Deer Heart

By Phyllis Bordo

The sky was turning from pink and gold to evening’s hazy dusk and shadows crossed our path in front of the car as it snaked its way along the country road.   We neared the top of a hill, and as if appearing by magic, they were everywhere! “Look out! Slow down. You’re going to hit them!” I shouted. “We’re being surrounded on all sides.”

Deer marched out of the forest and crossed the road as if we were not there. They were beside us, behind us, and in front of us. I screamed like a wailing siren, “Stop, stop!”  My husband slowed down, slammed on the brakes, and was coming to a stop when — thwonk!

Our car doors flew open like an eagle spreading its wings and we sprang out of the car.  I heard soft squeaks, like a dog whimpering and moaning and there by the side of the road lay a deer. My stomach somersaulted into my mouth and my legs turned to seaweed as I sunk to the ground. The injured deer   was not struggling and was lying on the road like she was taking a nap, but her eyes, like two pools of dark chocolate, were wide open.   Many of the other deer scattered but some stayed behind, watching from a safe distance. “ I have to call the police,” my husband said. We exchanged no other words.   I stared at the deer, as if I were in a trance.

“Is she dying?” I stood up and edged closer to her. I didn’t want to frighten her, but I wanted our deer to know that I wouldn’t leave her either.

As we waited in silence for help to come, a man opened the door of a house by the side of the road, near the accident.  He began shouting and screeching   driving instructions at us in between his choice of four-letter words.  I told him that we had called the local police and that we were waiting for help. He remained in his doorway, arms crossed watching us as if he wanted to chain us to the metal guard rail along the shoulder of the road.  I know he wanted to make sure we didn’t flee the scene, but his shouting and swearing were not useful to any of us, least of all the hurt deer. I told him again that we were not leaving, but the man kept a watchful eye on us from his doorway. I wondered why he didn’t come over to help us.

I had to do something more to help this injured deer. Tears were beginning to cloud my eyes.  “Maybe we should call a twenty-four-hour veterinarian clinic,” I said.  I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cellphone. My fingers shook like they had no bones, but I managed to google an all-night vet. As I focused on the phone, I caught a glimpse of something moving – our deer’s back leg started to move as if someone was tickling it.  Was she having a seizure? Was she dying?   All we could do was watch, as did the man in the doorway. 

We stared at her, as if our gaze could breathe new life into this beautiful animal. With slow movements, she began to push herself up into a position that resembled an Egyptian sphinx. She remained in that posture for several minutes, moving her head from side to side. I dug my fingers into my husband’s arm, and we watched while she eased her front legs forward. And as if she had superpowers, she willed herself to rise and stood before us on all four legs.   “She’s up,” I whispered. We stood like petrified wood, careful not to frighten our deer. She swayed from side to side and her back leg wobbled, but she steadied herself. She turned her head to look at us, before leaping with the grace of a ballerina,  down the driveway of the man’s house toward the forest. The other deer who had remained behind, followed. Maybe they were her family.

I raced after her  to the edge of the forest until I could no longer see her. Tears of conflicting emotions splintered out of the corners of my eyes– joy filled my heart that she was able to get up and run, but fear and worry over her survival made me tremble.    I trudged back to the car, head down and dragging my feet as the police were pulling up. Our ‘security guard’ retreated inside his house, satisfied that his job was done.

 We told the police about the accident and how the deer remained on her side. How she had lifted herself up and left us, with a mere glance, and proceeded to bound away as if she had never been hurt. 

The police assured us that the deer would survive, that they are very robust animals, that deer get struck down too often on these country roads.  At twilight they tend to come out in packs, and that they blend into their surroundings. The police praised us for remaining at the scene of the accident and assured us that because we were driving with care, the impact was minimal, and the deer did not suffer a severe injury that could debilitate her or worse.

We returned to the scene of the accident the next day. The sun illuminated the spot where the accident had occurred. I examined the area, looking for any blood.  The thwonk of the deer hitting our car was reverberating in my head like the beat of a slow drum, thwonk, thwonk–, but relief swept over me like a warm summer breeze; there was no blood. Peeking out from among blades of grass on the side of the road, I saw a piece of our car’s plastic bumper with tufts of the deer’s fur attached to it. I picked it up and took home the piece, cradling it in my hand. 

Whenever I see a deer prancing through the forest along our country road, I wonder if it was our deer from that summer evening.

Phyllis is a former high school English teacher. Phyllis has an Honours Psychology degree from the University of Toronto, Ontario, Canada.
She has had an essay published in Horse Sport, Canada and in The Plaid Horse in the States. She has had this non -fiction piece published in the Toronto Globe and Mail on April 13, 2023.
 She is a member of SCBWI, Canscaip and a member and volunteer at Ibby (International
Board On Books For Yonge People), reading for newcomers. She can be found on Instagram
@Lillyestherandfriends and on facebook @ Lilly Esther Books.