NATURE Night of the neighbours’ lovemaking

VOCIFEROUS Deer bucks’ distinctive come-hither calls can be heard during the rutting season.

Night of the neighbours’ noisy lovemaking


Country sights and sounds
John Shelley

It was late when we returned home under a clear sky. The Milky Way held us in momentary awe until that breeze swept around from the north to send us into the welcoming warmth of the kitchen. I went out again before bed to marvel once more at the unfathomable wealth of riches stretched so far above us. Some of those one hundred billion stars that constitute our galaxy, I know, are not stars at all, but are in fact galaxies themselves. And each one of those has another hundred billion stars and more; hundreds of billions of hundreds of billions, and us down here in the only place where we know, for sure, that life exists.
A frog croaked somewhere down by the lake, croak, croak, croak, over and again, like a creaking metronome. But frogs don’t croak in October, not like that. I listened hard and walked out into thin shadows, through the beeches to the edge of the fen, where the sound came more clearly. It was there in my mind but I just couldn’t get it.
And then I knew, of course; a fallow buck calling to his girls. His deep, resonant voice grew louder, as if a rival had arrived on the scene. Or perhaps he was on the move and coming toward me. There was little other sound, apart from that of a distant car and then the faint whistling of migratory birds overhead, leaving for the sun or arriving for winter berries.
I listened awhile, trying to guess where the deer was. He came closer and then took his croaking far into the night, even across the river and away to Annie’s.
At two in the morning he took up position close to the house to stir me from sleep with one or two experimental calls. Having satisfied himself that he had my attention he set about his love song with unprecedented vigour. No more croaking now! This was full-winded guttural belching that resounded through the woods and echoed around the walls of my home.
I like to keep the east window open at night, and now I poked my head out and roared. My new friend paused momentarily and then gave an assertive response. This was his night, those were his ladies browsing the copse, and he was going to sing to them if he chose. When I told him to quit he moved a mere few meters off and started again. I gave up and slept a broken and fitful sleep.
In the morning I staggered, bleary-eyed, to find the scene of the crime. Sure enough, there in the woodland floor was a shallow scrape four feet across and three or four inches deep. The churned soil showed several sets of tracks, including those of the buck and at least two females, as well as those left by one of this year’s young ones.
The area smelled strongly of deer. I knew that the male had been urinating into the scrape and anointing himself with the puddled soil. He had left his mark on a low branch as well, scraping with antlers and rubbing scent glands to let others know this was his patch.
I doubt he has much competition anyway, for there are few deer left hereabouts. We had hoped that the few would multiply to become a substantial herd, and that these leftover, bony-headed bucks would gradually improve in antler until they might rival the champion fallow found in other parts of the country.
We saw some of those that live in Phoenix Park with their great spades of antler held high and proud over deep muscle. Ha, how well they would look on the edge of the lake or under our Scots pines. We caught a fleeting glimpse of people-shy fallow in north County Galway as they fled from some imagined peril. Fine beasts, every one of them, with broad palmate headgear that would make any fallow buck proud.
And then we see the results of trophy hunting in this part of the country, where the best animals are targeted and the weak let live. The consequences are a poor sort of animal with thin, broken antlers and poor conformation. We can do better than that.
I shall be out there again tonight, if the weather permits, to catch the last of the rut. There will be enough weather to keep us inside, so let’s make the most of these clear, starlit nights. Get out there!