A New Year in the Valley

“Grant that we may share the divine life of him who humbled himself to share our humanity …” Book of Common Prayer

I was driving through town the other day on my way to an appointment and saw a number of deer standing around a junk strewn yard. They appeared to be on high alert, and as I scanned the lot I saw the reason; they were staring at a dog that was, like them, standing still and staring back at them.

I slowed down but, as I was expected elsewhere, chose not to stop. As I drove past, though, one deer began to take tentative steps toward the dog and I wondered how the encounter would resolve itself. I wish I had stopped and watched, as nature fascinates me, but I am something of a slave to time and duty.

I don’t know where I got that “need” to be on time, all the time. I joke that the folks at the National Observatory call me daily for the correct time with which to set the nation’s Atomic Clock, but that’s not far from the truth in terms of my personality.

I don’t like to be late to anything – social OR official. For me, early is on time, on time is late, and late is not an option.

I became aware, once again, of just how chained to time I am when a few days after the Deer and Junkyard Dog Affair I was driving across the bridge over the Madison River and saw another small herd of deer gathered on the ice-gorge beside the flowing river. They appeared to be debating whether or not to leap across the waterway to the other side. I was on the bridge so, again, I couldn’t stop to watch to see what they would do.

But I wondered. I wondered what goes through the mind of a deer when they come to a place where they have to decide: Jump or don’t jump?

Jumping seems so natural to them. That same day I watched a herd of the local mulies heading toward town from Upper Ennis and, one-by-one, each came to a fence and leapt over it effortlessly. I was amused by their decision to leap the fence rather than shift their trail the seven feet it would have taken to go through a gate that was standing wide open.

Not being a leaper, I would have used the gate. I would have examined my choices and weighed my options, and I would have chosen the easier, softer way – for that’s what people do, isn’t it? Perhaps deer operate under the same instinct. When it is time to head down to the creek for a drink, they head on down the path they have always used, and to choose a different avenue doesn’t even cross their mind; after all, it works!

I would like to think that humans, with our larger brains and our capacity to use reason and logic in our every-day living, would make better decisions on a daily basis, but for this human, that is a VERY tall order.

My guess is that if I had stopped for a minute to watch the dog-deer encounter, that the person I was going to see would not only have not been upset at my being 60 seconds late, but would have enjoyed the tale I would have shared of what had slowed me up! Instinctively, I drove on; thinking it out, I might have made a different decision.

I can’t regret the decision I made, but thinking about it – reflecting on it – I believe I would make a different decision today if the opportunity were to repeat itself. I do not believe we have to be slaves to our habits. We can choose to change them if we so wish.

What does it take to change? Not much; just enough pain to make the change worth the effort.

Pain? Yes, pain. It pained me to pass up not one, but two great opportunities to watch the local deer to see how they face dangers or make decisions. I want to learn, but to do so requires me to exchange one good habit for another (possibly) better habit.

Oh deer; as much as it pains me, maybe it is time for a change in this, our valley.