INTRODUCTION

 

Many of you may have read some or all of my Bambi and Stranger stories that I have published at Fan Fiction starting three years ago and finishing last year. This is NOT one of those stories. What I have done here is to attempt to write the next chapter in this story as originally written by Felix Salten (AKA Siegmund Salzman). Salten wrote two stories about our friendly deer, Bambi (1928) and Bambi’s Children (1939). Disney took the original novel and made it into its classic film of 1942. For animation, I think it is one of the best-drawn animated movies in all of history. Its faithfulness to Salten’s original story is another matter. Salten wrote about life in the forest, and sometimes that life can get grim. Disney mostly glossed over the kill or be killed life of forest animals and instead let Man be the villain of the piece. In this story, there is enough grimness to go around, but Man is still #1 on the list.

This story had an unusual genesis. I had just spent months finishing my first major novel that I am now trying to find a publisher or a literary agent for. In any case, I was bummed out on serious writing so I wanted to write something lighter. I always knew how I wanted to have the story to proceed, so I wrote this down. I hope it has some value as a work of fan-fiction.

Please note: I am again putting Bambi and his herd in as whitetail deer in North America and not roe deer in Germany. Again, that is my preference. In addition, any of you wildlife biologists out there will note I took more than a few liberties with deer physiology and behavior. What can I say, except this way helps the story flow better, I hope? In any case, this is a work of fiction and not a wildlife documentary. Salten wrote his work as a metaphor and I have done the same. The period is again set near Salten’s time of the 1920-1930s.

I freely admit that I have no claim on this story. According to the sources I have, Anna Wyler held the rights for Felix Salten’s works as his daughter. I understand Twin Books now holds the rights to the books. Disney, of course, owns the rights to the movie. I tried to take both and merge them into a single story that drew on both book and movie for inspiration. I hope you enjoy my story.

If this work is deemed to have any worth, I dedicate to the memories of both Felix Salten and Walt Disney. Two masters of storytelling.

 

WA

April 2018

 

P.S. Let me know what you think.

 

Thanks

CHAPTER ONE: SPRING

 

The snow was finally gone.

Bambi looked over the meadow as it was turning from dull brown to a dark green and smiled. Soon life would come back to the forest after a long, hard, and cold winter. He looked back at his brown ragged winter coat now shedding in the warmer days. Even his own large and muscular body was lean and wasted by the effects of the hardest winter he had ever seen in his four seasons living in the forest. Many of the older deer had not made it. His own Father had barely survived the cold. He was still ill with a deep cough. It had been a hard time for all.

He took in a large breath through his nose. There were the familiar smells of other deer, most of them he knew: scents of squirrels, rabbits, a fox, possums, and the like were all around him. One odor he did not like smelling was the putrid scent of decomposing flesh that still lingered in the air from those not strong enough to survive until the spring. Their frozen bodies had died and were only now were thawing out. Their remains would make a feast for the foxes, coyotes, and the occasional mountain lion that roamed the forest. At least none of his family had died during the snow.

The great light was coming up filling the open meadow with brightness. He moved quietly back into the thickening foliage of the forest not wanting anyone to see him in the open expanse before him. While it was not yet the time for Man, that did not mean there was no danger about. He felt safe only when concealed in the green of the forest. He moved along the forest floor avoiding the more common deer paths. He tried not to disturb the leaves from last season and give away his location. His Father had taught him to avoid the common paths. There were other dangers besides Man that knew those paths also. As he walked around the open expanse of the meadow, he could see in the far distance the place he was born in. It had burnt along with much of the forest during the fire in his second year. Looking at that now barren cold, space, he felt a pain in his heart. Even though it happened three seasons ago, the memory of his dead mother still was hard to bear. He moved quietly on walking away from that painful space and looked up at the old hollow tree trunk of Friend Owl. Another voice he would never hear again. Another victim of the last winter’s cold.

