She gets bigger and braver every day, as do those of us who surround her. Biskit and I apparently harbor the greatest fascination, since Rusty continues to eye her with the suspicion characteristic of any self-respecting leader, while Chicago maintains the disinterest characteristic of any self-indulgent narcissist. The cats Basil and Mace haven’t lived their extended Barn Cat lives by taking chances on prey so much bigger and faster than them, so we’ve settled into a mutually curious but cautious coexistence.

She will occasionally graze just outside the barn, at the edge of the pasture border, while the horses are in for dinner, with no apparent concern for me or my activities.

On one such evening, I walked into the alley, right up next to the pasture gate – roughly 10 yards from the patch of clover blossoms on which she grazed. I squatted down for an unobstructed view, determined to finally get a really good look. She raised her head, stared confidently into my eyes, and returned to her snack.

We held our positions for several minutes – long enough for my legs to cramp and to create a sweat sandwich between my thighs and the back of my calves that spilled down my shins and pooled into a perspiration picnic for mosquitoes, barn flies and other assorted stinging insects.

Fearing any quick movement might scare her away, I managed to sit through the sweat long enough to pique her curiosity. Maybe she was trying to figure out why The Creature generally given to dragging around a bucket full of muck now sat frozen in a pool of her own bodily fluid.

In any case, she headed right toward me, steady and determined. I was thrilled of course. Initially. Then I realized, again, that I am indeed a slow processor, and that perhaps a little primer in cervine behavior may have been in order prior to this point. What if she charged me? Or bit, kicked, spit, or whatever it is that deer do to mortal enemies and reasonable facsimiles thereof? Somewhere between carefree and caution lies a middle ground of healthy choices that I someday hope to find. But for now I rely on the Luck of the Irish and the Eyes were Smiling that day, because as she neared the rope that separated us, the little one veered off to the greener pasture.

Good thing for the other side of the fence.

She wandered into our pasture on June 24, calling, presumably, for her mother, who would never call back. She was tiny and spotted, searching for security in the safety net that would be my herd of horses.

Unfortunately for the little orphan (Annie, but one isn’t supposed to name wildlife, so I haven’t) fawn, Rusty, Chicago and Biskit were too panicked by her presence to even consider the possibility of foster care. Though I suspect Biskit would enjoy the opportunity to act as a big brother or a young uncle, he is at the mercy of his equine elders, and Rusty demonstrates no inclination to grant either citizenship or political asylum to the newcomer.

Meanwhile, she appears several times a day to graze on the clover blossoms, inching her way closer to the Big Boys, building tiny bits of trust in both directions.

Twice now, I’ve opened the barn door for morning feeding to find her grazing at the front of the pasture nearest the barn, maybe 20 feet away. She lifts her head to acknowledge my presence, then loses interest and continues her breakfast. Dragging the muck bucket behind me down the alley bothers her not at all – apparently Rusty has managed to communicate from a distance that I am merely the maintenance man, and therefore, no threat. Just file me under “Necessary Irritation”.

Last Sunday brought a little breakthrough though, as she actually approached me while I stood in the alley talking to a friend on the phone. I took a couple of photos, wishing I could capture this wondrous event in moving pictures, then remembered that the same phone that takes pictures will also shoot video. Have I mentioned that I’m a slow processor?

I managed to find my way to the video camera settings, mostly by memory, as I was without glasses, which adds to my challenge of manipulating tiny technological tools. Then I recorded nearly five minutes of fawn footage, stopped the recording and closed the phone. Without pressing “Save”. See last sentence of previous paragraph.

In retrospect, the filming failure may have been fortuitous, as the action that will now never be made available to the viewing public is that of my little forest friend, cute as can be, walking directly toward me, looking me squarely in the eye, shaking her head and stomping her feet. Repeatedly.

Even the wildlife gives me attitude.