I watched two bucks from the window on a frosty spring morning as I sipped my steaming coffee. They seemed to be working acorns on a south-facing hillside just below the house; a place apparently overlooked last fall before the snows came.

As I watched the antlerless bucks, I admired their squared-off bodies, longer legs and powerful thighs, things one doesn't seem to notice when their necks are swollen and heads topped with polished bone. All that remained on their skulls now were tufts of hair that rimmed the empty holes where new antlers would soon sprout.

As the bucks had earlier approached the hillside, a doe and two fawns gave quick leave, making no attempt to socialize. The trio wanted nothing to do with these interlopers. Even bucks without antlers are assertive in demeanor and quickly recognized by their kind.

I flashed back to the week before, when I'd been crunching through the leftover snow cover, searching the vast woodlands for shed antlers. I wandered onto a ridge I'd never explored, finding beds galore on its top and southern side. The beds pocked the ridge from its crest down a long finger of the hogsback, and I had to admire their placement. From this spot nothing could approach without being heard, seen or smelled. Escape was as easy as running down the ridge and deeper into the forest.

We have gray wolves here, a local pack or two. I'd heard them howling just the other night as the moon rose; but the big canines are few in these parts, with too many humans around to allow their numbers to grow substantially. Proof that the wolf numbers are thin can be found in the presence of local coyotes. Where wolves flourish, coyote's don't survive. Wolves eat them.

As I hunted for sheds, and monitored the trails and beds and buck sign left by the local whitetail herd, I pictured the deer scrambling with the rare appearance of hunting wolves, then slowly making their way back to their routine as the pack moved on. Our wolves have been collared and tracked all the way into Wisconsin, more than 100 miles away, so this piece of forest probably sees them rarely; though I'm sure these deer don't take them lightly.

I found no sheds during that day of exploring, but learned more about the local deer, including some information I plan to put to use in the coming fall.

As I later watched the bucks from my window, I wondered where they'd been throughout the fall and winter. Obviously they'd survived the hunting season, and the rare wolf. Where were they when I'd been on stand? Was one of these an animal I'd seen before? I wish I had some way of knowing. One thing was certain: By the time these boys would be hard-horned, they'd also be a lot harder to find.

The bucks fed side by side as if the oldest of friends, without competition or any malice whatsoever. How different they appear in early spring, their bodies lithe, heads bare and demeanor totally relaxed--that all changed when a car passed slowly down the bumpy spring road; the first neighbor heading to work. The bucks raised their heads in suspicion, but instead of bolting, like does and fawns tend to do, they slowly walked away, intent on leaving, but doing so in their cool, collected buck manner. They walked purposefully, turning their heads and craning their necks to look toward the passing vehicle, showing disdain, but never panic--the same way they exit a bow stand after picking up a hint that something's not quite right. I've seen this act before.