Baby Fawns and Teenage Fawns

This spring, for the first time since we have lived out here, we have been having tiny fawn encounters. That is, encounters with tiny fawns. The first time was about a month ago. Hugh was out of town and friend D came out to visit and have a Sunday beer; in the early evening we took the dogs on a walk down the hill. We went to the little campsite and were heading back to the road when D suddenly grabbed my arm to stop me from walking onto a tiny spotted fawn! It was nestled among some leaves and dead branches and was about the size of a basketball, if not smaller (and definitely not as round). We quickly went the other direction; fortunately the dogs were way ahead of us.

Sometime later that same week, Hugh came upon a little fawn (the same? another?) as well. I was on the patio and heard sudden cries of "JESSIE! NO! JESSIE HERE! JESSIE! JESSIE!" floating up the hillside. I could also hear anxious dashing about hither and yon. When H got back up the hill, he explained that not only had they encountered the fawn, but dog Jessie had chased it (with H in hot pursuit). No harm done, we are happy to report. Well, at least no blood shed; we can't speak for trauma impressed upon tiny fawn consciousness, I guess.

My most recent sighting was this past week. On returning from a walk, I went to look at the flowers in the meadow by the house and suddenly, from amid the tall grass and flowers, leapt up a fawn! Callie was very bad and immediately gave chase, despite my frantic and graphic yelling and chasing of her. Jessie was very, very good and stopped at my first yell. Leashes are going to get involved if certain dogs continue to not listen to me.

The little fawn in the meadow still had its spots but was not as tiny as the first one I'd seen. You know, I've always laughed at the signs that someone puts up each year in Westlake that say "Baby fawns are being born..."—not because of the content, but because of the redundancy of "baby fawns." However, I have come to believe that there are stages of fawnhood and so I laugh no more! Case in point our teenager fawn who's been making him/herself at home around the garden lately. He/she knows no fear—when I went outside to take the photo below, he ran away a few steps, but then just stopped and looked at me, even as I got closer and closer. How do you tell what sex they are? At what age do they begin to grow antlers?