Hot and humid day. Heat warnings all over the place: Stay indoors. Drink lotsalotsa water.

“Let’s go, dogs,” I tell the dogs after I bring up trash, plastic recyclables bin, and chicken bucket (compostable food that goes to a chicken farm nearby). “We’re going out early, and not for long.” Where? To a place with lots of shade and water.

I drive less than 10 minutes away, park, and we start walking down a curving road separated by dense bushes from a splashing stream that Aussie loves to wade in. Aussie doesn’t make a break straight for it as I expect, instead, she walks ahead of me, tail swinging high up in the air like a flag for Henry and me to follow, which I do at a slower pace.

We veer left with the road, on our way to a pedestrian bridge crossing the stream, and I notice her entering a thick clump of bushes to our right. A minute later I hear a kerfuffle in that direction, and a small fawn emerges, baa-ing like a sheep. Its legs are as thin as asparagus stems. It runs across the road and Aussie, my Aussie, chases it with all her might on her 8-year-old strong legs. The fawn manages to keep 10 feet ahead of her as it hurries to the other side and down to the grasslands by the stream, instantly obstructed from view by the trees and tall shrubs.

I yell and shout for her to come but she’s in her own world now, a hunter after prey. I could hear the fawn baa-ing out in the meadow though I can’t see anything behind the dense foliage, Aussie with her high-pitched deer bark. A quick movement behind me: the mother rushing in their direction silently, stealthily. Her baby keeps on baa-ing for a while. I can’t believe its legs will outlast Aussie, she’ll catch up with it.

Finally, the baa-ing stops. A moment later, another two high-pitch barks from Aussie, and then nothing. I can see nothing through the thick brush. I’d like to think that perhaps the mother, with her strong adult legs, lured Aussie away—could that have been the reason for her two last barks?—but I know for sure that there was no way the fawn could outlast and outdistance my dog.

After waiting for her, I tell Henry to come back to the car with me; my appetite for a walk has evaporated. As we round the curve she comes walking towards us, wet and muddy. The hunt took her far away. I examine her minutely. Hint of blood on her lips? Not likely because she doesn’t eat freshly killed animals, if she catches something (which in itself is very rare) she’ll shake it by the neck to kill it.

But she’s done what she always does after a big run, rushes into the nearest body of water, drinks, and rests in its coolness, her paws and lower legs muddy. She gives nothing away. Maybe notices that I don’t reach for my treats as I often do when she comes back to me. There she lies on the back seat of the car above, proud and happy after muddying up the sheet on the seat (no, that’s not blood).

“That’s what happens when dogs are off-leash,” my housemate reminds me.

I can respond that I’ve let her off leash for almost 7 years and have never seen anything like this, but don’t. Instead, I remember driving on our road early Monday morning and seeing something small and light-colored straight ahead. The car approached and there was a small fawn standing uncertainly on the road. I stopped and it lay right down by the car, golden brown with large white spots. It looked up at me with perplexed eyes, the sweetest, most defenseless creature I’d ever seen.

Just as I was beginning to wonder what to do (I was on my way to New York), I saw in my rearview mirror the mother crossing the road behind me. A moment later the fawn got up on its spindly legs and walked over to where she stood, and they disappeared down to the meadow.

This is the time for fawns and I didn’t remember, didn’t pay attention. Now, maybe too late, I pay attention. Tomorrow, and other tomorrows for a while, I will put her on leash and have already posted a reminder on my calendar for early June 2026: Leash Aussie. I didn’t do that today. Some people train their dogs not to chase other animals; I didn’t. She loves to chase, and her prey almost always escapes her. Almost.

It’s not her fault, I remember, she does what’s natural to her. We get into the car and drive to the post office.

Every single action or inaction has its consequences, life and death teeters on the edge of even the most innocent activity. Never, ever forget that, I tell myself.