A Letter to my Husband: Where Our Dog Herds a Fawn and I Meet a Fräulein


Dear Gary,

I hope you are enjoying your time in California.  Not much new here. This morning Frodo found the fawn that has been nesting near Mrs. Durberger’s house. He was happily chasing chippy the chipmunk when he came upon the sleeping baby deer. I was outside washing windows (I know that is shocking for you to learn), when I heard this weird honking sound.  I thought it was one of the geese we usually see on our walk wandering over for a visit. 

Garrison, your eldest son yelled out the back door, 

Mom! It’s the fawn, Frodo’s got the fawn!

Yeah, right. You know Garrison.  Up to his usual pranks. Not falling for it buddy boy. 

Honk. Honk. Click the arrow now please.

Hmm..Does that sound like a goose honk to you?

He insisted.

Garrison the eldest son

Ok, he didn’t say that, but that’s what I inferred from his tone.  My brain, sluggish from caffeinemia, finally kicked in gear and interpreted the never before heard honking sound as non-goose. My son was not crying wolf, this was indeed a bleating fawn.

I’m coming ‘lil Bambi!

Bambi aka the fawn my dog is thinking of eating.
Bambi aka the fawn my dog is thinking of eating.

I sprinted into action and ran towards the scene, grabbing a long stick along the way to use as my Frodo-butt-smacker-stop-what-you’re-doing-right-now-tool.

I yelled back to Garrison for help.  


He went back into the house for a slice of pizza and to get his shoes. A man needs his shoes lest he step on a snake or a pile of dog poo. Took awhile to find his shoes.  And a man must put them on properly by sitting on the stairway landing and then lace them up nice and tight so they wouldn’t fly off during the leisure walk over to offer aid.

As I am running and yelling to Frodo to stop, the fawn continues to bleat (click the arrow above), and I spy this old woman armed with a plastic rake coming from behind. She was after my Frodo.  I introduced myself:

Hi, I’m Kathy, your neighbor.  That’s my lovely dog Frodo you are after with that big old plastic rake.  

She smiles and replies with a thick German accent,  

Nice to meet you. I’m Gerda.

Gerda yells for her grandson Klaus to help the fawn while she makes a beeline for Frodo. Sure, why not add to the fun. Klaus looked like he just woke up and gave Garrison a serious run for his money in slowness.

After a few circles around our lazy labradoodle turned fawn herder, I get close enough to smack Frodo’s butt with the stick and he dives for cover under Murphy’s pool. No, I didn’t whack him hard.  The stick was dead and crumbled after that pathetic butt tap.  The real reason our genius sought relief under Murphy’s pool was because it was a great place to chill. He realized he was expending an unreasonable amount of energy to keep up with that fawn. It was not worth the trouble. You know he takes pride in being lazy. 

Frodo, the Lazy.
Frodo, the Lazy.

The Fräulein informs me in between gasps of breath she is recovering from triple bypass surgery.  I turned Snow White and asked her if she could please settle down and catch her breath to guarantee she lived another day. Garrison finally arrives with the leash, and I told Klaus he probably should leave the fawn alone. It was two yards over and looked like it was snacking on some plant.  Klaus shrugged and gave me a look that said I have no idea why I am in the woods anyway when I should be sleeping. He bounced.

Are you entertained yet?

IMG_2245Frodo, panting with his tongue hanging out his mouth, came out from under the pool and took his punishment – the leash. As we walked back home he told me he had no intention on dining on venison, he was just having a freakin’ awesome time running along side a baby deer.

OMG! A deer smaller than me. How cool is that?  It’s playing with me! Yay! 

And that was my morning. How’s your day so far?

Love from the funny farm,


P.S. Here’s what you should do if you spy a fawn in the woods or your backyard.