I stayed in the car, taking photos through the windshield.
|The larger adult, looking well fed, chewing a mouthful of greens.|
|The fawn, and, I think, the mother. She's skinny, as if she's been nursing her baby.|
|Mother and fawn|
The girls were sensible enough to keep quiet, move gently, and not approach too closely. The fat adult moved back into the bush, came up against a chain-link fence (visible in the top photo), and returned to go on with his meal. But the mother was nervous, and after a few minutes, she crossed the road, where the bush went on, without barriers, all the way down to the river.
She waited. The fawn tiptoed timidly out onto the road, and almost all the way across, before he started to wonder if this was the right thing. Here he was, halfway between one adult and the other, and not sure where to go. Neither of the adults moved to call him.
We humans all held our breath.
|Which way? Which way?|
(Aren't those the cutest little toes?)
|Thinking it over|
Eventually, the fawn went back to his starting point. The mother dithered, debating her next move. Back across the road to her fawn? Or stay there, on the path to safety, calling her baby to come on? She couldn't make up her mind, and we were not helping, just being there.
We loaded the kids back into the car and drove on.
Luckily, no other car came down the road, hurrying around the blind corner ahead, while the youngster stood, doubting, on the centre line.
|We were here.|