Recently I’ve been spending time with the new regulars at Shama Sanctuary, Pearl and Maude. Pearl has a pretentious air about her and is a bully, regularly chasing off the twin orphans, Precious and Petunia. Maude is easier to love. Her personality is quite chill, and with her one floppy ear, white spot between her eyes and white tuxedo stripes running the length of her legs, I’ve developed a soft spot for her quirkiness. That said, each time I sit outside with them, my heart hurts. Bad. I’m familiar with this feeling. It’s called grief.
October 9th was the last day I saw her.
Lily has been the matriarch of Shama Sanctuary since I moved here in 2015. She was a graceful doe, with jagged ears and nicks in her fur—a sort of scrappy edge to her beauty that came from years of leaping through the scraggly brush. Lily’s entourage included her daughter Sparkle and all of their many offspring. Carrying with her fearless traits of a born leader, she was assertive and strong, but also loyal to and protective of her tribe. Moreover, she was compassionate, and, unlike pretentious Pearl, even adopted orphaned fawns that she raised as her own.
My connection with Lily was not at all immediate. In fact, it was her spunky fawn Magic whom I first felt was my spirit animal. Magic helped me through the grief of losing Yoda in the spring of 2016. There were times that I would be so overcome with emotion from missing my dog that I would go outside and holler “Magic, I need you!†Moments later he’d trot out of the woods and I would blubber snotty tears as I told him all about Yoda while he snacked on corn at my feet. Magic, now a majestic 8-point buck, occasionally still visits, often bringing with him a posse of young bucks under the protective cover of darkness.
It wasn’t until late summer of 2016 that Lily let down her guard. It was as if after months of cautiously observing me, she finally made the decision that I was friend and not foe. She never retreated from her decision to befriend me. From then on, the trust between us grew. She’d visit at least once or twice a day. If I was sitting outside, she’d sometimes lay down near me and chew her cud. She once did this for an hour, and my sense of contentment was a feeling I will never forget. It was no longer me sitting outside with a wild animal. It was now me simply sitting with Lily. When she gave birth to her fawns the past two years, she visited in the mornings as big as a house, and then came back later each day after giving birth noticeably slimmer. I like to think she wanted to share the news with me, but in all likelihood it was simply that she wanted some corn to replenish her energy.
Lily had the most gorgeous eyes of any creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. They were big, brown liquid eyes rimmed with exquisitely long lashes. She would stare in the window at me at my desk until I noticed and came outside with an apple. And then she would gaze intensely into my eyes before she took her first bite. She’d take her time, never rushing, seemingly content to spend time together.
Yet this summer I saw something different in her eyes. It was around the time that her new fawn disappeared (likely prey of the coywolf who obliterated the woodland creatures at Shama Sanctuary this summer). In place of the well of trust, warmth and wisdom that I always found in her eyes, I now saw sadness. Not only did she lose her fawn, but Sparkle and the other deer that have always been a part of Lily’s family were no longer around either. It was Lily, all alone. And I know she didn’t like it.
On October 9th, I sat outside with Lily and talked to her. I told her that I knew about the savage slaughter that had taken place at Shama Sanctuary this summer, and I said how very sorry I was that she lost her fawn. But I also reassured her that this is the cycle of life, and that one day things will shift back and our wildlife will return. “Hang on girl. Please, hang on.â€
The next day we left for a business trip to LA. When we returned a week later, Lily was nowhere to be found. This in and of itself wasn’t cause for concern. When we travel, Lily goes elsewhere to feed on woody vegetation. But within a few days of our return, she has always made her way back to her home range of Shama Sanctuary. Only this time she didn’t. It’s now been over two months since I’ve seen her, and I’ve finally stopped holding my breath with hope that she’ll appear. She’s gone. I miss her. My heart hurts.
And now, instead of talking to Lily, I talk to myself. “Hang on girl. Please, hang on.â€
Rest in peace sweet Lily. Thank you for the memories.
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