In my 27+ years of driving, I’ve probably logged close to 2.5 million miles. That’s a lot of windshield time, and much of it was spent gazing the roadway for creatures who inevitably stroll into harms way.
Sadly, despite my cat-like reflexes and defensive driving prowess, critter-death is often inevitable. I used to keep count, but the numbers began to click away like fence posts on a deserted stretch of freeway. Each one, to be perfectly frank, left an indelible impression on my soul.
Sure, I’ve become somewhat hardened to an occasional possum or squirrel scurrying under my tires at the last possible moment…but one does not simply forget
slamming into a 215 pound domesticated pink house-pig named “Luther,” who ambled onto a lonely stretch of Lenoir County highway back in December of ’88.
The look on a seagull face as it planted into my windshield at 70 mph whilst illegally passing a loaded hog truck (me, not the seagull) in the spring of 2013 left me in absolute shambles.
And I’m still haunted…to this very day…by the “Great Hillcrest Massacre of 1990.” That night, a gaggle of neighborhood geese inexplicably decided to take a midnight stroll across a lonely highway ten minutes after midnight, much to the chagrin of my Toyota Celica.
To this day, I’m unable to look a goose in the eye, much less lay my head upon a goose-down pillow. Oh, the humanity. Or goosanity…or gosling-anity…whatever. It was bad, man. Really bad.
Deer, snakes, foxes, bullfrogs, armadillos, chickens, skunks…only the animal kingdom can grasp the accidental trail of death and destruction I’ve forged from Eastern NC to Oklahoma.
I’ve taken no pride in any of their deaths, mind you. I have not treated it as some sordid badge of honor, but rather a tarnished stain that I must sadly wear upon my leather driving gloves. None of this, however, prepared me for February 17th, 2016:
Two animals, one truck, SAME TIME…a true circle-of-life type deal. A Two-fer, as it would come to be known. Allow me to illustrate:
It was a weekday morning no different than any other before it. I was heading down the highway sipping coffee and swaying to the dulcet tones of James Hetfield when my life changed forever. The sun was up, visibility was clear, and traffic was minimal. My 35 mile morning commute has always been rather blase’, winding me through the back roads of Eastern NC. There’s very little to look at and even less to lookout for, save for the occasional whitetail deer or struggling box turtle crossing the highway. Typically, it’s the early evenings that bring out the wildlife that wreak havoc on my psyche (and front bumper), not the morning.
About 1/3 of the way through my lonely commute, I crossed a bridge spanning Contentnea Creek. From there, the road opened up into a 2-mile stretch that I call “The Straightaway.” It’s an excellent area for passing Sunday drivers, as it’s devoid of any structures or woods that could hide highway patrolmen. We’re talking one of only 2-3 spots along the whole route that a person could stretch that 55 MPH speed limit and feel comfortable doing so.
Just as I was winding the truck up to about 64, I noticed a slight brown blur careening across the barren field to my right, heading toward me in an almost perpendicular fashion. It was a rather large rabbit, and it was coming closer and closer, with small whisks of dust unsettling behind it with each encroaching foot.
Within seconds, a small roadside ditch was the only thing separating him from the roadway, and at this point, time began to move in relative slow motion. It was, for lack of a better term, the Matrix. This rabbit…we’ll call him “Neo,” was actually looking at me. Kid you not. And I was looking at him. We locked eyes at a speed of 60+ miles per hour, but found ourselves in a “time-space continuum” that resembled a slow motion replay of a pending train wreck.
As he neared the ditch along the highway, Neo began his leap…obviously believing his adrenaline packed hind legs would send him across and past the bumper of my speeding truck with more than a hare to spare (sorry, had to use it). He pushed off with flawless execution and became airborne, his furry little face bearing a look of determination, a look of confidence, and look of self reliance. It was as if his pursed little lips were silently mouthing “I GOT THIS” as he began his flight through my lane…and to be perfectly honest, he probably did have it…with maybe a foot to spare. The little guy was gonna make it…
until…
…a second blur appeared…seemingly out of nowhere. It swooped in from the sky like a kamikaze war plane. As a shadow darkened my windshield and the blur came into focus, the cause of Neo’s post-dawn scurry and subsequent flight came into view.
A beautiful behemoth of a hawk (or “Agent Smith” for those of you that want to stick with this whole silly Matrix theme), seeking an early morning breakfast. His flight was majestic, with an “eyes on the prize” attitude that was not to be denied. In that split second as Agent Smith’s talons dug into his airborne prey, a smile stretched across his beak. A smirk of satisfaction, if you will, as his head tilted in my direction. It was as if he was saying “You like that, don’t you old man?” His snag game was certainly on point, but he failed to take into consideration other, shall we say, “mitigating factors,” like a 4-wheel drive Toyota pickup barreling at him at 60 MPH. Best I can figure, there were about 1.3 nanoseconds between his smug stare, my left headlight and their fleeting mortality. Believe it or not, a lot of things happened in that 1.3 nanoseconds.
At .002 nanoseconds, Agent Smith’s sly smile and Neo’s look of “can-do-it-ness” both turned into a combined look of morbid horror as they simultaneously mouthed a couple of words not fit for print here. It doesn’t really matter what the words were…but I’d imagine you or I would have said the same had our roles been reversed.
At .94 nanoseconds, I let loose a scream reminiscent of a 3-year-old girl watching the Easter bunny get bludgeoned to death on her front lawn. And I peed on myself. Just a little, but enough that it bears pointing out. I’m learning that at 44, I’m fairly incontinent when it comes to tragedy, loud noises, and laughter. 
At 1.3 nanoseconds, my front bumper slammed headlong into both of them, sending the Matrix spiraling out of control, and feathers and fur into every nook and cranny of an otherwise spotless vehicle. It came through the windows. It came through the air vents. It stuck under the wiper blades. It. Was. Everywhere. It’s been over a year, and I just found Agent Smith’s sunglasses lodged into my radiator coil. (Ok, so it was a beak…but I’m really trying to make this Matrix thing stick).
Obviously, there would be no sequel to this Matrix, but Mother Nature taught me something very important that day…
…always use the bathroom before you leave the house.
~dan