I fought a deer once when I was about 8 or 9. We were staying in a tent by a creek one summer and a young deer wandered into the camp. He clearly was accustomed to people, and was not too proud to beg for food. Someone handed me a handful of grain and told me to go feed the deer. I walked up close and he stood up on his hind legs. I held out my hand and he punched me in the face.
Now, I'm no millennial, so I'm not claiming PTSD, emotional trauma, or disability because I took a hoof to the cheek. It caught me by surprise. The deer got in a couple of body blows before I could react. I swung hard, trying to knock that cocky smile off of Bambi's face, but he dodged. I blocked a right hook and got in a couple of jabs to his little fawn snout. He dropped to all fours and I thought he was done, but then he sprang back up and charged.
I jerked my head back to avoid a blizzard of flying hooves and then swung hard at his unprotected belly. He grunted and belted me in the jaw. I reeled backwards and he dropped back down. We circled one another. People gathered around to cheer on the deer. My dad screamed, "Kick him in the head!" He wasn't talking to me. Money changed hands. I don't know what kind of odds I was getting, but it wasn't complimentary.
He jumped up and lunged. This time, I was expecting it. He really was a predictable fighter. I stepped back swung my arm wide, and slapped him hard enough to cross his little deer eyes. He fell sideways and scrambled to get up. He charged again, and I slapped him with the other hand. He landed several solid punches, but I kept knocking him off of his hind legs. We did this a couple of times before he wobbled on all fours, glared at me as if to say, "We'll finish this later, boy. I demand a rematch." Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he sauntered away, strutting like a winner. I fell down.
Oddly enough, you can't bolster your street cred by telling people that you fought a deer to a tie. My dad was angry because he had bet on the deer to win by a knockout. Even my dog was ashamed of me and pretended to belong to another family.
Since then, I've met other deer who were delightful. They were kind, thoughtful, and tasted great. I keep wondering, however, if I'm ever going to take a shortcut down an alley only to see an old buck step out out of the darkness and whisper, "Fear the deer..."