By the time I see the deer it doesn’t matter. So I do what I think we all would do. I honk my horn. Thinking back, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Honking my horn at the precise moment of contact isn’t going to do anything. Except maybe make this ordeal scarier. It’s a reflex though. You’re about to hit something with your car, you honk. I’d like to think that I’m not hitting the deer as much as it’s hitting me. A matter of perspective, one could suppose.
Earlier this day I allow a big-bodied buck, with a modest 4-point rack, to interrupt my gate. I’m happy to yield to wildlife crossing the road when it’s possible. I’m reminded I have never hit a deer with my car. I’ve had some sticky wickets but both deer and driver escaped from death’s dance undeterred. All of that dashed in 3 seconds. Drats.
I pull over to see how much devastation there is to behold. It’s dark. My headlights are staring me down. It’s hard to see but It’s obvious my bumper isn’t supposed to look like that. It’s not pretty but it’s drivable. The deer manages to get to the other side of the road where, well, you know.
It’s busy on this strip of country road. I don’t swerve to miss because that means leaving my lane entering oncoming traffic. I wonder what’s going through that driver’s mind. “Close call. Sucks to be that guy.” I don’t know.
I’m just glad to be okay. I feel bad though. And I’m a hunter. That’s where I’m heading home from. An unsuccessful opening weekend until the drive home. Go figure. My heart slows to a resting pace. I’m back in my car and back on the road with plenty of time to Monday-morning-quarterback this fiasco.
Why did I leave the cottage when I did? A handful of seconds in either direction and I’m clear. I’m not speeding. I’m paying attention because I know the deer are moving right around nightfall. I know there are hunters leaving the woods so they’re moving all the more. I eventually settle on, “These things happen and this time it happened to you. Nothing you can do about it, big guy.” (Sometimes I call myself “Big guy.” It’s a term of endearment. I hate it when I call myself that when I’m mad at myself, though. It makes me smile and then I can’t stay mad at me anymore. That itself is maddening.)
I’ve made my peace with it. Now I need to make my peace with my insurance company. Upon second inspection in my garage it seems that the side of my car is pushed in which is preventing the passenger door from opening.
Hunting is expensive.
For those interested, here are 6 plausible morals to this tale:
1) Don’t go outdoors. Wildlife is out to get you.
2) Drive faster.
3) White tail deer should be entirely housed in deer detainment facilities. No time off for good behavior.
4) Always second guess yourself.
5) Triple guess yourself for good measure.
6) Sometimes things happen and you just need to accept them. The end.
Photo credit : Flickr
