Dear Deer: An Open Letter to the Hooved Son of a Biscuit that Maliciously and Without Provocation Attacked my Car

Actual artist’s rendering of the offending animal

Dear Deer,

Hey dude! ‘Sup you lucky little white-tailed snot?

I’m sorry, that was rude. I shouldn’t be like that. But you know what else is rude? Trying to merge oneself into someone’s mode of transportation. Without any provocation. What have I ever done to you, Mr. Deer? Have I ever gone hunting? Do I own a rifle? Do I enjoy venison sausage? Didn’t I shed a tear while watching Bambi?

No, no, no and yes.

But how to you repay my long track record of compassion, concern and love for all deer-kind? By bolting out of the woods, leaping gracefully over the train tracks, sprinting across Industrial Drive and using yourself as a battering ram aimed squarely at my driver’s door. Do you think I enjoyed watching in slow motion as you tracked like a missile into my lane, completely disregarding established local traffic laws? You think I enjoyed the sickening sound as your head smacked my driver’s side window with that loud thud, mere inches from my own head? News flash: I didn’t. Dogs, cats, squirrels, pigeons and opossums all do their best to avoid me on the road… why couldn’t you do the same? It’s like you were doing your own one-deer reenactment of this scene from The Ring 2, a movie I inexplicably saw in college.

We have laws in this country, Buddy, and I clearly had the right of way. YOU, on the other hand, crossed three lanes of traffic (for the record, there is no deer crossing sign) and I NEVER saw a turn signal. And I’ve got witnesses.Yeah, you didn’t know there were witnesses did you, Big Shot? You thought this was just between you and me, didn’t you, Mr. I’ll-Assault-Brian’s-Monte-Carlo-Because-I’m-a-Deer-and-do-Whatever-I-Want. Ahh, but you didn’t count on T-Bone, the inked up proprietor of the Capital Tattoo shop who heard the screeching tires and THUD. You know was else? He saw the whole thing too. He told me that after you tried to go all wrecking-ball on me, you did a somersault over the top of my car, you big show off. If this were college football, you would have gotten a 15-yard penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct. If this were soccer you would have been given a red card. If this were hockey… well, if this were hockey, your actions probably would have been totally acceptable. But that’s beside the point.

You know what else T-Bone, saw? He saw that after you body checked my beautiful car, YOU FREAKING GOT UP AND RAN AWAY. NOT ONLY DID YOU NOT HAVE THE COMMON COURTESY TO DIE, YOU DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER TO LIMP AWAY! No, instead you trotted off like nothing had ever happened. It wouldn’t have surprised me a bit if T-Bone reported that you were whistling a merry tune as you left your little hit-and-run. I wouldn’t have surprised me if I found out you were a little buzzed at the time either. Sheesh, man, alcoholism is a disease; get some help.

It was almost as if you and I did this little dance every afternoon after my Happy Hour run to Sonic. It was almost like you thought I WANTED to get out and see deer hair on my driver’s door and your slobber on my window. It was almost like you thought you were doing me a favor by ripping off my driver’s side window. For future reference, none of these are my idea of a fun, happy-go-lucky Friday afternoon. I had a date that night, Fuzzy Britches, but did you consider that when you turned a city street into your own personal jogging trail? No. G’ah, you’re so selfish!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled that the damage is very, very slight. I was pleasantly surprised to find that a replacement mirror is only $44 on eBay (with free shipping). I’m grateful to God that He guided my swerve just right to keep you from coming through my window. I’m proud of the good people at GM who installed my temper-glass window that didn’t shatter. I’m thankful that He altered my path just enough to ensure that you hit the side of my car, and not the front which would have no doubt caused my airbags to deploy. I even got to my date on time, no thanks to you.

But you know what that hair and slobber means? I mean’s I’ve got your DNA, Bucko. You can run, but you can’t hide. OK, you probably can hide, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get away with it. No no no. You’re going to have to live with the guilt and knowledge of what you did. Even though I’ve forgiven you in my heart, you’re going to have to answer one day for your inexcusable behavior. I may not be able to sue you in small claims court for the damages and may not be able to get your road privileges legally revoked, but I promise you this one thing: From now on, I’m going to cheer during that scene in Bambi.



PS. Oh who am I kidding; I’m still going to cry like a baby during Bambi. It’s just so… And you’ve got Thumper… and a skunk named Flower…! Fine. All is forgiven. Just… don’t push your luck. You’re lucky you have adorable friends.


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