There was this one time I was working security, a common theme in my early twenties, for a National Wildlife Research Center where they kept several herds of deer. Two herds where wild, One was hand-raised. I entered the hand-raised deer pen, on my usual rounds, when suddenly I was surrounded.
Does crowded in all around me. Sniffing at my crotch as I backed up against the fence. Nervously making my way along the fence-line I noticed a buck out of the corner of my eye. He rared up at me as though to box. I grabbed his hooves and pushed him over backwards. He disappeared into the mulling herd.
I reached the corner and noticed the heard had broken up slightly. I was slammed into the chain-link and dropped to my knees as hooves pummeled my shoulders. It was Buba, ear tag #64, 250 lbs 5 point buck and leader of this damned herd. As I covered up to protect my face I saw an opening. Grabbing Buba up be the waist I hefted him to my shoulder like a hay-bail. Then I slammed him like a wrestler and later felt bad when I realized I broken his right antler.
If your gonna play with deer, don't wear Old Spice.