posted September 05, 2008 11:46 AM         

"Animals are such agreeable friends, they ask no questions and pass no criticisms." - George Elliot

Some of my best friends aren't human. I’ve been talking to animals since I was an infant and never knew this was unusual. When I was happy or stressed, I'd go have a chat, both mentally and verbally, with my chickens and sheep. They listened and seemed to understand. I was able to feel what they felt and perceive what their needs were on a very intuitive basis. To me our communications were completely natural. What I‘ve learned over the years is that communication does not have to be verbal. We talk not only with our voices, but also with our bodies, minds and eyes.

My children also have this gift. Both have always taken full responsibility caring for a menagerie of abandoned animals that we have adopted. We are better human beings because of our deep connection with the animal kingdom.

On a trip to a remote mountain cabin, Justin and Heather found a badly injured newborn fawn whose mother had been killed by poachers. The fawn was cold and starving, but we couldn't get her to lick milk from a bowl. But then the fawn snuggled under Heather's long blonde hair and discovered Heather's earlobe. She started suckling. We quickly trickled warm milk down Heather's ear while the baby deer drank. When the fawn had regained some strength, we traveled homeward where we switched her to a bottle and gave Heather's ear a rest.

A strong bond was formed, and the deer became part of our family. We named her Bambina, a diminutive of Bambi and "little girl" in Italian. We planned to turn her over to an animal shelter when we returned home, but after several phone calls, we found that no one would care for her. She would be euthanized. That was the unthinkable, so we decided to raise her ourselves.

Rather than being jealous, our other animals were delighted. Our cat, Halloween, who had just given birth to kittens, immediately adopted Bambina. Halloween would spend hours grooming the deer along with her own kittens. A friend of Heather's brought us a rescued baby duckling, which happily joined the deer, the cat and her kittens in a communal nest. Wherever the fawn meandered, the other animals followed. Bambina’s care meant round-the-clock bottle feedings for almost eighteen months, which we all shared with joy. She was such a sweet and gentle creature.

Bambina learned quickly not to eat the flowers in my garden. Instead, she'd wait patiently to nibble the cuttings, which I collected for her in a bucket. She followed me everywhere and seemed happiest when I was digging in the dirt. I had never thought that deer had voices, yet whenever she wanted me or one of the children, she would purse her lips and bellow "Maom," or at least what sounded like a combination of a goat's "ma" and a childs "Mom." We were a family and she was an integral part.

In the area where we live, we had always been plagued by herds of deer devouring our landscape. Although we all appreciated their grace and beauty, it was difficult not to get annoyed when our favorite flowers, trees, shrubs, and vegetables were nibbled to the roots. Our orchards and gardens were important sources of nourishment and income for us. Besides providing food for our own table, the kids were 4-H members and exhibited their prize plant specimens at the county fairs. We also engaged in a cottage industry of selling fresh fruit, vegetables and herbs to local markets, so marauding herds were not welcome in our vegetable patch.

As Bambina roamed our mini-farm with us, we often chatted with her about this frustrating challenge. We had tried numerous deterrents, all to no avail. One day we watched her trot to the boundaries of our property where a deer family feasted on our plum trees. She seemed to be conversing with her new friends as she continued glancing in our direction. This behavior continued for weeks every time she saw deer in or near our gardens. Of course, we'll never know if she was asking them to dine elsewhere or just enjoying animals of her own kind, but it wasn't long after those encounters that the deer stopped munching in our yard completely. Instead they’d stand at the top of the hill to talk with Bambina.

We praised Bambina for her unique ability to help us keep our garden healthy. She relished the compliments as she continued to be the watch guard of our farm. It was always quite amusing to watch her play with her adopted friends, especially the duckling who grew into a big duck, and Halloween, the cat, who assumed Bambina was her offspring!

Gradually we reintroduced Bambina into the wild, taking her with us on long walks in the hills. She would gallop off into the creek, find grasses she enjoyed eating, and played like a dog off leash. After two years, she was old enough to explore on her own and spent most of her time with other deer. Still, she would come back to the house regularly to check on us and visit our other animals. If I had the door open to the house, she’d prance to my home office, open the latch with her nose, and come sit by me as I wrote. Bambina had become comfortable in both the worlds of the wild and the tamed. Sometimes she would disappear for two or three days, yet whenever we went hiking, she would mysteriously emerge from the brush to join us. And when we called her name, "Bambina," she'd come running. How we loved her!

