We hit a deer on Saturday night. I've only hit a bird and a squirrel once (and I was not driving), but my husband and I hit a deer - a great big, beautiful buck with a big rack and a big heart (I'm sure). It was at night and black and on a two-lane highway doing about 60 or 65, with cars around us doing about 60, and this huge Bambi's father decided to make a suicide dash through the headlights and spotlights sort of like someone's leap for fame and rock stardom, only ill-timed.

He was beautiful and large, like he'd beaten the odds against the hunters for several years. I will never forget his frozen pose as he tried, at the last minute, to jump over all the frightening chaos. And the huge "BAM!'

Buzz drove well, and we didn't wreck, although there were lots of cars and steep inclines.

We came home and just sat. Just sat.

We're getting my car fixed (the front end - $4,800 worth). The insurance will pay. There was fur in the bumper.

I see dead deer on the road all the time, sometimes several a day. We feed them corn on our land and love watching and photographing them. We protect them from the hunters (or so we think). We don't hunt. We do drive though.

I've always thought that people could avoid hitting them and could be more careful. Now I have a different sense of all that.