It had to happen eventually.  After almost forty years with a license to drive and more miles than I care to even tally, sooner or later my clean record was bound to shatter into a shower of minuscule plastic splinters and flying debris.

Yes, I had a dance with a deer, what I dub the Deer Tango, just the other night.  It wasn't pretty, that much I can say. I kind of stepped on the doe's toes and she stumbled rather awkwardly. 

We didn't make sweet music together, that's for sure.

I think we both discovered a real connection though. It's one that I don't hope to experience again but know there's always that possibility when you live in rural America and the deer population is exploding at a healthy rate.
Let's face it - don't we all have the attitude that it's just not going to happen to us?  Not me, huh-uh, no way! 

 My friends at the body shop, Steve and Tyler, know differently, though.  Steve says that they have been fixing deer tangles all winter long. So, I guess that was supposed to make me feel better but somehow it made the lump in my throat a little bigger.  At least they've got job security. 

 That's a good thing.

Things like this happen in an instant. The blink of an eye. There's no turning back, that's for sure.  You just shake your head and move on, or limp ahead sheepishly. It's kind of a helpless feeling. 

So now I'm just another statistic, my car is in the hands of the specialists, and it will soon be just like new. 

Lesson learned:  no more break dancing on the highway with wild ruminants.  Next time I think I'll stick to a traditional floor, and a human dance partner.