Violence

I drove Ry to school this morning, same as every morning.  He is newly 15 and usually has a tough time waking up, but today was easier than most days.  We drove out, across the misty farmland, with the sun rising in the rear-view mirror, and chatted about computer games and his cousin’s software job.  I dropped him off at 7:15 ten minutes before first bell, and drove back from Poolesville.

I’d crossed the bridge over Seneca creek, was listening to political talk on the radio when the deer jumped out.

I was quick on the brakes – luckily no one close behind me – but it was probably less than a quarter second before impact.  I caught the small deer with the center of the f-150’s grill.  I came mostly to a stop, and the carcass rolled away limp.  The deer didn’t move.  I figured it had been killed instantly. 

There was nowhere safe to pull over, and there was a long line of traffic behind me.  I drove on home,  a little bit shaken and unsure how to proceed. 

If you’re going to hit a deer.  dead center with a truck is better than a small car.  It would’ve been a very different experience for someone driving with children in a Honda.  Or if someone had swerved, which is instinct, and pulled into an oncoming car. Reading about such accidents later, I learned that most people die from deer wrecks because of swerving into something.

I got home and looked at the truck.  The front bumper was slightly damaged.  The license plate had apparently been torn off.  I looked online to see what you should do about such an accident – count your blessings if your safe, contact insurance, some suggest putting the deer out of its misery, some suggest harvesting the carcass.  I’ve heard that road kill meat is usually tainted from the impact and not fit to eat, btw.  But that was the last thing on my mind.

I did feel bad about killing the deer.  I worried that it might be alive, suffering.  I also thought I should go collect my license plate.

So I went in the garage, grabbed a sledge hammer and a small pickaxe and drove back over to where I’d hit the deer.  I stopped at a street a couple hundred yards from the carcass and looked at the truck damage again.  Turned out the license plate was still attached, just pushed in.

I decided to take the small pickaxe, which would be more manageable than the sledge, and I walked down the busy road to the deer.  It was quite lifeless, and its eyes looked quite blank.  I worried it might be paralyzed and still suffering, so I took two swings with the sharp end of the pickaxe into its brain.  Maybe three seconds to swing the axe.  I think the skull was shattered because the point went in so easily.

Not being used to such violence, it felt odd.  It felt so strange that it was so easy and quick to swing fatal blows.  You forget how fragile things are.

I drove home, political news was still on the tv.  Gwen was awake and needed a ride to work by 10:15.