I once hit a deer with my car. In fact, it was a truck. A new truck. And the animal died instantly. To be sure – to escape the feeling of uncertainty, never to know if it was going to suffer and cough and bleed out for the remaining 10 or 15 minutes of its life – I pulled over and got out and tracked back to watch it bleed out.
It was awful, to be sure. I remember thinking, if you’re not entirely dead sweet little deer, if you’re only half-dead, I don’t believe I have the willpower to stomp on your neck, or pull some pistol out of my car, if I had one, and pop one in your skull.
I’m glad it was dead before I got there. Sad that I killed a deer, but thankful that it went quickly.
Poor little deer.