Jackie Wells-Fauth
Things have apparently become desperate for the deer population. This week, a member of that species checked into the city drug store by way of an unscheduled dash through a plate glass window. Didn’t do the window or the store a lot of good and I don’t think the deer really enjoyed itself either.
I don’t think the deer said why he was there, but one can draw the conclusion that, with all the hunters in town, he was probably after some tranquilizers for his nerves. In any case, by the time he had crashed in through one window, checked out the merchandize in the store (maybe he was Christmas shopping?) and crashed out through a second window, he was probably in need of medication of some kind!
Deer infiltration is a pretty common occurrence for those of us who live in South Dakota, and once in a while, they will take a stroll down city streets where they almost always come to grief or cause it, anyway. Whether it’s a foray through someone’s garden, hoofprints through the flower beds or a walk on the wild side of a road, they are always with us.
I don’t need to tell any of you, either, about the rigors of driving down a road in the gloaming, searching for a deer, well-blended with the scenery and unwise enough to play “chicken” (if you’ll forgive the term) with the motorized monsters on the road.
Imagine, if you will, a gathering of deer in the ditch, observing the lights of oncoming traffic. Merwyn, the lead deer, is gauging speed and distance before he decides on a plan of action.
“Now, I’d watch it, there, Merwyn, that car is coming fast. Don’t get cocky,” says his brother.
“Yes, Merwyn,” his wife chimes in. “You be careful on that road; you’re not as young as you used to be, you know.” She screws up her face unhappily as she sees him standing, debating. “Remember, if you try it, the children will all think they should too,”
“I have been dodging these things for years, Mildred,” he counters. “There’s an art to it. I know just when to…”
And away goes Merwyn and the next thing anyone knows, Mildred is holding a roadside memorial over the moldering remains of the unwise Merwyn. Meanwhile, the driver of the car is being told it’ll cost $6,000 to remove the Merwyn-shaped dent from his vehicle.
In South Dakota, a deer dead on the side of the road because it lost a game of Russian Roulette is almost cliché. No one mourns the death, just the damage. But, in some of my travels, I have encountered places where they treat the deer like a precious, endangered species. A sign in Florida said, “Have a care for our deer friends.” That is not a problem—I don’t have any deer friends, and I only care for my property!
They might not think they are so precious if they have my experience. Their “deer friends” have caused two of my car doors to spring when they ran into them, one hood to need replacing after a deer did a handspring roll over it and a few side mirrors have disappeared because deer paused to check their hair as my car passed.
While cars are the biggest target, this week’s shopping spree on Main Street is proof that nothing is sacred. Deer tend to make themselves at home, no matter the inconvenience to us and the danger to them.
Still, it might be that we don’t have it as tough as we might have. My aunt still wins first prize in the wild times with wild life as she tells the story of living in the mountains and opening the patio curtains, thinking the dog was outside. Instead, a full-sized bear stood on its hind legs and pounded a rhythm on the glass.
She wins the wildlife stories, but a deer through a plate glass window is a close second. Nice going, Merwyn’s brother, I hope you didn’t cut yourself—or maybe I do!
dropsinthewell 