April 29, 2002

I must vent. One of

I must vent. One of my former college roommates and one of my best friends is a Minnesota State Trooper. He worked the metro area for two years and saw and dealt with enough dregs of society to last a lifetime. His life was threatened and he was attacked by drunks and druggies on a nightly basis. So, when it comes to law enforcement officers, I cut them a whole buttload of slack. If they catch me speeding, I don't try to lie my way out of it. I was speeding, and that's that. So, yesterday, my buddy is on duty (he recently was approved a transfer to Winona County), and he has to respond to a call about a deer that had been hit by a car but was still able to walk. This deer insisted on going back on the interstate as if daring motorists to hit it. Of course, motorists kept opting to swerve and eventually some motorists stopped their vehicles and got out because "they wanted to help the deer." Now, I rarely stop on an freaking interstate, because cars go really fast on the interstate, and I certainly wouldn't expose my frail frame to oncoming traffic in the name of assisting a deer stupid enough to get hit by a car and then stick around for more. And yet, that's exactly what these folks were doing. Imagine if you will, a throng of about 10 morons running around in fields and on the interstate in a surreal game of wildlife tag. What would they have done had they caught the deer? Ride it? Put it in the trunk? I don't know if you're at all familiar with deer hooves, but they're as sharp as scissors and one good kick to the mid-section could disembowel our governor. So, my buddy arrives on the scene and promptly gets his squad car stuck in the median. So, he's not a happy man to start with. He grabs his shotgun and gets out of his car, careful to keep the shotgun hidden alongside his leg, lest the crowd of deer-chasing idiots realize what he's about to do and try to stop him. He yells at everyone to get back to their cars while he trudges across the field to meet personally with the deer. He gets within 25 feet, draws his shotgun, and, two blasts later, Bambi is no more, much to the shock of those watching who had no idea my buddy was carrying a shotgun. Well, now everyone is just horrified and offended, demanding to know why he used such excessive force, as if a wounded deer somehow should at least be read its miranda rights or given a last supper. Everyone wanted to know my buddy's name so they could report his abuse of power and write scathing letters to the editor for any newspaper that may listen. A little reality check, folks. The deer was a danger to traffic. It was wounded, and despite all the cries to save it, the DNR would have arrived later and done the same exact thing. Wounded deer are not tranquilized and carted off to petting zoos. They are destroyed. That's what is done with wounded deer. Get over it, get back in your cars, and stop being so stupid. Deer me, how I do go on.

Posted by Ryan at April 29, 2002 03:25 PM
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