If junior high dances are anything like they used to be, on the
way inside, you walk past noisy boys jostling one another for dominancy. You hear snippets of saucy trash talk, see
manly posturing with exaggerated shoulders and aggressive chins, as well as
smell a mixture of colognes designed to tantalize the fairer sex awaiting that
evening’s Prince Charming. When a
particularly desirable young woman arrives, those waiting Romeos amp their
preening and posing until they catch her attention.
Once inside the door, one notices young ladies dressed to
catch the eye of the toughs shoving one another around outside, listens to
decidedly feminine voices discussing outfits, hair, make-up, and the charms of
their dream boat, and inhales a second barrage of scents selected to enchant male
objects-of- affection.
Once the music begins, dominant lads stride across the room
to tag the girl of their dreams for a dance.
Every now and then, competition gets in the way, and a stare-down begins
first as the two assert their authority.
If that doesn’t work, a hefty shoulder shove gets the message across
that the lady is taken. Some wannabe sweethearts
just don’t get it, and a fight ensues. Whenever
I observe these adolescent activities, it reminds me of the annual deer equivalent
of this junior high social function.
Not long ago, we
spent the evening at Cedar Bluff where we watched the white tail version of
this rite of passage. A group of does arranged themselves on a green field below
our picnic area and began to nibble daintily.
I wondered how long it would take
before a buck arrived, and sure enough one followed the females only minutes
after they appeared. He was not particularly
big, so I expected what came next.
A much larger male strode onto the scene. He didn’t amble; he strutted. He was every
bit the cocky adolescent male strutting his stuff to show off for the
girls. It was clear he saw the ladies as his and the
other buck as an intruder.
Beginning the challenge, the two locked eyes. For several
minutes, they stared and feinted forward and back. When that didn’t cause the other to budge,
there was some head tossing enhanced with pawing of dust. I guess that’s the deer equivalent of a
little sand in the eyes.
For a moment, I thought the little guy was going to give in
and leave. The big deer thought so too,
but it was a ruse. The challenger was
playing with Mr. Macho. After his little
deceit, he charged his opponent.
Tensions escalated considerably. You’d have thought the human observers were
cheering on a favorite football team with all the jumping up and down and
hollering going on. Fans evenly divided
their support for the bucks, so emotions heightened on the hilltop as the
battle raged.
The warring deer clashed antlers and thunked shoulders, snorting
and grunting through the ordeal.
Ironically, the fought over four-legged maidens, kept eating. They’d
glance up every now and then at a particularly loud assault or at a cheer from
the audience, but, in general, they didn’t pay much attention to their
Lotharios.
Eventually, the larger creature dispersed his challenger,
who wandered into the brush to hide his shame.
Several of the hilltop cheering section groaned as their favorite left
the battlefield under the flag of defeat.
Despite the winner’s exertions, he didn’t seek a prize that
evening. He contented himself with
joining the gals for dinner.
I was left mulling the similarities between humans and deer
and how entertaining it is to watch either species’ courtship rituals.
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