On Saturday I had to drive to Moncton by myself and very dangerously tired, for a meeting, about cancer. It turned out to be unequivocably worth it- one of those rare meetings that left me squeezed of a bit of cynicism in each of the ten topics I am most cynical about, including cancer advocacy and provincial language politics.
There were seven deer on the median, near the exit to Sussex. On either side of the divided highway the deer fence continues for nearly a hundred kilometers. And there were seven of them stuck in the middle.
This morning a big game biologist was telling the host of CBC Information Morning that there have been 1000 deer roadkills in New Brunswick. Which is astounding and gruesome. Except that is the count since March 20, the start of spring. I spat my coffee across the kitchen floor. A THOUSAND?
Personally, I’ve never killed an animal on the road. But I only got my license about two years ago (part of a frantic, overdue response to a summer of isolation in suburban Quebec), so I wager my luck is near to running out. I’ve never even been in a car that killed anything. Except, notoriously, the two times my father, with our entire family in the Jeep, hit a moose. But neither time did the moose die (nor, improbably but somewhat obviously to those who know me, did any of my family).
But seeing the deer I didn’t think of those accidents. I thought of a story I hadn’t read since the fall of 2000, “the Doe”, by Molly Gloss. Kate, a woman with a family, goes off for an annual weekend of alone time. On the drive back, she hits a deer. It’s raining and dark, and Kate touches the deer’s wet khaki rump. And feels the fetal heartbeat.
She sets out flares and locks herself inside her car. A vehicle stops, a boy in late adolescence gets out and comes to Kate’s window. His girlfriend stays in the car. Kate explains to the boy what has happened, that she wants to call a vet. The boy asks if she has a gun, says something will have to be done. Kate says nothing, implying she cannot be expected “do something”. This silence goes on uncomfortably long. Then she persuades the boy to drive to the next town to get help. He thinks it will take too long, the deer will suffer too much, but he agrees.
He drives off, and Kate leaves her car and finds a huge slab of rock, and brings it down on the pregnant doe.
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1 comment:
i have an update on this issue, from the cbc this morning. unsurprisingly, clearcutting of deer habitat is causing the deer have to travel into suburban territory to be fed. they get killed making the move out of their territory. AND, on top of the thousand deer killed on the highways since march, apparently about 40 were found dead from starvation.
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