Published Oct. 26, 2003 in the Hibbing Daily Tribune
One night about a week ago, my wife and I were discussing hunting. I said: “I’m not against hunting, but I don’t want to kill animals when many are already killed so I can eat cheeseburgers and chicken fingers.” Ah, yes – a nice little personal belief statement on which I can base my decision not to hunt even though so many of my friends and family do.
Early the next morning I was riding high on my moral stance as I drove to work in Superior. It was dark. There were a lot of bushes on the side of Dupont Road.
Do you see where this is headed?
Tragically, in a moment of screeching brakes and flying ungulates, I ruthlessly slaughtered more deer than an average Iron Ranger hunter fells in an entire season (one deer).
My trusty car took quite a hit, but I escaped unscathed. For once I wasn’t cursing the boat-like nature of our Buick Century.
I had gone about three years without hitting a deer, but ironically, the last deer I hit was in almost exactly the same spot on Dupont Road. That time it was the week after hunting season and The Daily Tribune had run a feature photo of two deer that survived the season basking in the sun on the side of … you guessed it, Dupont Road. The kicker read in big letters: “The Survivors.”
What does that mean? In other words, I killed one of the survivors. Three years later, I probably killed one of her relatives.
Why is it that a guy who doesn’t like to kill deer ends up dropping them like some kind of serial murderer? Once, when I was driving in Iowa, a deer ran out of the corn and ran into the side of my car. Am I the Kevorkian of the deer world? Do deer come to me for a quick release from their problem-filled lives? I hope not, because that’s a job I don’t want. My car insurance rates are high enough, thank you.
I just hope that at no point in my life will I depend on the mercy of deer. I can see it already. I’m caught in a bear trap out in the woods … somewhere not too far from Dupont Road. I’ve tried to gnaw off my own foot, but to no avail. Suddenly, deer emerge from the brush. I gaze directly into their eyes, pleading for help under the woodland code of brotherhood. The tallest deer in the center of the pack looks back without blinking. In a flash of fur and antlers the deer stomp me with their flailing deer hooves while they make that screeching deer noise. EEEEEE! (stomp-stomp-stomp).
What could I say? “I didn’t mean to run down your wife and daughter. I’m sorry that I left their carcasses on the side of the road.” That wouldn’t fly in the people world and would certainly omit me from the woodland code of brotherhood. I’ll just have to avoid bear traps on my own.
Someone told me this week I should get one of those deer whistles for my car. I don’t know. Maybe I should. I might not want to draw too much attention to my car, because I think these deer are targeting me. Perhaps a “deer laser gun” mounted on the hood would be a better option.
Wait a minute – no – we’re trying not to kill the deer. Geez, this is a tough one.
I’ll just make a statement to all the deer that scrounge the Sunday paper out of the Dumpster by Graysher Center and read it out by Dupont Road. First off, congratulations on your surprisingly strong reading skills. Second, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, please do not leap out in front of my car. I do not want to kill you and you do not want to die sprawled out on Dupont Road.
If members of the deer community are doing this intentionally, please know that there is a lot of life worth living, even for you deer. If hunting season is what worries you, then by all means, stop by our house and we’ll let you lay low for a while. We’ve got a futon. You can bring your “Bambi” DVD if you want. There’s no reason to act hastily.
OK, with that said, I’ll remind my human readers to watch out for deer this time of year. They seem listless and despondent and have been taking unnecessary risks on the highways. For you hunters, you might have better luck hunting with your trucks than with your guns. Hunt safely and waste nothing. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do if you want to match my record.
Aaron J. Brown is a columnist for The Daily Tribune.