On a pine covered mountainside north of Tucson, Arizona, three deer picking their way cautiously among the trees seemed to know the fall hunting season was just days away. The heavily antlered stag snorted noisily, warning the does to follow his lead.

Although birds were singing close-by, and a cottontail was nibbling on a cluster of wild strawberries, as the deer stepped gingerly into a secluded glade, it was to become aware of the lingering presence of the intrusion of man. The charred wood of a campfire long since extinguished, a rusty steak knife, several individual plastic serving containers, an empty beer can folded over, a kennel tote inside of which a well loved teddy bear lay forgotten. A single shaft of light filtering through the lush foliage caressed the skeletal remains of a small body.

As a unit, the deer bolted into the forest.

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