Spotted Fawn Farm
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Here’s a little PSA for those of us who have trouble putting down the chips and salsa. One day, we’re going to take a nap and someone’s going to have to roll us back up.
Mimsy is a loner pig who walks to all the pastures, the garden and to visit all the birds each day. She gets a ton of exercise and no fence keeps her in. Sometimes she squeezes in to see Anita, who is always so happy to see her. She sleeps by herself in a stall in the barn and really has the best life on the farm, doing whatever she wants.
She’s not very limber, however, fat on acorns and pecans, stolen duck and horse food.
I’ve only seen her get stuck twice but she is angry and embarrassed about it. She was on a little incline and gravity took its toll. Her lungs appear to be in great working order!
Why I didn’t take the opportunity to trim her while I had her, I can’t imagine. Opportunity missed!
(Do not come for me about her toenails! She does get trimmed and is way overdue all of a sudden. They’ll be fine for months and then, BAM! They look like they’re wearing elf shoes. We’ll get to her today or tomorrow and neither of us will enjoy it.)
05/27/2026
Weeelllll, the post I’m hesitant to post.
I am still on the inactive list for wildlife. I keep muttering it to myself, setting the phrase to music and doodling it in different fonts.
The reality is, I have one fawn with a pelvic break and a hip that was dislocated when someone ran over him with a Toyota Tacoma and he lived to tell about it! (The fawn. The man and his passenger were never in question.)
I kept this little trooper over the holiday weekend and showed up at my favorite vet’s office bright and early Tuesday morning with the rest of the county, feeling doom and dreading the prognosis. I recognized that cloud that comes over one’s heart when dealing with rehab animals, be they wildlife or farm animals. There’s a whole lotta doom in animal hospice and my heart is already a little bruised up over the last few years. I shy away from sadness like I’m in a video game. Nope! Zonk! Parkour!
I will confess, I get a sort of zing from maggots, enjoy a good suture, and I could watch surgery and eat popcorn. When Dr. Hitchcock and Dr. Mac manhandled this little fawn’s hip back into joint, with help from two assistants and set to the cries of a mostly anesthetized, but not totally anesthetized, fawn, I felt bees in my head. They are such badass heros to so many animals it was nothing to them but will mean a good strong life for this little buck. I love to learn but will never be the one to put a dislocated joint back into place. Gives me the wi***es!
In addition, I have a sassy little doe who refuses to eat and is still on a tube feed, which is just aggravating for us both. I’m waiting her out and I’m reminded of raising toddlers. It’s about the same sort of stubbornness. I’ve waited out a two year old with green peas on her plate, I can get this fawn on a bottle.
There is a sweetness and rhythm to fawns that feels familiar and good. 24 years of raising them is ingrained in my soul yet I learn something new about them all the time.
Our lives are not back in the groove all the way but it’s good enough. I told a friend that I’ve spent the last two years circling the wagons, cutting off that and those that don’t support us, and putting all our energy on healing our own. It’s time to wade gently back into service while maintaining a balance.
To keep things in perspective, my husband had some friends over yesterday and I kept thinking “What smells so bad?”. It was me. Fawn p**p.
They say 2026 is the year to return to glamour so I’m well on my way.
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Hartwell, GA
30643
