Cruising down the turnpike at 65, when a deer jumped the guardrail and hit the side of my car. Not the front — the side. Like it saw me coming and thought, “Yeah, I’m taking this guy with me.” I mean, most animals avoid cars. This one? It chose violence that morning.
And here’s the part that sticks with you — one second in either direction, and I’m posting this from a hospital bed or the morgue. One second. That’s it. Life’s funny like that: you’re humming along, mind on taking the boys to a Halloween party, and why my Steve Poltz Pandora channel plays everything except Steve Poltz, I mean seriously They Played Willie Nelson three times before 1 steve poltz song, I love willie nelson but I have my “Field Hippy Channel” with Willie, Townes and Steve Earl, i am in the mood for Steve Poltz, then bam, you’re suddenly aware of your own fragile human meat suit.
The impact felt like I hit a cement pole or a fire hydrant, not that I hit either of those things… I’m sitting there, heart pounding, thinking, “Well, that’s it, I’ve been taken out by a suicidal woodland missile.” Thank God I’m fine. I pull over, bracing for Bambi revenge… and the Sonofa bitch gets up, shakes it off, and jogs back into the woods like a heavyweight boxer going back to his corner who just got caught with a cheap shot. Even gave me that look, like, “You bastard, I had shit to do today.”
Meanwhile, my car is sitting there totaled, covered in deer hair, and — I kid you not — deer bladder contents. yep, front and back, the side of my car looking like a truck stop bathroom after texas chilli night. This thing didn’t just hit me; it was a hit-and-run, and he peed on the crime scene ashes. Full drive-by energy. If deer had lawyers, mine would be filing papers right now.
So be safe out there. The deer aren’t just crossing the road anymore — they’re coming for us. Hit and run, with no insurance, no apology.