'it's a bull. no, wait, it's a reindeer.'

The story you are about to hear is true. The names haven't been changed to protect the innocent because we're all innocent. Except, of course, the deer, but we didn't know his name in the first place. Deer have names like Bambi, but this deer-actually a very large buck that 15 years ago this week crashed through a front-hall window of the Middle School-sure as heck wasn't any Bambi. 

Our best guess is that he wandered up from the river, and from an eyewitness report, a small beagle-yes, a beagle-chased him at breakneck speed through Sleepy Hollow and onto campus. They blew across the back athletic fields and hurtled through the Jamie Neal Garden. In a panic, the deer leaped full force through the plate-glass next o the main office and landed in a heap between Ann Spiers, our very pregnant colleague, and a startled parent with whom she was having a conference.

Charlie Blair, Fletcher Collins, and I heard the crash and ran Rambolike to the scene. There we witnessed a surreal sight: shards of glass everywhere, two women aghast but unharmed, and a buck with a whole lot of points-nobody stopped to count-struggling to his feet on the slick (thankfully) tile floor. In a moment, he gained his balance and set out toward the doors at the south end of the building as if he were heading to lunch. 

With absolutely no game plan, Charlie, Fletcher, and I followed closely. Though slipping and sliding, the buck quickly reached the steps at the end of the corridor, tumbled down, and smacked his head on the door, which at the time was made of solid wood. 

When he landed, his snout rested against the glass to the left of the door, so I hustled outside, pulled it open, and lowered the stand to provide what l thought would be an easy escape route. Next, l grabbed one of his antlers to angle him into the doorway. He shook his head quickly. ! let go. Instantaneously. 

Rather than vacate the premises when he had the chance, our dazed and frightened interloper scrambled to his feet and headed back up the steps. There, he met Charlie, or at least the large trashcan he had grabbed-purely for protection, he said-and he bounced the deer into the closed door of Room 20, Sue Jett's classroom. 

Thinking someone had knocked, Sue asked a student in her geography class to check things out. "It's a bull," said the incredulous fifth grader. "No, wait, it's a reindeer!" 

As Sue was calming her class, Charlie and Fletcher were hard at work ridding the building of our early morning guest. With the stunned creature once again pointing south, each grabbed an antler, they 'rassled him to his feet, and off he went. 

This entire episode took maybe a minute and a half, but it's hard to tell. Suffice it to say that it was the topic of conversation for days to come. The Richmond News Leader even gave the incident front-page coverage in the Metro Section the next afternoon. 

In the ensuing hours, virtually everyone on campus topped by to survey the scene (which had been quickly cordoned off until the glass was cleaned up and replaced) and offer opinions. 

The hunters among us were chagrined-I think they were joking, but I'm still not sure-that we let the deer escape. A large number of our population was worried that he had been hurt. (For the record, there was a slight cut on his snout.) One or two people, probably as a courtesy, inquired about the health of Charlie, Fletcher, and me. And that night, Ann Spiers delivered a baby girl. We suggested she name the child Fawn or perhaps Indira, but she chose Cary instead. 

Sometimes, with the passage of time, stories become exaggerated, but there's not a single bit of hyperbole in the account you have just read. Try as I might, there's no way, no way at all, that I could possibly make up anything this good.