Dignity the dying doe
Today I was riding to go buy some plants, when I noticed a doe on the side of the road. She looked dazed and it was very clear she didn’t make the decision to sit there, but I couldn’t tell at first pass how bad the situation was. I pulled down the next road on the left and made a three-point turn to get back to the stop sign behind me. These back country roads have gotten quite a bit busier since the Navy Federal Headquarters was erected down the street. Still woods but with highway traffic.
I tend to panic in these situations when I don’t know what to do, but I have learned to consult outside experts. This time I texted my dad,
“Hey, just saw a doe on the side of the road. What should I do?”
Almost without missing a beat, I have a text back saying I should call Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. The next text told me to standby while the phone number was obtained. It was at this point I felt comfortable enough to go back to the scene of the accident and assess the damage. Better to not overthink it and freak myself out at the thought of seeing a bone poking out, or worse if she was freaked out and tried to run from me but hurt herself worse. Honestly, none of that even occurred to me because I knew someone else was handling the dispatch and I was clear to go in and start the assessment.
I parked pretty far down from the doe because I saw other people had already pulled over. In fact, there were cars on both sides of the road. Two on the side I parked along, and one on the other side. For several steps I meditated on the thought of my faith in humanity being restored by the abundance of good samaritans.
No one said anything to me when I got close. It was two couples and a lone sir. One of the women said she worked at the sheriff’s office and was going to call to see who they needed to get in touch with. By that point I’d gotten the answering machine for F&W, so I mentioned they were not available to take calls just so she didn’t waste her time.
I noticed all three men were around the doe as she sat in the grass after having panicked at first upon their arrival. Now she just received gentle loving strokes with labored breathing, her eyes swollen shut and blood leaking from her nose. One of the men observed that she did, in fact, have a bone poking out of her front leg. I tried to see but honestly hoped that I wouldn’t.
While on the phone, the woman who worked at the sheriff’s department mentioned she didn’t have the equipment she needed to do it humanely. She didn’t say what it was, and, surprisingly, the other woman seemed perplexed by what that tool might be. I made eye contact with her and tried to telepathically inform her it was the pronoun for a gun in this usage.
This fact was confirmed when my dad’s next text broke the news to me that she’d most likely be euthanized. Strangely, I got that lump in my throat that develops before you cry. I mostly find it odd because I literally have my hands in dead animals everyday, but the contrast of her red blood on the white lines of the pavement led to a moment of hopeless reverence. Followed by a fiery anger toward the car that would hit her and leave her to bake in the Florida heat.
“You probably want to step off the road.” One of the men cautioned slowly, waking me from my daydream, and then turning his attention back to the dying deer.
“My dad says they’ll probably have to euthanize her” I choked out in a weird robotic-detached-psychopathic monotone that I just naturally have but swear I don’t embody. He looked back at me and nodded.
I didn’t say anything back I just turned around and tears rolled out. On the long walk back to my car, I cried beneath my wide-brimmed hat. The moment I looked up, a black truck began to slow down to a stop. Without even seeing who would get out of it, I knew this was the undertaker.
When I sat in my driver seat and closed my door, tears continued to roll down my cheeks as I awaited the sound of the end of her suffering. When it happened I felt grateful to be one of the witnesses of this poor girl’s last moments. I felt the company was comforting and the ultimate peace was achieved. Its gruesome and it doesn’t seem fair but ultimately, some of the most beautiful moments are found in the acknowledgment of impermanence.
