They arrive on the earthen dam, the well-nourished female the first to climb up the ravine, nose in the air, white tail up until she feels safe enough to saunter toward the pond that remains at its summertime low. She takes a few sips, her ears twitching, hindquarters quivering from the flies and mosquitoes that will continue to plague her until the first hard frost. Our neighbors have named her The Moocher because of the big doe’s habit of striding toward people, hoping for a handout. She has b...