Walking to work. On the path ahead is a small fawn. It doesn’t move as I approach; only looks at me curiously. I’m close enough to reach out my hand, inches from its muzzle. It sniffs my hands curiously. After a wonderfully mezmerizing few moments, I tear myself away and walk on. As I walk, I turn around to wave good-bye. I’m startled to see the fawn right behind me.
I stop. It stops.
“Go back into the woods,” I whisper softly. It just stands there looking at me with those fawn eyes.
I turn and walk briskly onwards. And there’s the fawn, trotting next to me, looking up at me. Those eyes. Those irresistible eyes. I stop and think….nah…Bazel will never let me bring it home.
Then, while I’m thinking, the fawn tucks his face under my arm and nuzzles my jacket. I grit my teeth. I know I have to be tough.
I yell and wave my arms frantically. The fawn gallops away into the woods. I sigh.
I’m running the trail at lunchtime and pass a Canada Post truck parked awkwardly in a secluded area. Strange noises are coming from within. “It couldn’t be,” I tell myself with a shake of the head. I keep going.
Half an hour later, on the way back, the truck is still there. I see a man and a woman, both in disheveled Postal uniforms emerging from the back of the truck. They are carrying mail sacks. They are flushed and happy looking. I smile at them. (But make a mental note to handle my mail with gloves for the next few days)
Waiting at the bus stop. A forty-something public servant-type man is standing next to me murmuring into a cell phone. His voice is is filled with love and reassurance.
“Hey, you got the herpes, so what? Don’t worry, so do I.”
I step a little farther away from him.