A neighbor was by the road, ready to assist the driver whose truck had been quite damaged from the incident. We stopped briefly to make sure everyone was okay and to be sure that they had help on the way. As we drove past, Bobby quickly turned the volume of the Christmas carol on the radio way up, and in the back of my mind I think I knew what he was doing. He confirmed my suspicion shortly after by saying that, yes, as we were driving away he saw that the driver was pulling out a rifle to put the deer out of his misery.
(Which, I should mention, was quite the clear reminder that we are not living in the big city anymore! I'm sure some St. Louisans carry firearms...but keeping one at the ready in the back of the truck should the need arise to kill injured animals roadside? I suspect not.)
Of course it was the compassionate thing to do, albeit thoroughly disheartening to think about the poor animal who I'd seen living seconds before being killed. (Not to mention that I was thinking of him more as "Rudolph" than "Bambi" being that it is the week of Christmas, but I'm trying to ignore that comparison.)
Post-spending time with my family, it wasn't a great night; it wasn't a great night for the
I love you deerly..."Sparky".