White-tailed deer are ubiquitous here. I see or hear them most days and though I rarely look up, I try to be friendly. “Evening, ladies.” If they kick up their heals in unnecessary melodrama, I’ll say, “Oh, dear!” out of habit. Sometimes the yellow dog will make a perfunctory run at them barking crazily for a few seconds before turning expectant eyes upon me. Even if I don’t look up, I’ll acknowledge his effort. “I admire your bravery, she nearly had us.” Normally, she’ll move off a short distance and continue whatever she’s doing. (Lately, however, they sprint off towards the woods, crashing up the hillside for an inordinate length of time. I have a theory.) There have been times when a doe gets aggressive with whatever generation of dog is here. I’ve seen several different alarmed and then frightened dogs over the years when the prey becomes the aggressor. (Normally, there’s a fawn bedded down nearby.) I say all that to note this. I have very few photos of deer, mostly because I rarely pullout my phone. And when I do try to get a photo, they never seem to turn out. Like this one perhaps. Seven deer were hanging out behind the house, browsing and sipping spring water and this was the best I could do.