Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I took one step closer to being a true Montanan today:
I hit a deer.
Yessirree, just doing my morning commute on state highway 2, breezing through God's country, awake and vigilant... and under the speed limit, mind you. (There's no greater deterrent to speeding, like the thought of hitting Bambi at 75mph.) Suddenly, from the brush on the right, out she jumps -- characteristically oblivious to her impending doom.
I brake. I swerve and honk. I curse (in German, so it doesn't count). She pauses, and I think I may escape this one. But nooooo, she just continues on her merry way, and THWOP!! -- gets slammed against the starboard bow of the good ship Sienna.
I groan. I mumble something about canine offspring. I pull over to assess the damage. Hmmm... no blood, no guts, no hair... no dent, no broken glass... (I look back, expecting a twitching victim) -- no deer?? I guess (I hope) she just got a little car-spank, and scuttled back off to the forest, to brag about how close to death she came.
I breathe a sigh of relief and drive on, gratefully humming an old worship song about a deer & water.
Thank the Lord for little miracles.
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