Animal Attraction(Gerald R Gioglio) "A thing of beauty is a joy forever; it will never pass into nothingness” – John Keats --

I first met her in the mid–afternoon on a hot, dry summer day as she gracefully sashayed across my treed front yard; her large hopeful eyes locked onto mine. Man, she was a beauty. Tall, stately, chiseled and lovely. Right then and there she captured my imagination and heart.
This being our first meeting, I was hoping to know her better. So, I checked her out more closely. She was an amazing creature, young, compact and beautiful. Wanting to make her feel more comfortable I initiated a goofy, one-sided conversation. This and that. Small talk, like the familiar, “You come here often?” Apparently, she knew the neighborhood well. Some of this led to the occasional double-take. As if to say, “Oh, please, how do I get stuck with these jerks?”
At the time I was pruning leafy branches sawed from scrub oaks and the lady was clearly interested. Imagine my continued surprise when she, totally fearless, marched right up to within an arms-length of my hopeful, smiling face…and proceeded to gobble down some of the freshly cut leaves. Keeping the conversation going, I complimented her on her beauty and dietary choices. “From the sleek look of you I’m guessing you would prefer the salad.” Given the local fare I decided to stay with the bottled water. Despite, or perhaps because of the silly talk, she hung in there, enjoying her lunch as I jabbered on.

We have plenty of deer in our Colorado neighborhood built in the foothills of the Front Range, but most are a lot more skittish when it comes to being around their two-legged brothers and sisters. Not this doe. She had come to late lunch, today in communion with a guy who clearly admired her.
Unlike so many look-alikes, this doe had two identifying characteristics, a six-inch long, by two-inch wide streak of darker fur on the right side of her body and a split in one of her ears. Both made her easily identifiable. Like any good Italian I decided she needed a nickname; and just like that she became “Streak.”
Having come from the asphalt and concrete streets of Central New Jersey, this was the first time I experienced fellowship with a deer. But here we were, both having a good time for a good long time. I clipped--and talked--she munched.
All of a sudden, a local teenager came jogging by. He stopped in his tracks when he saw us, pointed and with great surprise screamed, “She’s not afraid!” He was right. Generally, when one approached a deer it bolted or kept a wide birth. I could identify; let’s face it, two legged animals are easily the most dangerous species on the planet.
But Streak was down with this adventure. Overjoyed I pointed to my front porch and told the kid, “Of course she’s not afraid, that’s St. Francis of Assisi on the stoop.”
St. Francis is recognized as one of the most popular Catholic saints, and indeed is a favorite of folks from many traditions. Besides working for peace and social justice, he is best known for his love of nature and as the Patron Saint of Ecology. His icons are everywhere, in gardens, in birdbaths, in statuary or resplendent in stained glass windows. Frequently, he is depicted surrounded by birds and other creatures. On his feast day in October many Catholics bring their four-legged friends to parishes for a special Blessing of the Animals.
I have Francis’ iconography throughout our house, including the statue welcoming all to our home. Over the years, two-legged, four-legged and winged creatures have visited ‘Frankie’ on our small front porch. Only bats occasionally roosting in the eaves and bucks bouncing around with large antlers have been problematic.

At one point I cut a bushy branch of delectable green leaves and held it up for Streak to take a bite. Like most gals on a first date, she was justifiably hesitant to get more deeply involved. Once I set it down, she devoured the goodies twigs and all; much like a hungry human eating peanuts along with the shells. But there was much more than eating going on around our open-air table; we had established community, indeed communion between our species. Eventually, Streak had her fill, took one last look at her jabbering admirer, meandered down the incline on the side of the house, and disappeared into a neighbor’s thicket.

