It’s a bright morning with a light frost sparkling on the meadow. The traffic noise from the nearby dual carriageway is louder than normal, oppressive in this rural scene. There are lots of deer prints here, the two toes making that characteristic heart shape. Roe deer and muntjac intermingled, making neat little paths, deer motorways, tracking through the field.
My daughter says she saw a fawn grazing here yesterday and, at first, I thought she must be mistaken – it’s far too early – until I remembered that muntjacs give birth all year round. And so I take to the large throne of a seat that we have here, hewn by my Dad out of a massive piece of oak. I climb up and perch on it, feeling small in its expanse.
From here, I can see out over the winter fields, to Norwich beyond. Inside the bare trees the sap will be starting to rise; the blood of the tree, climbing up the branches from where it’s been stored in the roots over winter, bringing energy and life to branches and bud.
It’s not long until I become aware of movement to my left. I shift my gaze as gently as I can, and see the curved, hunched back of a muntjac deer. I know it’s a female, as only the males grow the bony projections, called pedicles, from which small antlers protrude. Instead, she has a dark brown V pattern on her forehead.
From the scrub appears a fawn, just as my daughter said. It’s no longer dappled, but a flat, mousy brown instead, ageing it at more than eight weeks old. I scan its brow for pedicles, trying to work out a gender, but it’s probably too young to have them yet anyway.
The pair browse the bramble, lips delicately selecting leaves and avoiding thorns. Judging by the doe’s slightly rounded belly, she could be pregnant again. Unlike other deer, muntjac breed continuously and females often become pregnant again within days of giving birth.
A truck rumbles heavily along the nearby lane and the doe skits into the undergrowth, followed at a more leisurely pace by her fawn. I’m left alone in the pale sunshine, with heart-shaped prints all around me.
• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
