Deer Park

Spring is finally here, and with it a spate of better weather. The sun alone has made a significant difference in lifting my mood. From my seat in the study, I can see the green fields stretching off towards a ramshackle farm with a rusty silo, and beyond that, the land ascends to a wooded rise, at the top of which stands a stately manor, majestically placed among the trees. This very English setting may have gone some way towards last night's dream which took place in a deer park.

I was in a car with my eldest sister, parked in the middle of a broad field. Ahead of us, the field gave way to woods, also on an incline. Gamboling at the edge of this woodland was a large herd of fallow deer (Dama dama). Like most animals in England, the fallow deer is not a native animal. They are thought to have been introduced from Sicily by the Normans, for sporting purposes. Perhaps the Duke might have known? The deer were in a sporting mood themselves, feeling the freshness of spring, and delighting in the vigor of their supple forms. The breeding season was in full fling, as evidenced by the rampant rutting and copulation taking place. The fawns, as yet too young to understand adult behaviour, mimicked their elders nonetheless. They pranced on their hind legs and boxed the air like mad March hare pugilists, an extraordinarily comical sight.

Further up the wooded slope, where the trees grew taller and closer together, I spotted an enormous western red deer (Cervus elaphus) stag, far larger than any deer has a right to be. It kept apart from its more frivolous cousins, aloof and elegant, gracefully picking its path through the trees with its head held high, its massive antlers scraping the tree branches. I tried to point it out to my sister, who was watching the fawns, but by the time she looked it had disappeared. We strained for another glimpse, and all we caught was its immense belly exposed for a few moments. The fallow deer herd moved further up the slope into the woods, causing the red to retreat. They threw themselves onto their backs and rolled around in the leaf litter, kicking their legs in the air. The fawns followed suit, tumbling head over tail down the hill.

After this leaf bath, the herd abandoned the woods and bolted downhill into the field, over to where our car was parked. We frantically wound up the windows, unaccountably worried lest they should stick their tongues inside. A large buck charged by too close, clipping the passenger side wing mirror. They surrounded the car, gazing at us with liquid eyes. I told my sister to back up to give them some space, taking care not to hit any of the fawns behind us. With the car in reverse, the inquisitive herd did not follow us. There was a nerve-jangling growl from outside, and through the window we saw a ferocious tiger (Panthera tigris) fighting a stag. They battled like coded animals in a video game, taking it in turns to land a blow. Eventually the tiger won by swatting the stag's head with its paw, killing it instantly. We drove away from the bloody scene before it had a chance to notice us.

What could this dream signify? A brief enjoyment of Spring and the renewal of life, only to be cut short? Perhaps the tiger was Covid-19?