Looking through the glass

My dear deer, I will miss you when I move.

As I sit at my desk, you're on the other side of the window, standing on your hind legs to reach the top leaves in the bushes in my small, but secluded, backyard. You and your friends have already stripped the lower branches. You just looked up, seeing me seeing you. When I say a soft hello through the glass that separates us, you step closer, meeting my eyes; your ears are attuned to my voice.

You ate my hydrangeas, so I don't buy them anymore — or roses. And you chomped the tops off some of my succulents. Even so, I delight in your presence.

When the apples and pears fall from the trees each summer, you visit often, leaving halfeaten apples around the yard. Why can't you eat the whole thing, I wonder?

You don't touch the pears — apparently not to your liking.

In the 12 years I've sat at this desk, there have been multiple moms with their young fawns hanging out or just passing by. Young stags with velvet covering their new antlers have playfully jostled each other. An older stag arrived with a leg wound, leaving blood on the ground where he lay. When he came back the next day, it was clearly healing, to my relief.

When the apples and pears fall from the trees each summer, you visit often, leaving halfeaten apples around the yard. Why can't you eat the whole thing, I wonder? You don't touch the pears — apparently not to your liking.

One day, a small red fox walked along the fence and settled for a snooze in the sun. A particularly healthy-looking young coyote likewise napped another time.

There aren't deer or foxes where I'm moving — not enough open space. But there are lots of raccoons. I've lived in the house before, so I know how cute they are, especially with their babies. And I know how they intrude in my living space. One day, returning home, I found two eating from my cats' bowls in the kitchen. The raccoons came in through the cat door. Henry and Snookums, my cats — clearly pacifists — were sitting on the counter watching.

For several years, one female raccoon, whom I named Rocky (of course) begged at my sliding glass door. I recognized her by her snaggletooth. She returned annually to have her kits under our upstairs bathroom. We'd hear the soft baby sounds at night when they were tiny and