“Good morning Young Prince,” he heard from above.

Upon a nearby branch rested a young owl born two springs ago. Young, fit, strong, he had taken over the territory of the old owl. Such was the way of the forest, one died and another took your place.

“Greetings, Oswell,” he said. “It looks like you survived the winter well enough.”

“If not for the old owl’s hollow, I would not have,” the owl squeaked. “In there it was warm. When he died, I took it over. Do you think he'd mind?”

As if it mattered what the dead thought. “No, I do not,” he answered calmly. “But I will miss him. I knew him since I was born near here.”

“I am cleaning it out. I am going to look for a mate soon. It is time to make and raise my own chicks.” He then yawned widely. “Good day, Young Prince,” he said and closed his huge yellow eyes.

That was the way of all things. “Well good luck,” he told him and walked quietly on.

He traveled around the open meadow and toward the small stream he played near when he was a fawn. He stopped and leaned over to take a drink. When he finished, he looked up and saw a familiar tree log. As he watched, an old gray-hair rabbit came out. The light gray and white fur he remembered as a fawn were all gone. The hare was all white with age. The rabbit moved slowly, cautiously and always looked upwards. He saw him eat some of the new grass by the log. Other than his age, he looked fit. The rabbit looked up at him and called out.

“Bambi, you are alive.”

He smiled and walked over to the log knowing his friend did not like being too far away from its safety when it was light.

“Greetings Thumper,” he said warmly. “I see you made it through the winter.”

“I did,” he said glumly. “No one else made it. “Mela died in mid-winter. A ferret took her body.”

“What about the two liters from last summer?” he asked.

“They scattered before the start of winter,” Thumper added. “I have no idea if any of them are alive or dead.”

“It has been a bad winter,” he said. “Even some deer died. The predators have easier food to catch than you.”

“I hope so,” he said still looking around carefully.

With that, Thumper stopped and seemed to stretch his legs. He could hear the bones creak. He could plainly see how stiff his old friend was getting. Finally, the rabbit looked up at him. “Bambi, I am getting old. I do not think I will see another spring after this.”

He wanted to object, but he realized that was futile. Thumper was old as a rabbit. Soon he would pass on like all the others including his mother, and one day, himself. Only the forest lasted, not those in it; not even Man. A breeze then brought another scent to his nose. It was a fox and nearby. Thumper also smelled it and without a word disappeared quickly back into the log and his borough at the end. He stood up and sure enough, the light brown shape of a fox currying through the grass. His nose was close to the ground and his body tight as if ready to pounce.

“You are too late, fox,” he said aloud. “Thumper smelled you and is now back in his borough.”

The long pointed nose face came close, but not near him. The fox was studying him as if considering him for a meal. The predator was watching him for any sign of lameness or injury the predator could take advantage of. He stood up straight letting the smaller animal know he was in fine shape.

“Do not try it, fox,” he warned. “I have killed dogs, I will kill you.”

The fox took a step back. “I am sorry, Young Prince,” the agile creature said. “I did not recognize you. I would never attack you or your Father.”

“That I believe,” he said with scorn. “There is nothing here for you. There are still dead animals on the hillsides near the large lake that are thawing out as the snow melts. You will find better eating there.”

“Thank you, Young Prince,” the Fox said and scampered away.

When he was out of sight, he bent over and spoke loudly into the log. “He is gone, Thumper. I will see you later.”

“Perhaps,” he heard a voice echo through the log.

He walked on into the thickening forest. He knew this area well. He lived here with his Father and his family. He had seen neither for sometimes since the last snow fell. The lack of food made all the deer spread out to find something to eat. With spring, they would all come back, he hoped. He walked on stopping from time to time to eat some new spring growth grass. After the bland, soggy, snow-covered grass, he survived on during the winter; the taste of new growth was refreshing. It was also better than eating tasteless pine bark many had to do just to survive.

He was going now into the deep forest; the part

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