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A fawn tucked down alone like this is almost never an orphan.

Fawns are extremely small, and their best defense is to stay hidden as often as possible. Unless they are nursing or moving to a new spot, fucking themselves down in grass or against bigger objects is their best defense.

What would be an easy giveaway to a lurking predator that there is a vulnerable baby nearby? A much larger, much more visible adult female deer!

To protect her baby, a female deer will avoid the baby most of the day (except to nurse it or move it), and she will keep an eye on the baby from a distance to make sure everything is alright.

If you approach a fawn (or god forbid pick it up and take it home), I’d bet money that 9.5 times out of 10, mama is alive and well, watching you from a distance, desperately hoping you’ll move on without hurting her baby.

It’s not orphaned, it’s not abandoned.

Working in wildlife, if there is one thing I could magically make the entire human population know, it would be this information.

Every summer, people show up at wildlife rehabbers, state park offices, ranger stations, and even deer farms, with allegedly orphaned fawns that they’ve “saved.”

Tragically, we pretty much have to destroy these animals every time.

Deer farms legally cannot take in wild deer because of the extremely dangerous risk of disease transmission to their livestock population (look up chronic wasting disease). Contact with a wild deer could doom their animals and their livelihoods.

I have worked on deer farms and in wildlife rehab.

Deer are extremely difficult to raise, rehabilitate, and release. Mostly, it’s impossible. Often, they simply refuse to eat from anything but their mother, and we have to decide between letting them waste away for three days or so, or euthanizing them.

Deer are also overpopulated in many states now, and we can’t afford the resources to raise them. There are species more in need of our assistance.

If you see a fawn all alone, unless it’s next to its dead parent, it’s not an orphan.

I am begging you to leave it be.

In this case, this fawn is almost certainly fine. It’s just hunkered down like it should be, waiting for Mama.

fandom culture is so, so good about giving artists the credit they’re due, but we gotta start doing that for writers too. you’ve got no idea how much people put into their stories and get maybe a handful of reblogs and a dozen-odd kudos. that’s not enough. writing is an endurance sport and y’all need to start giving fic writers a reason to endure it and improve their craft. encourage writers like you encourage artists. reblog fics, leave tags, leave comments, acknowledge that these stories do not just spring into being for your entertainment. 

Artists have the ability to show off preview sketches, host art streams, and get feedback during almost every step of their creative process, and we do not.  We can’t really share outlines and half-finished sentences, choppy first-drafts, and have anyone get excited about that.  When we say it’s an endurance sport, we really mean it.  

THIS.

And of course we write because we love it. We have ideas–BIG HUGE IDEAS–that we want to get out there, just how we see it in our heads, and be able to go back over and over it again, even if no one else cares. Of course we write because we love it.

But we’re human and crave validation. We create these things because We Just Think They’re Neat and want others to agree that the concept or execution or both is also neat and fan about it with us! 

It doesn’t even necessarily have to be about WHAT WE HAVE ACTUALLY WRITTEN. Tell us how much you love the concept or the plot device, start going off on tangents in your comments or tags or replies, because HECK YEAH WE’RE IN THE SAME BOAT. WE’LL JOIN IN WITH YOU.

It’s bold of them to joke about something so controversial. After all, who your ‘port is can make or break a relationship. Study after study has been done on the ‘port between parent and child and psychiatrists are always analyzing your ‘port history.

The commercials are tacky, too. They make fun of the power inherent in a person’s greatest love. That’s what a ‘port is, after all, your love for someone being strong enough to take you to wherever they are. All in all State Farm’s “good neighbor” commercials leave people shaking their heads and laughing uncomfortably.

Caitlyn’s not laughing when a man brings a gun to her school.

Her class is on the yard and there’s no warning- he’s just there, with a gun, and her kids are frozen.

Mickey’s too close too close and not moving and the man is turning the gun towards him. Mickey’s only 8 and he drives her nuts most days. He cries and screams and he runs away and he makes things up and he loves his mom and his sister and he cried when Caitlyn got stitches and she loves him she loves him she loves him.

