Life With Ruby
The abandoned calf finds her feet and makes new friends
The second instalment of Polly Pullar’s heart-wrenching story of nursing a sickly red deer calf back to health
THE red deer calf I had so recently nursed back to life loved company and was visibly distressed whenever she was left. She would emit a soft contact sound that I had often heard when out on the hills on windless days.
Now that she was able to stand by herself we had to get her to move – and walk too. My partner, Iomhair, bought a baby harness at the charity shop and cleverly adapted it to fit her so that we were able to hold her body up, making her put weight on her wobbly legs.
When found, Ruby had a terrible tick infestation and I wasn’t sure if it’d leave long-term damage. I was trying to keep my emotions under control, we were determined to win the battle. But I had a depressing thought that it might still end in tears. Though I had tried not to, I had become attached to this gorgeous animal with her extraordinary spirit. I am not prepared to keep an animal when it is severely handicapped or suffering, but I did not want to be put to the test.
I had resisted the temptation of a name until things looked positive, and now Ruby was officially christened. Progress was slow, but she was relishing four bottles of milk a day and visibly gaining strength.
Every day I put her outside in a small paddock, but she made a surprisingly vocal fuss. One afternoon while I was hanging out the washing, there was a loud crash. Ruby had leapt through a gate and was standing quaking beside me. Our paralysed calf had jumped!
Next, we put her in a dog harness and tried to make her walk carefully, as by then her legs worked quite well,
but it was hopeless as a red deer’s muscles are built for speed not for a slow crawl.
On several heart-stopping occasions, she bounded off with the velocity of a bullet and fell like a racehorse at a hurdle. We couldn’t bear to witness these crash landings. Once again, my heart sank.
After weeks of torrential downpours and high humidity, the grass in our fields was long and lush, making it very easy to trip. We took her to the garden with its mown sward, and here she sped away for a few yards, and then skidded to a halt, turned and came straight back to me, mewing in the familiar call she now made each time I left her.
I was working on a book – Fauna Scotica: Animals and People in Scotland – and it seemed appropriate that much of it was written in the shed, where I made a makeshift study, with Ruby by my side. She picked quietly at leaves and then lay close to me cudding rhythmically, her eyes closing, head lowered onto her spotted side as I typed. I was besotted.
Deer fencing was another problem as our fields were only bordered by sheep fences, but the large hen run was secure, and to begin with she could go in there. She was intrigued by the poultry and cheekily chased them around. Amid flying feathers and indignant squawks, our crippled calf was blossoming.
Soon the hens took little notice but then joined in the chases, pecking at her coat as if to goad her into another game.
I remained philosophical about the future, knowing
that her weak legs were still far from right. She was, however, moving in the right direction. We had endlessly discussed the possibility of adding deer fencing long before Ruby’s arrival but kept putting it off. A new path network was running above us, and there were an increasing number of out-of-control dogs. Our sheep were vulnerable.
We had already had a couple of incidents but luckily always averted disaster. The issue of uncontrolled dogs is a constant worry for farmers and smallholders all over the country. Now it seemed deer fencing was paramount.
Ruby had met the sheep through the fence, and one afternoon we took her out into their field where she took flight at break-neck pace right through the middle of the flock. The sheep fled in all directions.
Ruby, however, was running perfectly, her sharp black hooves covering the ground elegantly as she skipped lightly over, putting in the odd buck and high kick. We couldn’t believe it.
We started taking regular walks around the farm with Ruby and our collies. This included wallowing in the muddy pond in our new wood – sometimes Ruby loved mud-larking so much I couldn’t lure her out again.
She and her two canine companions also enjoyed assisting me in the garden, though their input was questionable.
When she was bigger, Ruby moved in permanently with the sheep. She has since become the matriarch of the flock and keeps them all in order. She has two particular favourites, Alfy is one, and often they spend time mutually grooming one another.
Red deer do love water and, even in winter, will wallow in peat hags. After years of trying to fix the ancient and broken drainage in our fields, it seems ironic now to be making a particular wallowing spot for Ruby.
Deer are surprisingly good swimmers too, and I have seen small groups swimming out to grassy islets on the west coast to take advantage of fresh greenery.
On hot days, Ruby attracts my attention by mewing, and loves me to hose her down gently. She is playful too, and I am soaked in the process as she paws at the ground and shakes water all over me. If I am cleaning out the water trough, she canters over to have buckets of
water thrown over her. But she won’t let anyone else do it – it seems I alone have that privilege.
During the rut, when the surrounding hills echo with the roars of stags, Ruby becomes skittish as her hormone levels rise. We have contemplated putting her in calf but on the advice of a good friend who had a pet hind for over 25 years, decided against it. But every year we wonder if we’re doing the right thing.
There appear to be no long-term effects from Ruby’s life-threatening tick infestation, though I am careful to ensure that I regularly apply a pour-on dip to deter the insidious beasts.
None of these products are 100% effective, but we have a free-ranging flock of guinea fowl on the farm and have noticed that ever since we have had them our sheep have fewer ticks. The birds wander around all day delicately picking them off the vegetation.
My fascination for red deer continues and having Ruby has taught me so many things I would never previously have known or understood, and has given me an insight into another side of red deer natural history.
One spring the frogs came very early to one of their traditional breeding ponds that I visit.
Then there was a very severe spell of frost. Many of them died, their little bodies strewn around the area. Famished stags came down from the hill, and I watched as they devoured the fallen frogs.
It was something I would not have imagined possible – clearly when times are hard, nature adapts, and the stags found the deceased amphibians a vital source of energy and minerals.
On the island of Rum, the deer sometimes eat Manx shearwaters that come there to breed. Their bones provide a valuable calcium boost for them. Red deer are indeed extraordinary and incredibly adaptable. The strong bond between Ruby and me is something I will always cherish.
“My continues” fascination with red deer