So there I was sitting in bed last Thursday, drinking my first mug of tea of the day, when Dave rang up from work to ask me to go and find a dead deer, and photograph it. (This is not the kind of early-morning request that a woman is hoping for.)
On his drive to work he had hit a deer and damaged the car, and someone at work said the insurance company wouldn’t believe that he had hit a deer. Hence the strange and unhappy request.
So there I was at eight o’ clock in the morning, wandering up and down the verge of a dangerous, 50 mph road through shady woodland, looking for evidence. There was none. Not a whisker. Not a scrap of bumper. Not even a carrion crow circling overhead.
When I got home I rang Stanton Estates who own the deer and the land round there, to ask them to look out for an injured deer, and the woman said “Oh, I hit a deer once and it went off with the grill of my car, and the deer and the grill were never seen again."
Fortunately, the insurance company believed Dave – just as they should – and they are sending a courtesy car this week. And there is no photo with this posting, because the crumpled door, bonnet, bumper and wing of a Volkswagon Polo is no prettier than a dead deer. Oh, deer.
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