Thursday, June 16, 2016
Today I am grateful for the Road-kill-road-trip! If you are squeamish, please stop reading and go get a cup of tea and a good book. If not. Read on. Driving through Pennsylvania yesterday was like skirting the bloody floor of a slaughterhouse. Yikes!
There must have been six different areas, in the middle of the road, that were literally covered in the blood of a struck deer, with body parts strewn about everywhere. Apparently someone is culling the herd with semi’s. And there were so many fawns dead at the side of the road that we started counting them. Baby Bambi’s did not do well this Spring season.
Me: I think that’s four already.
Himself: No, we’re up to six, now.
Me: Oh, yeah, I forgot about the two on your side of the road.
Me: I saw it. Eight.
Himself: No that was a doe, not a fawn.
Me: It was a fawn.
Himself: I didn’t see spots.
Me: I’ll give you spots. I saw them. It was a fawn.
Himself: Well if you slowed down. . .
Me: I wonder why so many deer are getting pulverized?
Himself: Because they are not crossing at the deer crossing signs.
We enter Ohio and drive for quite a while in silence. Then. . .
Me: That’s weird. I haven’t seen one dead deer or deer crossing sign since we’ve been in Ohio. Don’t deer live in Ohio?
Himself: No. They’re not allowed.
Me: Why is that?
Himself: Because there are no deer crossing signs.
It’s never boring on the Road-kill Road-trip! I Shoulda gotten a book on tape!