Reflections: Right of way goes to herd of deer

Dropped my hubby off at one of his favorite coffee stops to visit with friends the other night and I was heading back home for a bit, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a half herd of deer.

Now, understand, I normally don’t park on a roadway and take a picture of deer crossing ahead of me. In fact, in 47 years of newspaper work, I don’t remember one time doing that, but this had to be an exception.

First of all, there were no cars ahead of me or coming up behind me when I showed up at this predicament. Fortunately. I stopped where I did because I had nowhere else to stop. I had that herd of deer ahead of me. I couldn’t drop to the right shoulder, simply because there was a small deer moseying toward me on the right shoulder.

Not MY right shoulder, mind you, but had I moved forward a bit and tried to drive to the shoulder, I might well have had the little deer on my fender. Now, that would not have looked good to the DNR. Or to the fender for that matter.

I certainly wasn’t about to try to sneak across to the east side of the road to park and watch.

So, therefore, I did the best I could. I stopped. Put on the four-way flashers. And just sat there. Another two deer were to the right, but crossed the road too and soon caught up to the rest of the flock — er, herd. Then they all just continued on toward town.

About then, a car was coming up behind me, and the little deer that was looking my way, bolted for the weeds to the west.

I slowly drove forward, hoping not to be hit from behind, passed by the car whose driver might not have known what was ahead and starting to surround us. I had no desire to watch half a herd going flying, or to be trampled by any more that might be venturing out for the evening on the Rails to Trails.

Convenient for them, I would think. No snow. No snowmobiles. No snowmobilers. Just them on a nice night heading into town apparently for the evening.

I grinned. Figured they were heading into town to the Buckboard Bar. Or perhaps to see if any of the neighbors along the trail had a John Deere they could admire.

Or perhaps they were blessed with a little doe to take to town shopping. I know they didn’t waste any time leaving the young deer or me behind once they got on the east side of the road. They kicked up their heels and acted like they were a bunch of kids. No, wait. Kids are goats. These were deer.

By the time I passed the Rails to Trails and the vehicle behind me cleared it as well, the deer were strolling along sort of checking the taste of the field.

But, understand, I do know this though to be true. Not a one of them stopped at the stop sign. Oh, dear, deer! Could have cost ‘em at least a little doe if not some big bucks!