I don’t know if his doe wife left him or if he lost his job at the deer factory, but the buck was obviously suicidal. He stood on the edge of Highway 30, cloaked in darkness and fog. He saw my car’s bright lights and contemplated turning out his own. His last deer thoughts passed through his deer brain as he prepared for the ambush.
The buck was determined to become a venison V-2 meat missile and I was his target.
Then he had second thoughts. It might have been my car’s mighty deer whistle. It could have been me screaming profanity (first you say it and then you do it) out the open window. Or maybe he wanted to raise his son Bambi after all. The buck turned around and ran back into the woods.
I counted 18 venison V-2 meat missiles on my way home from Ripley, Miss. — which means there were about 100 I didn’t see. When I finally made it to Oxford, I went the long way to Batesville and then down I-55. A four-lane allows me a little more time to dodge Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixon. And Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen (seriously, who names their kid Blitzen?)
I didn’t even bother going down Highway 7. Highway 7 is the deer gauntlet.
As I drove down the interstate, I came to this conclusion: Deer think God has two bright shiny eyes and makes a deep rumbling sound like a semi. And they want to get closer to God. That’s why they stand on the edge of the road. Well, that and the freshly planted rye grass. Grass tastes better the closer it is to a road.
There are several deer seasons in Mississippi — youth, bow, gun and car. Car is year round. I remember nearly hitting one on Christmas eve. My sons cried all the way home. “YOU NEARLY KILLED RUDOLPH.”
Rudolph nearly killed me.
But not last night. Rudolph decided to allow both of us to live another day. And for that, I’m grateful.