In early summer, Mr. Terry provides a photo gallery and educational expose on animal behavior in his neighborhood.

A doe goes into estrus in the fall, which means whitetail deer fawns are normally born sometime between late April and early July. A doe can birth up to three fawns at a time. In Mr. Terry's Neighborhood, fawns are plentiful, which means they are safe.

  

This fawn, named Bambi, one day will grow up into a proud buck deer whose antlers will hang over the bar at the Log Cabin Inn restaurant by Pine Creek. Though Bambi will be dead, he'll be proud that the stinkin,' murdering humans will marvel at his rack, while sipping a Jack Daniels.

 

Once, millions of moon cycles ago, deer had the booming things themselves, but the liberal deer passed codes in the woods called gun laws,  and now only the stinkin,' slaughtering humans have guns. Damn!

At birth a fawn can stand in 10 minures and walk in 7 hours. Young fawns stay with their mother through the next winter. Deer often leave fawns alone while they go off to forage for food, as in the case here, in Mr. Terry's Neighborhood.

 

Rocky raccoon is telling the mama deer to scram, but the doe ignores Rocky. Deer and raccoons are not enemies, unless it's over Miss Jannie's homemade buns with slugs, and for them they'll fight to the finish. In woods lure, it's said that the raccoons follow the deer because at night, the deer know how to get into the human's gardens and eat the tomato plants and pull out the beans and carrot plants.

 

Eventually, the raccoons know, when climate change destroys the human world — in about three years — the raccoons will know where all the gardens are located. Lookit, raccoons aren't stupid!

Looks like mama deer had a couple of fawns this spring. This family stays close to Mr. Terry and Miss Jannie because they know they are safe. But eventually, the mean hunters will come with silent sticks with sharp points that zing from trees.

 

Then later, when the cold winds blow, more mean men — hundreds of them — in pumpkin colors with horrible logs they point that BOOM, and deer drop dead, like magic. But worse than that, the men stink up the woods with their horrible human odor.

 During this time, the booming time, just after the leaves die, the mama takes her babies to hide in the thick brush in Mr. Terry's neighborhood, while the mean men in pumpkin colors eventually go away. The deer want to reverse the woods' codes about gun ownership, but can't get past the liberal deer who live in the city's petting zoos.

This young deer snacks on a mountain laurel blossom. The deer know that soon, many humans will gather in a nearby village and form a long line. It's a line that moves slowly — that other humans gather to watch. 

The deer are not sure why the other humans watch this long, slow line — with moving things that are shiny and noisy. Some of the moving things have pretty doe-humans sitting on top of flowers taken from the woods, and the humans watching smack their hands together as the doe-humans go by. 

The deer watch from the hilltops, but they know the humans are paying homage to their tasty flower treat. The deer think it's strange that humans do this, but it's okay with them — as long as the men in pumpkin colors aren't in the woods pointing the booming logs, or, in human speak, called "gettin' our asses shot at." 

Finally, as dusk approaches, Rocky pays his respects to  the mountain laurel statue. Rocky knows about the moving line in the nearby village, because afterward, at night, he and his pals go into the village to get the treats humans throw away. 

 

Ah, Rocky loves the funnel cakes, the double bacon corn balls, and fried sugar cubes with chocolate caramel topping. Yes, all the raccoons love the Milky Way Bar sticks covered with powdered sugar. 

Lately, however, Rocky and his pals have been scratching their heads, trying to figure out why so many raccoons have been falling to the ground dead, while clutching their chests. The raccoons think that maybe it's the second hand smoke from a village bar.

The End.