A New Little Visitor At Foxglove — Letters From Foxglove Farm

There is a baby fawn who lives down by the bottom pasture with his mother just a few feet away from the pony paddock. He comes out in the evenings much to his mother’s dismay and bounces around legs all akimbo, awfully curious about that grey pony that lives next to his woodsy home.

The picture above is what I typically capture of him, though the moment I see that tiny spotted form, I fly to get my camera. I usually arrive back just in time to catch a shot of his white flag of a tail as he sails back to the safety of the deep woods where his mother stands stomping her foot impatiently at him.

He grows braver every day, he’s quite interested in Fairlight our little Welsh pony mare. She’s also noticed our small visitor and comes up and gazes at him over the fence wanting to make friends which really puts his mother over-the-top.

I catch glimpses of the doe obviously not happy with the antics of her precocious offspring. She sensibly stays hidden at the edge of the woods where the wild purple phlox grows. She makes a beautiful photo and one much easier to capture than any of her much too busy baby.

The fawn gets a bit braver every day, I can tell he wants to speak to that pony and see if they can’t be friends.

Fairlight, our Welsh Pony (or the pasture pet as she’s called by my husband) says she’d be happy to oblige, we all are a bit smitten with this beautiful spotted baby.

Even Agatha looks bemused when he comes out with none of her usual blustering (she saves that for the evil rabbits and the neighbors exceedingly harmless Golden Retriever Max).

Part of what tempts them out of the cover of the trees is the abundance of clover and wild daisies that abound free for the nibbling.

There are blackberry bushes that will soon be loaded with ripe fruit as well, no wonder they spend a lot of time down at the edge of the meadow.

Mother must have given an especially insistent call for with a flash of his tail our little visitor slips back into the woods for bedtime.

He gives a reluctant last glance over his shoulder as if to tell us all goodnight and disappears.

Back home sweet home and time for all small folk to be tucked in bed for the night…

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Letters From Foxglove Farm