June 4th, 2016
Thursday was the 30th wedding anniversary for my loving, caring and faithful wife Gina and I. We went on vacation last week in Durango and I was going to write about that vacation. And I will. But it's what happened this morning on the way home that's been really bothering me.
We were about 10 miles outside of Pagosa Springs when I saw a buck mule deer trying to cross the highway. He was very agitated, trying to get between cars and failing each time because each car in a train of cars was closely following the car in front of it. I was trying to maintain a safe distance, so he thought he could make it and ran out in front of us. I slowed down enough to miss him and he leaped over a barbed wire fence on the opposite side of the highway. Almost. As I passed, I could see his hind legs were tangled up in the fence.
I turned the Jeep around and went back to see if I would be able to disentangle him. But by the time I arrived, he was free from the fence, was able to stand on his forelegs only and had no apparent control of his hindquarters. He had multiple cuts on his forelegs, head and neck from the barbed wire. He was panicked and tried to get away but was unable to drag his large body more than a few feet at a time.
As I approached him, he panicked and tried to get away. So I tried to assure him I meant no harm by telling him in a low voice that he was going to be ok, although I knew that he wouldn't. As he calmed down a bit, I remembered a motorcycle accident I had been in and knew he would be thirsty. So I asked my wife to bring me a bottle of water. The deer was terrified as I approached him with the water so I poured some on his muzzle. He licked it off, and calmed down noticeably. That's when I think he realized that I wanted to help him.
I wish I had brought one of my guns, because this deer needed to be put down. The only thing I had that would do the job was a tomahawk I have stashed under the seat. So I asked Gina to bring it. The deer allowed me to touch his antler, but the tomahawk isn't really a precision instrument. And swinging it would have evoked a reaction from the deer, and I would have to keep hacking away until I hit a vital spot. Messy. I couldn't do it. I decided to call 911 instead, expecting that the local sheriff would be experienced in matters like this.
I couldn't get 911 or the local Ranger on my cell phone though I had internet access (isn't that strange?) but soon a couple of good old boys arrived. I asked one of them for a gun. He said he had one, but had already talked to the sheriff who was on the way. He said the sheriff had told him not to put the deer down, but that he'd be there in 10 minutes and would take care of it.
Each time someone would get close to the deer, it would panic and I would try to calm it down. I had some success. As odd as it may seem, I had established a connection with it. It knew it was in a very bad situation and had no choice but to trust me. I was the only lifeline it had. At one point, the property owner showed up and started walking down a hill towards us. The deer pulled himself up on his front legs and dragged himself towards me as if for protection.
I told him that someone was coming who would fix his pain.
After 30 minutes or so, a sheriff's SUV pulled up and a female deputy got out. She immediately took control of the situation, telling us to step away from the deer. We did so with relief, knowing that she would soon put the poor beast out of its misery.
But she seemed hesitant. She finally stopped waiting for cars to pass, and took careful aim with her .40 handgun.
"Head shot," said the good old boy, who was hoping to take the carcass home to butcher. She nodded, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The gun barked. The deer jumped back in confusion and terror. She had missed. The next shot connected, but I couldn't tell where. Blood started coming out of the deer's mouth but it was obviously still conscious and in terrible fear and pain. The gun barked again, a likely miss.
"Unbelievable! Incompetent... ! " I scowled as I walked towards the jeep. I couldn't watch anymore. I had betrayed this creature by bringing an untrained buffoon to do something I should have done myself. I was first on the scene and it was my responsibility.
I waited for Gina to get in the jeep, and roared down the highway until I found a safe place to make a U-turn. As I passed the deer a couple of minutes later, I could see it was still clinging to life, bleeding from its mouth and nose, standing up as best it could on its forelegs in an attempt to escape the unimaginably horrific things that were happening to it. The good old boys and incompetent deputy looked on dispassionately, like a pack of jackals waiting for their prey to expire.
I am going to buy a buck knife. I'm going to keep it razor sharp, and it will always be in the vehicle I'm driving. If this ever happens again, I will do the job myself. No animal should suffer the horrific torture this deer was subjected to. And for what? Because a deputy didn't want to do it? She couldn't properly prepare her mind for a needed task? Or was this just a stupid animal that didn't deserve the mercy of a quick death? There's karmic justice to be had here. Part of the debt is mine, but part of it belongs to a very incompetent deputy sheriff.