Small Miracles
A little miracle happened yesterday evening. We had the privilege of watching these two little fawns come into the world, right outside our bedroom door. The experience absolutely took my breath away.
I had seen the doe in our southside yard earlier in the day. I even took a picture of her, grazing on grass and fresh leaves near the little courtyard, and clocked that she was carrying low.
It was late afternoon when Rick first spotted her in labor, from the second level through the top of the pergola outside our bedroom. We spent the next four or so hours watching through the window blind slats, me breathing in the way that comes to all mothers in times like this. As one who has birthed her share of babies, I felt such a connection with the doe’s struggle. I caught myself whispering, over and over, “C’mon mama. c’mon mama.” Sending her strength through some unseen, universal thread.
She had to work so hard to get the second twin into the world; she labored more than 3½ hours after delivering the first, with the second fawn half-delivered the entire time. It was harrowing, and I worried because it was taking too long, and I wasn’t seeing any hooves coming with the nose. (Deer are born front hooves first with their nose nestled between the hooves, like cows, horses, goats, and other hoofed animals). She worked and pushed for so long that she was absolutely exhausted, and I was scared the fawn wouldn’t make it through delivery.
At one point, about 2½ hours in, she laid down, closed her eyes and let out what I was afraid might be her last breath. “C’mon mama, get up. Get up.” After what seemed like forever, she finally rallied, and summoned what I am certain was her last bit of strength, to deliver the second twin. And she did it all alone.
I will never forget, as long as I live, the moment the first twin toddled over on unsteady legs to greet his sibling. Nose to nose, it was beautiful.
When we woke up this morning, everyone was still in the empty lot next door, mama grazing in the grass and babies following her around.
What a gift.
2 Comments
Sheryle Fagan
I am a little curious how did you know she was having twins if she layered that long in between the two how did you know that she was going to have twins or did you not know?
Renée
Good question! I’ve given birth to five children myself, and over the years I’ve also helped with the births of horses, goats, and other hoofed animals, so I have a pretty good sense of what labor usually looks like.
That said, I didn’t know for certain she was carrying twins beforehand. Once she delivered the first fawn, however, another little nose appeared almost immediately, and that’s when we realized there was a second baby on the way!
What concerned me was, as she labored nearly four hours trying to deliver the second fawn, I could see a little nose all the while, but no front hooves. In hoofed animals, you’d normally expect to see the front feet first – like a diver – with the nose right behind them. Having the feet folded under during delivery can cause life-threatening complications for both mama and baby.
Thankfully, everything turned out well in the end, and it was pretty amazing to witness the whole thing unfold.