Sunday morning, with Tripod

 Before we moved in, son Michael told us about the three-footed deer who was in the woods behind our house in Stone Mountain.

But I hadn’t seen him until Sunday. I watched him all morning.

The buck is missing his right back foot. But he’s in good shape, sleek and well nourished.  He had eaten, I think, and was bedded down in deep ivy just behind the new wooden fence, built to keep the enormous dog out of the woods.

From the second-floor windows, I can look over the fence. The buck was about 40 feet away.

It was below freezing last night, but the sky was clear. I watched Tripod groom himself — kind of like a dog checking for fleas. The sun was behind him, so I could see the thick whiskers on his chin, helpful in browsing, I imagine.

His ears rotated endlessly, checking for danger and also checking the jazz. (The Wise Woman was playing Oscar Peterson.) Every once in a while, the buck pointed his nose to the sky, checking the wind.