Streak showed up every now and again. Sometimes I would be in the backyard as she came through with her family or buddies. I would see her markings, especially that distinctive split ear and know it was her. I’d coo, “Hi Streak!” “Hey sweetheart!” She would always pause, lock her eyes on mine and in a short time start walking towards me. She would stop and listen while I would babble on. Sometimes I’d take a knee thinking she would feel even more secure. Was it my voice, my smile, my smell? The prospect of getting some food? Whatever, it was clear there was some kind of connection between us. Hey, all love is a mystery; an enigmatic jumble of Divine and bestial dispositions. When you hit it off, it is what it is.

One day, I decided to approach to see if she would let me touch her. Speaking slowly and softly I reached out my right hand, fist loosely closed as if greeting an anxious dog. She watched it, did not bolt, slowly lowered her nose and quite deliberately touched my hand. Her moist nose lingered for a while until I opened my fist and tried to pet her on the cheek. That was too much. Streak took a step back as we stood in silence, eyes locked, both taking in the moment.

One delightful Indian Summer day we were dog-sitting for family. “Chief” is a rambunctious sort; the eternal puppy. Large, with mostly black fur, he loomed wolf-like over the environment. He has an unlimited energy source, a need for attention and an overwhelming desire to be the leader of his pack, canine or human. Curious about everything; he would run off, chase anything, and was once caught with a snake in his mouth. Psychologically, he was a gentle giant, albeit a whirling-dervish of a dog, totally unaware of the effect his size, behavior and presence had on humans and other creatures.
Suddenly, I saw Streak peeking out nervously from one side of the house. Warily, she kept her eyes fixed on Chief. Glancing over at me as if she was looking for an explanation, she began stomping her right foot on the ground as if to suggest, “You cad! I imagined she was thinking she had been dumped by a dog. In any case, Streak was ready to fight if wolf-dog made a move in her direction. I reeled Chief in and quickly took him into the house. When I rushed out, I saw Streak across the street anxiously looking in my direction. A woman scorned. As if to suggest, “Men, they’re all the same.”
I felt terrible. Here I was, in the doghouse again; not with my beloved but this time with one of God’s creatures. One St. Francis believed could teach us about “the beauty of the earth.” I thought I lost Streak that day and vowed if I ever saw her again, I would woo her back with something other than a branch of fresh leaves.

I was on our deck the next time I saw her. I gave her a quick acknowledgment and ran into the house to grab a small orange. Walking onto the grounds I beckoned her to come closer as I held out the orange. Now, it’s against a city ordinance to feed the wildlife, but I had a relationship to repair. So…well… just this once. Slowly, curiously and cautiously she stepped closer, bent her head and took the orange. She chomped. I smiled. It was great!
My wife also grabbed a piece of fruit and joined me that day. But this time, despite our overtures, Streak would not take it directly from her. Eventually, Kate rolled the orange toward her and Streak enjoyed her snack.

Over the next several years, I would find Streak in our yard, welcome her and show her some love. For a couple of years, she would show up in Spring with her twin fawns. Knowing better, but always good hosts, we would sometimes treat our special guests to a bit of fruit. As the season progressed and the young ones grew, they would nibble on our grass and settle down to bask in the warmth of the always intense Colorado sun. They were comfortable here. And we were blessed to have them.
Over time I noticed Streak slowing down, obviously aging. One year there were no fawns with her. The next, she did not come around. Not that Spring, not during the Summer, not at all.
You know, it’s tough out there in those foothills. Sister Doe and Brother Stag have more than two-legged animals and our cars to worry about when they come down looking for food. The occasional mountain lion and other beasts hunt them, thin the herds and thus live to eat another day.
I don’t know what happened to my friend Streak. I do know all life is impermanent, all things change. Older and slower, Streak may have succumbed to one of those predators. Being more positive, I hope age and nature had its way as she lay down one last time and passed, the circle of life sadly, but gently continuing. Streak resurrected as the substance of eternity; her carcass now food bequeathed to other creatures.
Beyond that, the circle of love lives on too. For Streak will be missed by at least one two-legged animal; one whose imagination and heart she had captured. Thank you for trusting us, Sister Streak, and thank you for being a friend.

Copyright: 2021 Gerald R. Gioglio

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