I have to offload this.
It may seem like small potatoes in the worldwide plethora of pitiful sights, and I suppose it is, relatively speaking. But bearing witness to it really shook me up. The scene was scalded into me, branded forever into this imperfect recorder at the top of my spine. Tears were shed.
I was on my way to work several mornings ago. An unassuming jobsite on an unassuming inland lake near to Lake Michigan. The drive up to it follows the lake for a while, and on my way there at about 7:00 in the morning is when I came upon her. A doe with two fawns, both still covered in spots and not more than a few days old, tiny little things. All three out of nowhere smack in the middle of a curve in the road.
At first I thought nothing of it other than to avoid them. I was only doing about 20, she and her fawns should have skittered away quickly. But she didn't. Her fawns did, fairly well, but her movements were slow, halting, unnatural. As I slowed to a crawl, coming within a few feet of her, I saw why.
She was missing one leg, up to her hip.
She was trying like hell, making her very slow way off the pavement, but it was clear that the simple act of walking was next to impossible for her.
"Go on!" I yelled, my voice cracking. "Get out of here!" She was right next to me, no more than 10 feet away, in the opposing lane on a blind corner. On a fairly busy road. I was shaken up a lot already, and I was trying to get her moving if I could, but that was probably the wrong thing to do because she put her head down and tried to lunge at me. She'd placed herself squarely between me and her fawns, and seeing nothing but a threat she couldn't outrun she was going to do the only thing she could. Attack me. I laid on my horn, finally. That spooked her, perked her head up, and got her moving in the other direction. I watched, through the rearview and eyes blurry with tears, while she hobbled eversoslowly onto the side of the road where she could move just a little easier. Only a little. When I last saw her she was still struggling to move, her head ducking down awfully with every pained, shuffling step.
A little ways down the road I had to pull over to the side, and I just parked there and sobbed for a little while. Probably no more than 30 seconds but I don't know how long. Then I moved on.
The next day I drove the same route at the same time, and I've done it several times since, but I haven't seen her. I wonder about her, but I also try not to wonder about her because it makes me really sad. Even now, typing this. I wanted to help her, to do something, even though I knew I couldn't.
Nature takes its course.
We don't have to like it, and we don't have to sit still for it.
For me that's what being a liberal and a Democrat really means. The desire to help, the desire to buck against the universal goad of chaos, the desire to make our world less goddamned dog-eat-dog, these things are what it's all about. They are why I hang out here. In a just world they would stand at the heart of political dealing on all levels.
Unfortunately there are a great many people who instead champion dog-eat-dog as the best way to operate.
How many Republicans would've passed right by that doe without a backward glance?
Replace her with a one-legged single mother of twins and then ask the same question.