Yesterday I spied three mule deer not far from my house in Bend, Oregon. This isn't unusual here the since urban growth boundary has been pushed increasingly into wildlife habitat which contain scent trails that have been used for centuries. I am not here to debate whether the deer population has increased or decreased over the past years. The subject becomes unpleasant especially when talking to hunting enthusiasts or local farmers who allege their crops are almost purposefully munched. In any case, having originally been raised in the heart of the city of Chicago and then transplanted to the suburbs of Southern California in my youth, meant that seeing deer was an awe-inspiring event. Only after moving to Oregon in my early twenties and living in rural areas did this experience become almost commonplace. Nonetheless, there is still something so special about these innocent ungulates. I observed their behavior for hours when I worked on fire lookouts many years ago and learned much of their gentle personality. Seeing these few still brings me joy and reminds me of a world that once existed before there were so many of us.