Wolves at the Gate

The summertime Ligurian Alps are filled with pint-sized springy deer grazing in the fields in the early mornings and eating fallen apples in the orchards in the evenings. Called capriolo in Italian, or roe deer, they croak at each other in voices that sound like big dogs that have had their barkers removed. Close up, they look a bit mangy.

They're so common that they’re barely worth a remark when you see them. I suspect there’s overpopulation. Cars that leave behind bloody carcasses on the rural roadsides at dusk and dawn — peak hours for deer suicide — seem to be their only predator.

One summer afternoon, I found a dead deer in front of my neighbors’ gate. It was a weird place for a deer to lie dead. Our tiny road has a couple of cars on it a day, so it wasn’t hit nearby. I didn’t look closely for obvious wounds so I don’t know how it died. Perhaps it was struck by a deer heart attack, or maybe a drone.

I viewed, with immense relief, the dead deer lying in front of my neighbors’ gate as Not My Problem (NMP). Being rural Italians, my neighbors would know the correct disposal procedure. Had it died 10 meters farther down the road it would absolutely have been my problem. The forest gods had smiled on me. I would not have to learn disposal procedures under the added pressure of decomposing deer.

My perception of the neighbors as competent rural Italians was confirmed. By the next morning the dead deer was gone. I went about my day, mulling theories about how the deer ended up dead in front of the gate and where it went.

Days later another Italian neighbor, whose English is impeccable, had stopped by. Presented with the opportunity while we chatted with the non-English speaking neighbors, I said “ask them what happened to the dead deer!”

“What dead deer?”

I provided some illuminating detail in case they suspected I am a charming but delusional foreign eccentric new to rural ways (some of that may be true) who had mistaken a resting deer for dead.

Oswaldo shrugged. “Oh, probably a wolf took it away.”

A wolf! This response surprised me though it shouldn’t have. Wolves are definitely an issue on the French side of the mountains so why wouldn’t they also be on the Italian.

In the evening, I followed a path of flattened grass through the field, downhill from the neighbors’ gate toward the chestnut forest. It was getting dark. The wolf theory seemed plausible. I went back inside and locked the door.

There are wolves in that chestnut forest. Watch out deer! You’d think they’d know that

The wolves are just outside the gate.