“Look out!” I yelled, as several deer crossed the heavily trafficked road all around us. We were traveling back from Crestview on Highway 85 at dusk after spending the afternoon with Hubby’s sister.
Hubby slammed on the brakes as one deer ran into the front of our car, then fled into the woods. Behind us, another car hit a deer which now lay on the highway. We pulled to the side.
“We need to get that deer out of the road,” I said, impulsively hopping from the car and crossing the busy highway to run back to where the deer lay unmoving. Black Younger Son followed me, his phone jammed to his ear as he narrated a play-by-play of the events to his friend. Dressed all in black, he stood in the road to try to divert traffic away from the left lane. Probably not the smartest idea. But then, Younger Son isn’t known for his common sense. Meanwhile, I wasn’t paying much attention to Younger Son, as my veterinary instincts kicked in telling me to do something for the unfortunate animal.
Thinking the deer was dead, my heart sank when I saw it lying on its side with its eyes blinking. The poor thing was still alive. Not knowing how badly it was hurt, I didn’t want another car ramming into it, causing who knows how much damage to the vehicle and possibly hurting the driver—not to mention additional trauma to the poor deer. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I didn’t stop to consider that I am a sixty-eight-year-old, one-hundred-pound woman. I simply grabbed the rear end of the animal and tugged it backward into the median, while buff, seventeen-year-old Younger Son continued to stand by and relate the goings-on into his phone.
To my surprise, the deer sat up, its front half still in the road with its forelegs tucked underneath.
“Help me get its front end out of the road,” I instructed clueless Younger Son.
Helpful Hubby, meanwhile, sat in the car with his thumb ready to hit 911 on his phone.
Before my words could trigger a response from Younger Son’s brain to his muscular arms, I reached up and pulled on the deer’s neck to try to tow the rest of its body into the median. Then, without warning, the deer jumped up and ran across the highway into the woods, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. Even better, no cars barreled down the street in those few seconds while the deer made its escape from the strange woman determined to pull it backwards and Younger Son stood planted in the road recounting this amazing turn of events to his friend.
The next morning, I woke up with a stiff shoulder and a sore back.
“You know,” I told Hubby, “moving that deer didn’t do my back and shoulder any good.”
He agreed with me, but wisely refrained from pointing out my less-than-well-thought-out plan to keep the deer population intact.
“And you know what the worst part is?” I went on. “That ungrateful deer didn’t even thank me.”