I painted that masterpiece of Rudolph in the fifth grade by the way. Didn’t go over well. So Bossman Doug Smith who told me from the beginning that I can write about anything I want just sent his armada of authors a plea to ramp up production while he deals with the fallout that comes with deer and their poor automotive judgment. I’ve been busy myself, not abreast of the issues that affect your phone, didn’t have much to write about in response to his request but I do have my own deer story that’s apropos. Nothing whatsoever to do with technology but I’m curious what happens if I post it anyway.
Once upon a time I was driving after dark on a windy unlit road in Westport Connecticut and as I got close to a blind curve on a hill I noticed a car pulled over on one side of the road and an incapacitated deer in the middle of the other. I did some calculations in my head and determined that traffic headed toward that deer wouldn’t be able to see him in time to make an evasive maneuver and that the deer, whom I’ll go ahead and personify for narrative effect as Mister Deer, was presenting a major hazard so I thought I’d do a good deed and pull over to drag him out of the way for the deer scooper man to deal with later.
As I approached Mister Deer, I saw that he was alive and conscious. I heard a car approaching, bam, the deer tumbled underneath and was now twenty feet further away from me and the car kept going (Toyota maybe?). I was briefly relieved that there was no serious accident and that the deer was surely dead this time but as I got closer I saw that the deer was still alive and kicking. Five seconds pass, history repeated itself and if you can believe it he was still alive. Resilient little fella. That has got to be some kind of Westport deer record for surviving so many abrupt introductions to fenders, windshields and tires.
Depending on how your mind works this is going to get a little more disturbing. Don’t judge me.
I have a healthy relationship with animals. I like petting them (I’m really good at it, I know all the special spots) but I don’t mind eating them, I don’t carry around buckets of red paint either and I don’t give to PETA. I’m not a hunter. But Mister Deer needed to die right quick and the three cars had proven ineffective.
At the time I wasn’t packing so I asked myself what MacGyver would do. I surveyed the scene, found a bowling ball-sized rock, hauled it toward Mister Deer, fired off a quick prayer for good aim, acquired the appropriate target (we maintained eye contact actually), I raised the rock way up high, then I swiftly did the opposite — goodnight Mister Deer, may you heal a lot during your ascent into Deer Heaven.
Finally managed to accomplish my initial objective, got him and the improvised gravitational device out of the way. The woman who had first hit him was hysterical throughout all of this (did you know that the the Greeks came up with that word because they believed that it only afflicted women and was therefore triggered by disturbances in the uterus?) so I went up to her, told her that it wasn’t her fault, could have been anyone, the deer wasn’t suffering anymore, “maybe you should talk to someone about this tomorrow,” yada yada yada, and was Oscar Mike.