We're women, and we call this exercise.
I don't know what the horses call it, and I'm not asking.
After the ride, I went home and then to the car, which is when I found the little fawn. It was as adorable as Bambi, and seemed weak but otherwise calm, curled up by my car tire. Its lovely black eyes glistened, fringed with eyelashes I could kill for, and it had cute little white spots on its back. Its legs were long and knobby, and it couldn't have weighed more than 10 pounds. It looked at me, I looked at it, and then I did what any woman would do.
I called my girlfriends.
Nan and Paula came over, and we all stood in a menopausal semicircle, oohing, ahhing, and worrying about the little cartoon fawn.
"Mommy, can I keep him?" I asked, and it seemed like a great idea. I have only four dogs and two cats, which is 35 pets shy of hoarding.
Plus I have no deer.
I could understand not keeping it if I already had a deer, but I was fresh out. And to be honest, I love deer. I didn't mind when they ate my plants, since they were hungry and they lived here first, and after a while, I just stopped planting anything.
If you can't beat 'em, quit.
Also I remembered reading a Monty Roberts book about how he kept deer as pets. I bet he could even ride a deer if he wanted. If I rode a deer, I would do it with my girlfriends and we would talk and talk and talk until we were exhausted.
But back to the story.
Paula works with her husband, who's a vet, and thank God, she knows a lot about animals. She said, "We should call an animal rescue and see what they think we should do."
Nan nodded. She used to raise goats, and she knows a lot about animals, too. She said, "Good idea. I have a number in my phone."
So I watched the little fawn and imagined making it my pet while they called all manner of rescue services, vets, and knowledgeable friends. I stood hoping nobody answered, so I could keep the deer. I was already thinking of names for my new pet. She was a girl, I could tell by her long eyelashes, which is how you know.
The obvious choice for a name was Bambi. I couldn't think of another name, except Thumper. The only original name I could think of was Fawn, and I guessed I could call her Fawn Hall, which is the type of joke that amuses me and fellow baby boomers and nobody else.
Paula and Nan hung up the phone, both having gotten excellent advice. We should try to give the fawn some water, and though I didn't have a baby bottle, I had a big syringe (without the needle) that I use for giving Buddy medicine. So Nan held the fawn while I gave her water from a syringe, and if you don't know I was lactating, you're new around here.
Then, per directions, we took her out to the woods, where the other deer live. The animal rescue people said to check on her later, and if she was gone, that meant she'd found another mother.
So we did, and she must have, because she was gone.
But I miss Fawn Hall Scottoline.
And if she comes back, I'll have her cradle ready.
Lisa Scottoline and Francesca Serritella's essays have been published in "My Nest Isn't Empty, It Just Has More Closet Space" and "Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog." Lisa's latest novel, "Save Me," is on sale now. Visit Lisa at www.scottoline.com.