There are times in our lives where we hit a crossroads. Turn right and the outcome can be vastly different than if you had turned left. Before making that choice, I try to look ahead at the possible outcomes of each decision. I weigh the pros and cons to each consequence and choose from there, closing my eyes and hoping for the best. On Saturday, March 31, 2012, I came upon that crossroad.
On my way to work that early Saturday morning, I came across a young doe lying down in the middle of the northbound lane. The sun was barely up and even in the dim dawn light, I saw the dark crimson dripping from her nose. I briefly thought, well, maybe she was just stunned and would get up and go once I drove by her. As I approached in my truck, she barely moved, and it was then I realized that I had to stop and do something. I pulled over in the shoulder and put my hazard lights on and, knowing my gas tank was almost on E, I turned off my car. I got out and slowly approached her. Her eyes were shut. My presence was hardly noticed. I even tried to nudge her a bit to see if she could get up. I knew it was not good when a wild animal will not even appear to want to flee. The poor thing was most likely in shock. I made a few phone calls and was told the game warden would be out soon.
As the light of day began to shine down, I stayed with her, directing traffic around her and quietly letting her know it would be ok. But would it? In a previous post I made about the injured coyote, I cheered at the strength and the will to live that creature had. He still had a chance. This doe, on the other hand, did not appear to have that gleam of life in her, that will that would have allowed her to get up and disappear into the nearby woods. As someone who has worked in the animal health field for so long, I knew what possible internal injuries she may have had that the naked eye could not see.
At one point I thought she was going to rally and get up to move off of the road.
When she did get up, it was only to relieve herself, which further enforced my fears. There she stood while cars slowly passed us, most people stopping to pity a fellow living thing. Most were grown men, who probably hunted, and who respected wildlife in their own way. They felt the loss of this wood spirit as they drove on down the road, watching us as we got smaller in their rear view mirror.
One older gentleman stopped in the northbound lane and helped me direct traffic. We chatted for a bit, and he spoke softly to the yearling, gently touching her as she stood there. When the game warden came, I was relieved and saddened, as he stepped out of his truck with a type of shotgun, waving us back and looking to make sure there were no other approaching vehicles.
I watched as what I knew what would happen did. At the sound of the first shot, she went down, what life there was in her eyes disappeared. I turned away, tears streaming down my face. Bruce, the older gentleman, grabbed a hold of me and let me cry it all out as I heard two more shots meant to make sure she was out of pain.
After they got her in the game warden's truck, I asked if there was anything else he needed. He apologized, saying he thought I knew what would happen. I told him I knew, but seeing it is different from just knowing. Bruce asked if I would be ok. I reassured him I would be and I made my way back to my truck and cried my way to work.
I knew this choice was one I had to make. I couldn't leave her laying there, only to get run over again, or get up and end up drowning in the nearby swamp. Limiting her suffering was the least I could do. I wondered numerous times if I had my gun, would I have it in me to end her suffering? I think that question is still unanswered.
Now every time I head home from work, I drive over the spot where it all happened. One afternoon, the rains washed the blood from the road. The next day's light brought the sun's rays onto the land, revealing the rusty stain, like an echo, bouncing off the walls of memory.
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