Close encounters of the Bambi kind

'm convinced deer are suicidal. Or, at least, thrill seekers with very poor timing.

You might have noticed in this week's Outdoors section a little item from the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission offering advice for avoiding deer on the highway. This would have come in handy last week, although I'm convinced if there's a deer out there with your number on it, a close encounter of the Bambi kind is inevitable.

It was last Friday night. I'd been off during the day and had been enjoying myself for the most part. Kim was going to visit our niece in Springdale for the weekend, and I'd done some vehicle swapping and was driving her van. Lola Belle the Wonder Dachshund had accompanied me — she likes to go riding — and we'd had a pleasant afternoon together.

Being on my own, and not wanting to cook that evening, Lola and I went to Skipper's for dinner. She stayed in the van while I went inside. After a nice catfish dinner, I had one piece left and took it with me to share with Lola; she likes catfish. I broke off tiny pieces to feed her, and after she'd had about half the filet, I put it back in the carton with the hush puppy that was left from dinner. The box went between the seats, Lola got back in her seat and I climbed in as we started for home.

All was fine. We headed out of town on Highway 201 South and were nearing Hicks Road when I saw it. A deer standing beside the road, looking at the other side. I stepped on the brake, and the van began coming to a stop. But not soon enough.

I don't know if it was scared, or just thought it could cross the highway before I reached it. Or, maybe, it was depressed. Whatever the reason, the deer stepped in front of the van.

It was one of those moments when everything happens in an instant, but it feels as if you've slipped into Sam Peckinpah slow motion. There was a loud crash when the van nosed down as the brakes locked and the tires grabbed the road. The deer slid up the hood, my seat belt held me in place. Debris from the grill flew into the air, but in my mind, I thought it was glass shattering and the deer was coming through the windshield. But, thank goodness, that wasn't the case, because physics took over.

Thanks to the action of the van striking the deer, the reaction turned out to be the deer flying into the air and landing with a giant thud on the pavement a few yards down the road, and apparently sliding to the side of the highway.

After the van finally came to a halt, I turned into the storage building parking lot next to me and got out to check the damage after uttering a few choice words. I uttered them again when I saw the grill completely gone, a bit of damage to the hood and the passenger-side headlight smashed, but amazingly still burning. With one undamaged light shining straight ahead, and the other one drooping, the van had a sort of Forrest Whitaker look to it.

I got back in the van, and Lola was on the floor in front of the passenger seat and gave me a look that seemed to say, "What the heck?" I checked her, and she was OK, and we drove back into town to report the mishap. While I was doing that, Lola remained in the van.

Remember that half-piece of catfish and hush puppy? The carton had landed upside down on the passenger seat floor as a result of the crash. When I was finished and got back in the van, I noticed the carton was right-side up, and the catfish and hush puppy were nowhere to be found. Lola had a satisfied look about her.

On our way back home, I looked for the deer when I got back to the accident scene. But it was gone. Two things came to mind: It either had come to and somehow walked away, or someone passing by decided they wouldn't have to go sit in a freezing deer stand the next morning.

Actually, this was my second encounter with a deer this fall. A few weeks back, again on Highway 201, I was headed home in my Tacoma when I saw three deer ahead. One already had crossed the road, a second was starting across, and the third was waiting its turn. As I slammed on my brakes, so did the deer. Its front legs straightened out in front of it, the hind legs hunkered down and the deer's head dipped low. The Tacoma did the same thing. The driver's side bumper and the deer's head collided.

As it turned out, the deer apparently was simply stunned for a moment. The Tacoma held up better than the van; the only damage was the left turn signal bulb, whose filament popped, apparently due to the sudden impact. The light cover wasn't even cracked, and there wasn't even a scratch on the truck, beyond ones already there.

As a result of these close encounters of the venison kind, I've started driving more slowly and more cautiously as I traverse the road home at night. You get a little gun shy, and start looking for deer everywhere. So far, no more deer, but more than once I have slowed for a roadside mailbox that appeared ready to leap in front of me.