![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
So, okay, last night I’m driving home from having dinner out with my mom (I think it may have been the first time I’ve driven with someone else in the car since getting my license), and halfway down Mattappani road, a baby deer tries to fling itself in front of the minivan.
I’m was driving along, talking to my mom, and I saw this little deer, not a really a faun anymore, but still not full grown, standing by the side of the road. I interrupted myself mid-sentence to say, “Oh, look, a deer,” and the deer, on cue, launched itself across the road. Two thoughts flashed across my mind simultaneously, “Oh no! I’m going to kill the baby deer!” and, “Fuck, I just replaced that right-hand tire last week, and now the deer’s going to trash it.” I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could and jerked the wheel to the left—pure reflex action, since I’m left-handed, but luckily, the deer was coming from the right, so it worked out—and the minivan came to a screeching halt, the fender grazed the deer so gently that it didn’t even make a noise, and the deer, who hadn’t even been knocked down, raced away across the soybean field, probably traumatized for life. Meanwhile, I was frantically saying, “Oh my God, I killed it, didn’t I?,” and thinking with horror that if I’d hit the poor thing and broken it’s back or something, I’d have to go home and get the rifle or the shotgun and shoot it, and I’ve never even fired the hunting rifle or the shotgun, just the .22, plus I’m pretty sure the bullets for the rifle are in my Dad’s truck, and oh, God, what was I going to do?
My mom hastened to assure me that the deer was unhurt, and I looked out the window to see it bounding away. I drove the rest of the way home, with my mom deeply impressed that I’d even seen the deer in time to react, and then got out and checked the tire and fender, which didn’t have so much as a scratch on them.
Which, since deer can trash even twin-engine aircraft, is pretty lucky.
I’m was driving along, talking to my mom, and I saw this little deer, not a really a faun anymore, but still not full grown, standing by the side of the road. I interrupted myself mid-sentence to say, “Oh, look, a deer,” and the deer, on cue, launched itself across the road. Two thoughts flashed across my mind simultaneously, “Oh no! I’m going to kill the baby deer!” and, “Fuck, I just replaced that right-hand tire last week, and now the deer’s going to trash it.” I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could and jerked the wheel to the left—pure reflex action, since I’m left-handed, but luckily, the deer was coming from the right, so it worked out—and the minivan came to a screeching halt, the fender grazed the deer so gently that it didn’t even make a noise, and the deer, who hadn’t even been knocked down, raced away across the soybean field, probably traumatized for life. Meanwhile, I was frantically saying, “Oh my God, I killed it, didn’t I?,” and thinking with horror that if I’d hit the poor thing and broken it’s back or something, I’d have to go home and get the rifle or the shotgun and shoot it, and I’ve never even fired the hunting rifle or the shotgun, just the .22, plus I’m pretty sure the bullets for the rifle are in my Dad’s truck, and oh, God, what was I going to do?
My mom hastened to assure me that the deer was unhurt, and I looked out the window to see it bounding away. I drove the rest of the way home, with my mom deeply impressed that I’d even seen the deer in time to react, and then got out and checked the tire and fender, which didn’t have so much as a scratch on them.
Which, since deer can trash even twin-engine aircraft, is pretty lucky.