Dear Molly, There was one summer when your family stayed in the house of a sculptor in Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. They lived up on the mountain and the house had a sculpture garden and beautiful flower garden. You dedicated much of your time there to collecting butterflies, caterpillars, hunting for snakes, and looking for fawns. One day up on the edge of the property you found a deer leg – the lower foreleg and hoof. You carried it home, delighted with your find. You were barefoot, in a white tee-shirt, 4 years old, and a master naturalist. Dad met you at the edge of the yard and collected the leg, sending you into the house devastated that you couldn’t keep it and confused about where the rest of the deer might be. That evening he explained poachers to you.