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was a command to be obeyed. Did I mean for Beni to herd them, to bring them back?
    Dozens of black-tipped ears pricked toward the dog. A score of sable-ringed muzzles lifted to sniff the air.
    Suddenly alarmed, one doe wheeled around. Her body became an animated wall, protecting her startled fawn.
    The first threat to Beni came from a large, round-rumped doe, the mother of twins. She lowered her head and pawed the ground, warning the canine to come no closer. Oblivious and unafraid, the dog trotted on toward the herd. The doe squealed, preparing to charge. Beni had trespassed into the fawns’ nursery.
    Beni tucked his tail and, confused by the doe’s aggressive behavior, hesitated. A brace of angry mothers encircled him. Sensing danger, the dog bristled and barked. He bared his teeth.
    Two does charged, lashing out at Beni with sharp, accurately aimed hooves. Beni yelped and fell. He tried to rise but was knocked back. First one doe struck with powerful front hooves; then a second doe pounced, bringing the full weight of her body onto him. A third pounced again. The young dog was unable to escape repeated blows as he was butted and kicked from all sides.
    I froze and shouted, “Papa!” My terrified cries drew Mother from the tent.
    My father bellowed and swung his shepherd’s staff around his head as he sprinted toward the melee of attacking deer. Theyscattered. With their little ones, the deer sprang into the forest, disappearing into the shadows of the deep woods.
    Bloody and near death, Beni lay panting in the grass. Weeping, I stumbled to the battered body of my friend, then dropped to my knees and began to wail.
    My father stooped and with a glance took in the broken body of the dog. “Nehi! Go get a blanket from your mother. Quickly. Go . . .”
    Sobbing, I scrambled back up the path toward the tent. My mother met me and scooped me into her arms. “Oh, my boy! My boy!”
    “Mama! They hurt Beni,” I cried. “The mother deer! Papa says bring a blanket quick!”
    Mother returned to the tent and snatched a blanket off a sleeping mat. Neighbors and camp children paused in their chores to shield their eyes against the sun and take in the tragedy.
    “What is it?”
    “Sarah? What’s happened?”
    “Nehi’s dog got too close to the fawns.”
    “Stupid dog.”
    “Young dog. Curious. He’s never seen new fawns before.”
    “Went out to have a sniff and . . .”
    “Good thing the boy was not with him.”
    Rabbi Kagba approached her. “Sarah. The does were protecting their young. It could have been Nehemiah hurt. Aye. Instead, it’s the dog. Be grateful.”
    Sarah nodded grimly and placed me in Kagba’s arms. The old man soothed, “There, there, Nehi. It’s finished now. We will pray. Come, Nehemiah. We will pray.”
    “Mama, ask the Lord! Get out the oil of God. Pray, Mama!”I covered my face and wept bitterly. “Lord, Abba! Save my little friend. Save my Beni!”
    As Mother jogged unevenly toward the scene, she guessed the matter was probably already settled. How could anything survive such an assault? She hurried down the path to where a circle of rough shepherds gathered around and offered unhelpful advice.
    “Master Lamsa, sir, might as well slit his throat and end it.” An elder drew his knife and offered it to my father.
    He reached for it but, at the sight of Mother, held back. “A moment, Raphael. Let me check the damage to the little fellow.”
    “He’s broken to pieces.”
    “Was he protecting the lad?”
    “No. Just trotted off on his own, like.”
    “Still a pup. Curious. They don’t know better at this age.”
    “Should have stayed with his child instead of going off to have a look at the fawns.”
    Father worked to staunch the bleeding of the dying dog.
    Beni’s fur was matted and covered in blood. He lay trembling in the trampled grass.
    The men parted to let Mother into the circle.
    “Beni. Oh! Poor little fellow.” The dog blinked when my mother knelt beside him and stroked