Amber and I hit a deer yesterday. We’d just watched the Boar’s Head Inn balloons land at Forest Lakes, and were slowing driving back to her house through the dusk. Rounding a curve of the quiet country road, a deer (previously hidden by trees and brush) stepped into the road, about three feet from us. It had one leg splayed out to the side, which we drove over. It made a little bump.
Amber pulled over. My phone didn’t work, so she drove on to her house, which was just a couple of miles down the road. She was going to get her father to get one of his guns. The deer hopped around on the road before settling down in a little pile. I ran over to it and apologized. Cars began to approach, so I waved to let them know to slow down. Several folks offered help, but nobody had either a gun or a phone, so weren’t of particular use. After just a couple of minutes, the deer bounded across the road, landed on its (presumably) broken leg, fell into a pile again, and bounced back up, clearing a barbed-wire fence and landing in the cow pasture on the other side.
I sat down on the opposite side of the road, waiting for Amber to return, presumably armed. After a few minutes, as the darkness grew thicker, it occurred to me that her father might not be available. Somehow, my phone worked, and I called the police. They sent out a county cop, who arrived just as it became entirely night. Amber’s father and brother showed up right about then, too. (Unarmed.) The officer poked around with his flashlight, but found that, under the cover of darkness, the deer had disappeared.
I felt like a jerk for letting this injured animal escape without further examination. Amber was less than pleased with having broken this animal’s leg. We all had fuzzy navels and went to bed.