I have no scientific data to back this up, but this year it feels like there’s more of every type of animal in our neighborhood. The other day I had to stop jogging while two flocks of turkeys with their babies crossed the street to continue eating their fill of nearby grassy lawns. After waiting a respectable amount of time for them to pass, and taking a few photos on my phone, I continued my run until a herd of javelinas wandered slowly across the road with their youngsters in tow. I backed up to give them plenty of space, the babies working hard to scramble up over the curbing and retaining wall rocks to keep up with the pack. I was on high alert for the rest of the run, but only saw a few rabbits and squirrels skittering away from me as I got close.
On a recent hike down Copper Basin at dusk with our two dogs, people in a passing car rolled down their window to warn us there were coyotes ahead, and sure enough, the dogs started barking and pulling a few seconds later. We saw two coyotes slink quietly into the bushes along the road. We turned around and started heading the other way, looking back and shining the flashlight behind us to make sure we weren’t being followed.
Back on quieter streets, we kicked a few pinecones as we walked back towards the safety of home. Mike flipped on the brighter flashlight to check out the road ahead. What we thought was just another pinecone turned out to be a blonde tarantula sitting in the middle of the pavement. Glad we didn’t try to kick him! We got as close as we could to take a look without scaring him away or letting the dogs take a sniff or chomp.
But it’s the deer that I see the most each day. Some neighbors have deer statues as decoration, so sometimes I do a double-take when I see a couple of them standing still in a yard. It takes a few seconds to determine if they are alive or made of cement. They also pop up along Copper Basin or Hassayampa Road on my way to work in the morning, hooves on the sidewalk, gazing at the other side of the road, standing absolutely still as if they are trying to decide if they can beat my RAV4 and cross before I get there. Maybe it’s a deer dare between teenage bucks, trying to wait until the last second to outrun the car. I’ve had a few close calls where I’ve braked just in time and hoped the oncoming car would see them and stop in time too. On a recent drive home, a buck and doe and two spotted fawns crossed the road slowly and cautiously together while I held my breath and silently chanted, “hurry, hurry, hurry.”
If you’ve ever hit a deer, you won’t forget it. Time slows down as you see the deer in front of your car, brake as quickly as the conditions allow, and hold your breath hoping you both timed things right. The first time I hit one, he got away and I ended up with what looked like a fist sized dent on the top of my driver’s side panel. This was my new car after totaling the previous one in a multi-car pile-up a few months earlier, so while I was relieved the deer survived and my car was fine, it made me a jumpy driver for quite a long time.
After moving here, we offered to drive a van my dad had bought in Arizona to Minnesota for him. We were almost to Panguitch, Utah, and Mike had just pointed out that we hadn’t seen any of the flashing “deer crossing” signs in a few miles. Suddenly a deer popped up from the ditch on the right and made a run for it. I guess they don’t know how to read those signs. He wasn’t successful and we heard a terrible thump. The passenger door made a metallic grinding sound when I opened it to go check on him. We called the Highway Patrol and confirmed the deer death and that he wasn’t blocking traffic. I felt terrible about the deer and the van. Luckily, the van was still drivable, although the sliding door looked like someone had taken a light sledgehammer down the side. It was an awkward phone call to make the first night of our trip: “Hey Dad, there’s a small problem with the van you just bought.” He was glad we were both okay.
This week, Mike sent me a text with a blurry photo of a small tree and what looked like four long legs and a head tangled in the branches. “What is this?” I texted back to my husband. “It’s a deer climbing the neighbor’s fruit tree and eating all the peaches.” I looked again. To be fair, he wasn’t actually climbing the tree, as his back legs were still on the ground, but his front legs and head were stretched up high into the leaves, like he was considering his options to get to the highest branches. It also explained the lack of peaches and pears on the neighbor’s trees this year.
It still sends a primal shiver up my spine when I hear the coyotes yipping and howling in the Prescott forest. I’m not a big fan of snakes and tarantulas appearing in the rocks in our backyard, but I will never get tired of seeing deer walking around the neighborhood. Despite the road hazards, the devoured fruit trees and nibbled garden, they are still beautiful to look at, even if I don’t get to enjoy a single ripe peach or pear this year.