Deer Hunting

Yesterday I was on my way home from school, driving in a miserable rain, on the highway, and this van passes me with two dead deer strapped to the roof of the van. I felt like I was going to throw up.

The deer's eyes were open, and they were facing the rear of the van, and roped onto the roof by their necks. The van passed me and I just felt this anger inside me. I heard hunters the night before on the evening news saying they would eat their deer meat for an entire winter. Ok, well, I guess that justifies it (not).

And then there are the people who say the deer population needs to be controlled, because when it isn't, there are terrible accidents, etc. (my sister hit a deer once, with my little nephew in the front seat---the airbag hit him and her too---but they were ok--this was before we knew how dangerous air bags were to children) (the deer didn't die right away, and the state police had to shoot it in front of my sister and nephew). What about controlling the human population, who have invaded the country where deer naturally live?

Anyway. As I was making my way to the off ramp, that van cut in front of me, and I was stuck behind it for awhile. At first I didn't want to look at the two deer. But then I made myself look at them. Their fur was drenched with rain, eyes wide open staring back at me, necks pinned to the green roof.

I started to cry.

The arguments about food, about the deer living a life in the wild instead of being raised (and tortured) in captivity, about the over-population, didn't make me feel one tiny bit better or accepting.

I thought of the indignity to which they were being treated. Hauled away like a mattress or garbage, strapped to the top of the van. I thought of all the dead deer with twisted necks and broken limbs, rotting on the side of the road, of the deer I'd surely just missed hitting, standing at the very edge of the highway and I'd only seen them as I passed as close as five feet, their eyes glowing in my 65 mph headlights. Their regal imobilized stance making them seem like ghosts.

I thought of Ellie, laying there on that examination table, unable to sit up anymore, but still knowing me, stretching her neck and chin out while I stroked the underside, the same as she always did. The way I told her I loved her, what was going to happen and why, how she was going to be all better. I reassured her as I thought inside that I just couldn't bear to wait for the vet. They had to do it right away. My pain nothing compared to what she must be feeling, suffering. I couldn't stand to lose her, but to think I might be responsible for any more suffering, was far more unbearable.

I was able to hold her whole little body against me as they gave her the injection. I could feel her shudder, as her heart gave out. She was gone so quickly, her little head no longer pressing itself into the cup of my hand. I thought of how, she had the best death one could have under the circumstances, the kindest one.

I loved her so much. I couldn't imagine ever making her suffer. I stayed with her, petted her now cooling body, and then I covered her up completely with the small blanket. We left her then, for them to have her cremated. I have her ashes now in a small cedar box with a little lock on it.

She had the best death I could ask for. I was with her. I didn't abandon her.