She feels a moment of disorientation and suddenly she’s between the man and the boy.

She doesn’t hesitate, just wraps herself around Mickey. Then she closes her eyes and reaches inside herself for the first-easiest-always, thinks I love you I love you I love you and feels the shift of the ‘port.

And her eyes land on Zeke, who is jerking to his feet in shock, and she feels a huge wave of relief. Zeke’s been her ‘port since they were months old and her aunt got up one morning to find two babies in the crib instead of one. These days they usually plan their visits and Caitlyn’s never brought a kid before, so Zeke has questions in his eyes.

Before he can voice any, she’s pushing Mickey towards him and gasping out “I have to go back-”

And she’s thinking of the next closest kid, Jasper, one of her rough and tumble boys, he’s so big, 8 years old and almost as tall as her, Jazz is learning to control his temper and his energy but there’s a sweetness to him that comes out at the oddest moments. It’s easy to declare I love I love I love and then she’s grabbing Jazz and sending herself back to Zeke’s shelter.

He’s a little more prepared this time, reaching out to steady her and guide Jazz away while she turns her thoughts and heart to the next kid.

And she’s gone and grabbing Topher, her sweet boy who listens and cares and tries, and they’re back to Zeke.

And she’s gone and grabbing Zornitsa, her scampy little comedian, and back to Zeke.

And she’s gone and grabbing Ariel and Kaho and Clarissa, her gymnast trio with their fierceness and their determination, and back to Zeke.

This time she thinks to shrug her backpack off and gasp out “There’s a list- in the emergency folder-”

And then she’s gone again.

When she reaches for Heidi, her zippy little miss who won’t touch fruit and loves worms and has grown so much, that she lands inside. She pulls Heidi and Adela into her arms and shifts back to Zeke.

Her kids are away from the man with the gun and she feels shaky. She takes a couple breaths, bracing her hands on her thighs. Then she thinks of passion-dedication-exasperation, guide and guidee, and wraps that all around her I love I love I love.

The next moment she’s in a closet turned office made all the smaller by the crush of people in it. She looks up at her boss as several kids stifle startled yelps and Colin looks back with wide eyes under his tangled mop of curls.

“What-” he starts to ask.

“Third grade was on the yard, there wasn’t time to get indoors, but I think I got them all safe,” Caitlyn tells him.

“How?” he asks.

“Like this,” she says, voice tinged with hysterical laughter.

She wraps her arms around Carmela, Elizaveta, Winona, and Joanna and reaches for Zeke. She drops the girls off and goes back to Colin, who goggles.

“I know you need to stay on site, but I thought you should know that I’m evacuating our kids,” Caitlyn tells him.

Colin shakes off his astonishment and squares his lanky shoulders.

“Can you get to kinder?” he asks, eyes lighting up.

“Yes,” Caitlyn says, “with Nancy there that will be easy.”

“Get them all out,” Colin says, “and tell Nancy to start listing who is safe, have her message me.”

“Will do,” she says with a nod. She grabs the three remaining kids and takes them to Zeke.

She thinks of Nancy then, they have different classes this year but they’re still brain mates, still the team, and it’s easy to wrap finishing each others sentences and communicating without words around her I love I love I love.

Nancy startles when she appears, and several of the babies scream. Team Kinder moves into action, hushing and calming. Nancy just waits, meeting Caitlyn’s eyes.

“Colin sent me, I’m evacuating you guys,” Caitlyn explains. “I can take as many as I can hold at a time. How do you want to do this?”

Nancy nods once.

“Start with Mr. Mason and Bashir and Rafael,” Nancy says. “I’ll have the next group ready when you get back.

Caitlyn nods and grabs them.

Things go pretty smoothly after that. Nancy sends kinder off a group at a time and then quickly takes control of the chaotic crowd that Caitlyn has already saved.

Caitlyn moves on grade by grade, finding her way to the colleagues she is so so grateful to work with.

By the time the cops secure the man with the gun, the school is empty, everyone 150 miles away.

When they ask later how she did it she looks right at them.