I don’t understand why, but this story made national news a number of years ago. There’s so much lacking in the newspaper coverage I felt I had to dig a little deeper into the facts as few as there were, and into my feelings for Ms. Dorothy Richardson.
Probably not for the squeamish.
photo: Wisconsin DNR
DOROTHY AND THE FAWN Ohio Woman Accused Of Fawn's Shovel Beating Death from The Cleveland Plain Dealer, July 7, 2009 EUCLID, Ohio (AP) — An Ohio woman who found a fawn in her flower garden has been accused of beating it to death with a shovel. Seventy-five-year-old Dorothy Richardson is charged in a warrant with animal cruelty at her Euclid home near the Cleveland Metroparks Euclid Creek Reservation, a wooded park where deer, foxes and other wildlife roam. GOOGLE search: Dorothy Richardson Euclid Ohio about 32,700 results (0.24 seconds) i. Dorothy, quiet as wildlife, steps across her hardwood kitchen floor and out into her backyard garden. She stands still and feels the morning sun on her arms and face. A fawn, curled around itself in the tall grass, lifts its head, twitches its ears, and listens. Songbirds, sound of the Interstate in the near distance. The fawn, only a little less shaky than the night before, comes to its feet. Dorothy and the fawn eye one another. Time as thick and slow as humidity. Dorothy raises her hands and claps - twice. The sound barely moves through the air. The fawn stands still, fast heart beating faster, and sniffs the air. Dorothy, old heart beating harder, backs up to her house, and takes up the shovel leaning against the wall. So many years ago, when Dorothy was a young bride, there was much more wild life in the area: rodents, chipmunk, squirrel, raccoon; a wildcat once, and once a bear; and deer, of course, always deer. Dorothy begged her husband to fence the yard, and though he liked the idea of the wild passing through he relented. The fence has stood for fifty years, and though it has never kept the climbers out nothing as big as this fawn had entered. Dorothy scans the fence. Her eye stops at a spot where a slat is missing; one slat, just large enough for the fawn to have squeezed through. And the dogs start up. They had chased the fawn into the yard the night before, got jumbled up and took off after some other excitement, and have returned to the scent. The fawn, the dogs, the missing slat, the morning sun, the memories of other summers are too much for Dorothy. She bows her head, closes her eyes, and holds herself up though slumped against the shovel. The fawn senses Dorothy's absence, steps up to her, and brushes her hand with its cool nose. And it seems like night. ii. It doesn't satisfy, does it? Well, it doesn't satisfy me, and though I'd like to spare the fawn, the facts require blood. We have to have Dorothy swing her shovel. All right, then: The fawn senses Dorothy's sudden absence, steps up to her, and brushes her hand with its cool nose. The touch snaps her awake and she puts all her strength into raising the shovel. Banshees fly from the trees. The sanctity of blood. iii. WOMAN BEATS BAMBI TO DEATH WITH SHOVEL -Frank James, National Public Radio iv. From a witness statement: I could overhear Dorothy telling my neighbor how she killed a baby deer dead the morning before. ...the fawn was basically screaming. And as she was beating it, she was asking it if it was dead yet. v.. Bruce Weigl, German poet, writes: Anything murdered makes a horrible cry. vi. Pan was out about another day of mischief. When it was night and quiet, Dorothy and Pan lay together on the grass. And when it was day, Pan was gone, and the police were at the door. vii. Female deer leave their fawns in secluded spots while they forage for food. The fawns avoid being eaten by predators by remaining still until their mothers return. Young fawns are still nursing and do not eat flowers and other foliage, Jamey Graham - Division of Wildlife It’s a big rat. He was in her flower-bed. She wasn’t in his flower-bed. George Forbes, President, Cleveland NAACP viii. DOROTHY AT NINETY-FIVE Old Dorothy blind as a bat and crippled with arthritis is wheeled into her spring time garden gone to seed and seed and seed again and shivers as she remembers some twenty years past Dark eyes sweet & wild breath fast heart beating fast and the tilt of earth as terror and blood touched. Dorothy sighs and thinks that nothing is worth death stories are never true and gardens always always go to seed. Dorothy unclenches her hands and feels the sun pass through her. RW 2009
I missed the original news story. Dorothy is a deep mystery to me. I can't even kill ants these days...
Thanks for a beautiful poem.