One day, the kids and I were returning home with more adopted critters. As we unloaded our trailer full of ducks, geese, chickens, goats, etc., Bambina came out of the hills and into the barnyard to visit. Our dog ran out to greet her. Perhaps Bambina had learned the lessons of the wild from other deer. Or perhaps she was just startled. She spooked and started running, shrieking, and jumping as if she was being pursued by a mountain lion. Suddenly she turned, screeching "Maom!" and leaped into my arms. The force knocked us both backward down a slope into a ravine where we lay stunned. Both of us were badly injured; I required surgery and Bambina was unconscious.

A storm was brewing. Heather yanked off her jacket and sweatshirt to cover Bambina. Then she and Justin lay down next to her and held her to keep her warm as I called a vet. Unfortunately none of the vets in the area knew anything about treating a deer. Then I remembered a good friend in Wyoming who is a wildlife vet who theorized that Bambina had suffered a heart attack, the natural response of a deer or any "prey animal" when hunted by others. They are so terrified they will be torn apart and eaten that they literally kill themselves to avoid the pain and torment. In the wild, he said, this deer would surely die, but because she knew and trusted us, there was a chance she could survive.

Justin cut a large piece of wood for a stretcher. Gently, we slid her onto it and carried her down the hill and to the garage where we made her a warm bed. All the time, we kept talking to her. The kids got out the sleeping bags, and we all bunked next to her for the long night, holding her close. She must have understood how much we loved her. Just before dawn, she opened her eyes and sat up.

Her recuperation was slow, but during this remarkable time, we truly communicated with our eyes. Halloween, who had mothered her, seemed to know Bambina needed help. She took up residence, again sitting on Bambina’s back and grooming her. I felt I could truly understand Bambina’s feelings. We spoke to each other telepathically.

As Bambina recovered, she made it obvious through her eyes, body language, and sounds that she wanted to live. We massaged her and built a Bambina-mobile to help her walk. Her wild deer friends would come down to visit her as she sat in our garden, but they never came close to us. For several months, her condition improved while all our animals participated in her healing. Bambina regained her health and for many months enjoyed her former free lifestyle.

One day, she fell again. I feared she might not survive. She seemed to understand my sadness and licked my hand to "tell" me she was all right. Bambina ate, slept and enjoyed the garden, but each day she appeared weaker. I kept asking her with my voice and my thoughts if she was in pain. She communicated with her eyes, always licking my hand to reassure me. A wildlife specialist suggested that we "put Bambina down," to euthanize her. Neither the children nor I could bring ourselves to do that. We didn't want Bambina to suffer. She seemed to want to live so desperately. We continued to tell her that we loved her, and she continued to nuzzle and reassure us. All the while her appetite and energy remained steady yet she never wandered far away from the house. It was obvious she wanted her human family near her.

For the weekend of Justin's birthday, we had arranged a family trip. The kids and I sat down with Bambina to explain that we would be gone for two days. We arranged for a friend, someone she knew and trusted, to care for her. Before we left, we spoke of many things to Bambina. We asked her if she was suffering and told her what the wildlife specialist had recommended. We also told Bambina that we didn't have the heart nor the courage to euthanize her because we loved her so deeply. Again, we reiterated that we did not want her to suffer and gave her permission to die in her own manner when she felt it was time. We thanked her for her beautiful spirit and for all the joyfulness she had brought into our lives. Bambina cuddled with each of us. She kissed us many times, licked our hands, and, with those velvety big brown eyes "told" us to have a good trip. We all feared this would be the last time we "spoke."

Two days later, as we drove up to the house, our friend was standing at the gate. He told us that Bambina had died in her sleep the night of Justin’s birthday. We cried knowing that Bambina had understood that we could not euthanize her. With her gentle spirit, she had decided to spare us this extra suffering as she died on her own terms.

We have found much comfort in knowing that we communicated in a special way with a special soul. All beings have the inborn ability to communicate with and comprehend each other. Whether you are relating to humans or other species, communication and rapport can bring consideration and the sweetness of a happy life. Sometimes, communicating is stressful, but more often it is enriching. Communication is a connection with another being, where actions speak louder than words. Sometimes silence is the loudest communicator of all.

What I've learned over the years with my interactions with my friends of the animal kingdom is that animals talk too: they think, feel, understand and communicate through actions, sounds, body language and thoughts, much the same as we humans do. Respect and sensitivity is necessary for intercommunication and conversation.

Bambina will always be in our hearts and in our memories. We learned so much about the intelligence of her species from her tender being. Today, many families of deer call our property home, bringing their newborns to graze on the extra trees, bushes, and edibles I've planted to keep them nourished and healthy. Yet since Bambina graced our lives, none come to nibble my roses.

We are all one and we love our dear deer. - 2008 Cynthia Brian