“Deer season has been successful.”
Well, that’s a bit tongue-in-cheek, really. Yet, two deer were harvested within a few hours.
Fifteen-year-old grandson bowhunter collected his trophy buck, culmination of dedicated hunting.
Later Sunday evening, south of the reservoir, big doe jumped out of the dark west from nowhere. Almost escaping, her left rear quarter clipped the left front headlight.
Everything happened so fast, uncertain if brakes were touched, any effort made to miss deer or even if cruise went off. Car didn’t lose speed, and lights showed highway.
Driving into town, damage investigation verified light black, cover glass broken, still caution and bright lights shined fine.
Appeared little destruction otherwise. “Filling station can put a bulb in,” wrongly assumed. Scampering doe’s health status unknown; lame back leg at best.
In retrospect, grandson’s true sportsman prey, verification of skill from dedicated practice. Not luck, another mountable buck was bagged with the big bow last year. A couple deer had been taken with rifle earlier years, one before even a teenager.
Never had the desire to shoot a deer, certainly never wanted to take their life on the highway.
Car’s rear fender claimed one a decade ago when naïve fawn ran blindly into it. Obliteration was negligible as speedometer never slowed.
This Monday morning after stop to fill up, the gasman didn’t have a light bulb. So, impaired lights guided to work.
Upon arrival, whippersnappers evaluated headlight, insisting repair more extensive, and higher cost than envisioned.
Repair shop immediately verified fix up was a “major ordeal.” Bumper bent, fender lopsided, and lighting mechanism required.
Drawn-out rigmarole began with the insurance office. Thankfully most congenial service, all the back and forth conversations, negotiating, paperwork still make head swim.
Top it, policy wouldn’t cover alignment, adjuster insisted. Surely that’s off, too, so it’ll have to come out of cowboy pocket.
Long of it, car’s incapacitated three weeks. Worst thing, now have to drive gas guzzling pickup – better than walking. Best would be ride Maggie, or drive Mae on the cart. Too lazy, and sadly, admittedly modernized for that.
All in all, actually a miracle that loss from the ordeal wasn’t greater, easily could’ve been.
Reminds us of Psalm 42:3: “A whitetail deer lost in search.” So, Proverbs 6:5: “That deer dashing for reprieve.” Then, Isaiah 65:16: “Real blessing makes troubles gone and forgotten.”
Frank J. Buchman is a lifelong rancher from Alta Vista, a lifetime newspaper writer, syndicated national ag writer and a radio marketing consultant. He writes a weekly column to share A Cowboy’s Faith.