Haven’t we all hit a deer? I’ve hit two. Or more accurately, they hit me!
In New England, after you hit a deer, you calmly pull over to the side of the road, phone the police, and wait for them to come and write up a report so you can submit it to your insurance. Friendly motorists will stop to offer help and wait with you. They will have apple fritters. A team is immediately dispatched to track the mortally injured deer and put it out of its misery, should it still be alive, or collect its body from the side of the road, if it has already expired. Venison will be shared, and the death of a beautiful animal will not be for naught. If you are in the great state of Maine, you’ll be offered a hunting license on the spot, and get to take home a year’s worth of meat.
In New Jersey, after you hit a deer, you simply re-join the traffic jam on the Turnpike. “What exit? I don’t know, but that fur on my grill reminds me I lost my scarf.” So you go straight to Costco, because you also needed berries. Then you drive home, put the damaged car in the garage, and call the authorities in the morning, because in New Jersey, public officials are helpful as long as nothing ends up in a swamp. To your major dismay, though, you’ll have to get used to the look of the dead deer in the median of State Route 18 for at least two weeks, because no one in New Jersey presently has any decent roadkill recipes. You secretly wish the thing had ended up in some swamp making brackish venison stew for the ecosystem.
Whether you are in New England or New Jersey, the New or Old world, passing deer or llamas, drive defensively!