I woke up the other day to a deer grazing in the yard. She was munching on what passes for grass, a mixture of weeds but pleasing to her, it seemed. At first, I only saw the doe. Then a small shape moved close to her, a still-spotted fawn. It must be the baby born here in June.

We’ve tried sprays and powders, gates and fencing. Neighbors have set up a sonic system to deter them. But the deer are hungry; they eat whenever and wherever they can. And there are many of them.

Used to be I’d run out in the yard and wave my arms when I saw deer, anything to banish them. But it was early; I was half-asleep. Resigned, I watched the pair as the doe stared straight at me. My child was born here, she seemed to say with that plaintive look. Doesn’t she have as much claim to this place as you do?