This little fella’s twin sister napped a few yards away while he stayed alert to their surroundings. During a brutally dry summer the browse for black-tailed deer has dwindled to zilch—they’ve even shredded the patches of vinca, and they never eat that. Kathy and I have supplemented their meager diet with calf manna, and their coats are shiny and full. As autumn progresses they’ll become more and more skittish around us (I think deer sense when it’s hunting season), and soon be on their own.
It has yet to be proven that intelligence has any survival value. —Arthur C. ClarkeAdvertisements