Three-legged Race

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A single deer stands on the bank off to the right side of the road, looking back over its shoulder like more deer may be on their way.  I come to a complete stop.  Looking down off to the left, I see three white tails bounding off across the stream, leaving this one deer in the dust, alone.  I turn off the engine.

Popping my door open slowly, I lower my feet to the ground.  The deer turns broadside to me, ears pointed in my direction, licking its lips and wiggling its nostrils.  Her eyes shine.  I take a step.

"Go!  They're not waiting for you.  Go!" I call out gently.  Still she stands and stares at me.  As I take a step up the bank toward her, she turns to go and I realize: one of her front legs is missing.  There's a stub about 8 inches down from the shoulder, but from there on its only empty space.  I only notice because she still walks with this phantom limb, her head dropping low to compensate for each off-step, balancing as she hobbles slowly through the leaves.

It's pity that I feel--curiosity as to how she lost the leg, but pity for her situation.  Each careful step I take toward her, she takes one careful step away from me, keeping use at an equal distance.  My stomach starts to turn for her, even though in my mind I'm thinking how impressed I am that she's even alive.

Suddenly, a twig snaps underneath my foot and it must startle her, because she takes off like a rocket, white tail flipped upward in a wave goodbye; before I know it, she's disappeared up the mountain, ducking through trees like she wouldn't have needed that fourth leg even if she still had it.