and dipped it in the water as to hide our scent.
This was amazing to watch. Grandpa walked out into the cold and right up to the young deer. The buck was in shock so he didn’t run or even blink. Grandpa touched him and he made a cooing sound that came from the back of this throat to sooth the deer. He then covered up his eyes with the handkerchief and led him right into our garage. He must have been in there for about 30 minutes and when he came in he was shivering so badly that his false teeth just about came loose from his mouth. Grandma was fit to be tied. “What’s wrong with you Bill Mauer? Don’t you know you will catch your death of cold? No one has been able to help a deer that’s been shot in the wild, why are you doing this? You should just put the poor thing out of his misery.” “Listen, he was just grazed across his chest, didn’t even break the muscle just scraped him and he is in shock. He will be aright, he needs a few days of quiet and warm and food, so lets try this and I promise that if it don’t work, I ‘ll do just that. In the mean time, I need all of you to keep you voices down, and we need to walk quietly in the house and that goes for you to Tinkerbell,” he said as he pointed to my little toy fox terrier pup.
So, for the next three days, and believe me these were the longest three days of my life, Tinkerbell and I played as quiet as possible. Everyday he would routinely strip down to his under shorts, cover himself with the smell of the apples and other vegetables and he would take out the mercurochrome and small cotton balls and he would work on that deer. I read more books then usual and painted with Grandma and at night instead of television Grandpa would tell us stories of growing up in the wildness of Marshfield, Wisconsin.
Grandpa told me stories of the people that he knew and the Native American Indians that were still living close to him. It was really a wonderful time that we spent in those three days because within the stories told were great messages of heroism and faith. Grandpa had the kind of faith that could move mountains. If he believed in it then it would be and that was the plain and simple rule that he lived by.
It was the third morning maybe around five in the morning and there was a loud banging that started from the garage. It was the deer and he wanted out. Grandpa jumped from his bed and ran into the garage. Grandma was still in bed so she yelled at me “I can’t watch but look out the front window and see if you can see the deer running free. Oh, I wish I was up!” Tinkerbell and I sat motionless and all of a sudden the garage door flew up and the young buck ran out of the garage and stopped in our front yard as to get his bearing. He sniffed the air, looked around and licked his wound.

Turning he looked eye to eye with Grandpa and then in a split second he was gone. Bounding across our lawn and past Aunt Matlia’s house I shouted out the details to Grandma. When Grandpa came in to the house we got settled in for breakfast. Our prayer that morning was one of thankfulness because our Lord worked through Grandpa’s hands so that this deer could be saved and live on.
Life settled down and seasons changed. Spring burst into this small world of mine on Colby’s Point and the wildflowers that came from the April rain kept me throughout summer along with warm waves of swimming in the Fox River. I thought that I would see the deer that grandpa saved but never did that summer and soon fall came and before long it was Christmas once again. My three Aunts that stayed in Colby’s Point for only the warm seasons had left the week before and this morning grandpa and I were going to go across the street to their house and winterize it. You know, cover the pipes, turn down the heat and lock up the house until they would return once again in the spring.
It could be lonely at the end of the road but there always seemed to be magic in the air out there. This particular morning Grandma had been up early because she was cutting up the vegetables for our Christmas dinner that she would be making later on in the day.
I was in a deep sleep and I was dreaming that I was fishing and that a fish was pulling on my big tow only to be awoken to Grandpa doing just that. “Hey, Margie, wake up I have something to show you. Get up real quiet and come out into the liven room and look out the front window, your Grandma’s waiting for you.” Rubbing my eyes I slowly crawled put of bed and walked up to the big red chair that backed up to our front window. Grandma was already there and Tinkerbell was standing on the top of the chair in her favorite place but she was shivering with excitement but not making a sound. Grandpa was already in his shorts and Grandma was muttering under her breath that he was going to catch his death from the cold. I looked and on the small slope that joined our home with my Aunt Matila’s home there stood a huge buck, his doe and two small fawns. They were all nosing around the grass looking for morsels to eat.
Grandpa came towards them with an apple in his hands and held still. The doe and her young were startled and ran to the edge of the lawn where they stopped and turned and watched as the buck came towards grandpa, bowing his head and allowing Grandpa to run his hand over the scar that was there left from the bullet wound he had received the Christmas before. This was Grandpa’s deer!

He came back to show Grandpa that he was okay and that because of Grandpas kindness he had the chance to live on and had a family of his own. He bent his head way down and Grandpa reached up and a piece of the antler covering came off in his hands. It was a gift from him to Grandpa, a giving back of thankfulness. They stood close together I imagine only for a minute or two but it sure seemed to go on for hours. Time stood still as we, just the humans of the house witnessed a bonding of two beings that walked along this earth with beautiful souls.
The buck moved back and his family anxiously started to move down the yard and into the forest. Grandpa came back in all excited. “Did you see that Cleo? Did you? That was my deer, he made it and…and… achoo!” “What did I tell you being a fool out here in your skivvies? Get in the kitchen and have some of that Jack Daniels that you have been saving for something special.” My Grandparents were so busy recounting the events for that morning and Tinkerbell, well; she began to bark right along with their talking just to add her two cents.
As for me, I promised myself that I would never forget the time I saw the magical moment between Grandpa and his Christmas deer. When I do think of this story and tell my loved ones it is meant to remind my self and my family what Christmas is all about; love, compassion, faith, charity and hope. After all, just like Grandpa always said, “We’re all our brothers’ keeper.”

Peace to You,
Margie