About 4:20 A.M., Wednesday, January 2, 2013 I topped the hill on US Route 220 just North of Old Fields. Reasonably bright eyed and bushy tailed, a medium cup of Sheetz Breakfast Blend coffee in my hand, my day was starting OK. No traffic behind or in front, but a glow of oncoming headlights in the dip ahead for which I’d soon have to hit my dimmer a glint, left side, moving. A deer’s eye, body dark as the background against which she stood.
Coming out. I got off the gas, on the brake gently. We were going to meet if I didn’t get a bit more aggressive.
Steered left, braked harder, she jumped faster. We missed, but not by much. Out of the corner of my eye, through side window, I saw the second in line wasn’t going to miss me.
It didn’t. A subdued bang when it hit the side of my van. A definite large lifting bump when my left rear tire ran over it. I drove on to Romney with an unsettled mind.
What to do? What’s proper? What’s humane? What’s expected?
Do I stop, turn around, find the deer in my headlights and assess it’s condition? Do I risk alarming, snarling morning traffic with roadside activity? Emergency blinkers and stumbling search with my dying flashlight? Do I unclamp Van’s tire lug wrench and carry it along in case I feel I should put a crippled deer out of its misery.
Thoughts of the unfortunate Harrisonburg policeman who was seen dispatching a severely injured house cat with his night stick crossed my mind. He went through at least two court appearances before he was exonerated on charges of cruelty to animals.
This is really nice…