Driving home from Rensselaer tonight (I was there today speaking in a few classes for one of my former MBA professors), I hit a deer on the NYS Thruway. Let me start by saying, I'm fine. The car, fine (I think). The deer, umm, not so much.
So, I'm driving down I87 and thinking I should hit the rest stop (damn those free Lally School Diet Pepsi's). I start changing lanes to get off at the service area, when alas, a deer (let's call him Fido) decides he wants to play pickle in my lane.
So, Fido darts out. I react, swerve right, then break, but not hard enough to avoid Fido when he changes direction, apparently giving up on getting that extra base. So, with my heart beating in my throat at about 120 beats per second, I pull into the service area, park, pry my hands off the wheel, and do an inventory of body parts.
I call Kerry to let her know what happened and try to assess the damage, but it was kinda difficult to focus. So I walked in, splashed some water on my face, used the restroom, and grabbed another soda (I'll never learn).
Unsure if I needed to file a police report, I called my insurance company (the one with the break-dancing lizard) and get paired up with "Gary the Aussie." He feigns his concern for my well-being and takes down the details of the "incident." As Dundee, er, Gary is finishing up, he asks "Oh, how's the deer?" And I'm like, "Deer? Oh yeah, Fido. Umm, not sure really."
What I didn't say was considering what was on my car, I was pretty sure that Fido was playing his game of pickle with Bambi's mommy.
So, I said my "G'Day" to Gary and drove the remaining 70 miles home to Kerry and the kids.
As for Fido -- I feel bad, really bad. I do. But better him than me, mate.
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