The Deer Slayer

I have not been deer hunting in several years. My formative years were spent outdoors, on the farm, all over the countryside around Abilene, in later years on deer leases with my good friend John. He still hunts, but over the years it has been become too much of a hassle to drive to west Texas and shoot some unsuspecting deer. I tell people that when you shoot deer you've ruined your entire day, having to field-dress it, haul to a processor, pay the fee, clean up, and on and on. My observation is that it is not a great day for the deer either. So in the intervening years I have tried to shoot birdies with my golf clubs and leave the big game hunting to those who have the time and money and inclination.
However, every year I buy a hunting license, and like an old bird dog, sniff the breeze as the wind turns chilly and the leaves begins to fall. There is still something there that I love, and it brings back only good memories. Time spent with my friends, time spent with my son, time spent in the natural beauty created by a supernatural God.
This past weekend our daughter and her husband were moving into their new house, so we set aside a peaceful weekend from wedding planning for our other daughter, loaded up a couple of pieces of furniture in my old Ford Ranger and headed for Amarillo. The Texas Motor Speedway was having one of their big events and we learned several years ago to avoid that area north of Ft. Worth and drive around it. A person can spend a large portion of that Friday night trying to wade through a sea of NASCAR fans and their RVs just trying to get to Decatur, we decided to go around.
So we struck out west through Weatherford, then to Mineral Wells, Bev was navigator, I was in the pilot seat. We talked for a while, through each town, commenting on events from the past, just visiting, and missing our turnoff to head north instead of west. Fortunately there are several ways to get where we are going, so we went on into Brechenridge, where we decided to grab a quick bite at Sonic and keep moving. By the way, I'm guessing the big new event in these towns is a "fall" carnival, with blow up slides, bounce houses, "trunk or treat" anyway, they all had them.
It got dark on us as we drove toward Throckmorton and we talked about a news article that had been mentioned in the paper about how many people were killed each year by hitting wildlife on the highway. I have always driven looking for deer and turkey and wild pigs, it still excites me to see them. I have no desire to shoot them, but it keeps the senses sharp and is simply a trait I picked up years ago. We drove through Throckmorton (which, by the way, is where Bob Lilly of the Dallas Cowboys grew up) and decided to fill up with gas and stretch our legs in Seymore, only 30 miles up the road. 3.2 miles north of Throckmorton we climbed a small hill, just getting back up to 65 mph, topped the hill with a slight bend to the right (golfers would call it a fade, not a slice) when sprinting left to right was a young 4-point deer.
I have no idea how many feet per second one is traveling at 65 mph (my Daughter-in-law I'm sure will let me know) but the reaction time is down to milli-seconds. My reflexes while driving have always been pretty good, but in this case the options were not how to avoid, but how to minimize what is about to happen. I "saw" all this in the moment before impact. To turn to the left would send me into the other lane of this little country road, to twist sharply right would roll the truck. So the deer impacted, dead solid center in the middle of my grill, crouched or running full speed, which lowers the body mass. WHAM! Keep the tires straight, edge to the right, quick glance towards Bev to make sure she was okay; followed by the question as soon as the truck slowed. She was fine, I was fine, the deer had rolled under the truck and I was pretty sure was not fine.
After wrestling the truck to the grass on the side, got out to inspect the damage. Lot's of leaking, hissing, metal ticking, burning smell. My little truck, the one who had served us so well, had survived my youngest daughter's college years with dependable service, was not fine at all. My Ranger had made the ultimate sacrifice and protected me and the one I love. It had done its best and that was good enough.
80 yards back up the road I found parts of my truck on the shoulder and after a lot of looking found the deer, I left it, it was probably dead before it came to rest in the ditch. I gathered the scattered pieces of the truck, threw them in the back of the truck as I walked back and Bev and I started to plan a new approach. My brother, David ended up letting us borrow his Excursion for the rest of the trip. Everything worked out okay, we got to Amarillo around 2:30AM. We were rousted by our 5 year old grandson at 6:30AM for the move. The rest is just moving stories.
But here is at least one good thing that came out of this. Bev and I got to spend 3 hours or so sitting in the cool West Texas night, talking or sitting in silence and listening to the coyotes singing to each other. Hearing the rustling across the road, eating Kettle corn that Bev had brought, and I guess being thankful that we were both unharmed, able to get help via cell phone, able to enjoy another remarkable experience that 30+ years of living and loving together brings us.
Anyway, this deer hunt will turn out to be a lot more expensive than the ones in the past, but at least the deer have a chance with this method to exact a little damage of their own.
For all you who went this past weekend to shoot deer and didn't get one, there is one in the ditch 3.2 miles north of Throckmorton on Hwy 283, right hand side, already tenderized.
Godspeed to all Orion's children.
Don