Suicidal Deer W/C 468

Suicidal Deer

W/C 468

This is my territory. I roam this bottomland every day. The best grass in the county is here. Farmer Gray plants alfalfa over in that field, acres of it. So wonderful to lie down there in the afternoon, take a snooze. Mom taught me about that one.

And over there is a sweet little spot by Asparagus Point. You have to cross the highway, but I’m getting pretty good gauging the correct time to do that. If you get there at just the right time in the spring, you can get those fresh asparagus shoots. Green grass and asparagus, the best bite. Mom told me about this place also. She knew just the right spots.

Then I got the lead of yet another best spot in the county. But Butch was the co-between.

“Hey Butch. Tell me about this place.”

“What’s it to you. You gotta cross the road. You’re not up to that. I have it on good account you balked on the last attempt to make that crossing to Asparagus.” He shook his antlers in my face.

I stomped my hooves on top of his. “There was a line of traffic. It was a judgment call. So sue me.”

“It’s your funeral. Just don’t tell the herd I told you.” He limped a few feet away, surveyed the surroundings, then trotted back. “Go down that burnt area about a hundred yards, turn on Gage Road. Look for the empty house. The field nearby is the best. Just don’t cross the road there. That crossing is suicide.”

I shook my tail as I hopped away. His last words blew away in the wind.

Sure enough, his directions were on the money. There on the north side of the deserted house grew the sweetest, greenest grass any hungry whitetail deer could desire. I ate until I got sick and had to lie down for a time.

When I woke, it was just about time for my water break. But the river lies across the road. Didn’t Butch say something about this crossing? I didn’t hear the whole conversation. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

I found the way in the dark, tiptoeing all the way. Looking east, then west for those evil fast-moving lights, I waited another few moments to cross.

Hopping until I was in the middle of the road, on the way to water, I then stood still. I swear that metal machine came out of nowhere.


Butch stood in front of the still body. A few others were gathered around as well. The impromptu memorial could be cut short at any moment if the highway men came by, so he spoke just one line.

“The last thing Mandy said to me before she passed is that she will never forget his face.”