I’m half asleep in the back seat of the truck when it happens. I was trying my hardest to stay awake, feeling guilty for Chris who had to drive so early when we’d all rather be sleeping, but it was hard. We left at 4am, Chris Jess and I, heading out to Powerline to do a dose experiment where we bombard a control lek with noise to study the immediate response to such disturbance. It was an early morning to be sure.
I’m drifting in and out, so when I spot it I don’t register it’s significance quickly enough. It’s dark, and I’m drowsy, so at first I think the vague figure on the right-hand shoulder is a dog. But in a mater of moments, as we aproach at 70 mph, the figure reacts. He bolts upright and charges off in fear. Not a dog. A pronghorn.
He heads away from the road at first, but is dissuaded by the fence and at the last moment, just as we’re about to pass, he swerves and charges out in front of the truck. BAM!!!
It all happened in a matter of seconds. Me dozing in the back, a flash on the shoulder, hmm a pronghorn, then BAM! F250 Super Duty meets pronghorn at 70mph. Not good.
I scream. Jessica does too. I’m in shock. I can’t believe what just happened. Oh my god!, i think. I say. Oh my god. I think I say it multiple times. I’m wide awake now. I’m wide wide awake.
That image! The pronghorn veering, his face so close, running so hard, the collision, the pronghorn thrown back. That brief knowing what was going to happen seconds, fractions of seconds before it did. The happening! That slam, the sound and the feel of it! And us, driving straight on. No swerving. No slowing. Chris must not have even seen it. That may have been for the best. Swerving could have been much worse.
It takes us a moment to react. It takes us a moment before we decide we should pull over, take a look at the front at least. The truck feels fine, it’s driving fine, but we should at least check.
Shit. What a scene. It doesn’t look so bad, damage wise. The truck definitely won that one. A bit dented, but not so bad. Except for the splatters of red, the tufts of fur plastered to he side and caught in the grill. I cringe looking at it, thinking of the pronghorn. The poor pronghorn. He hit on the far right front, almost into the side. He changed his direction that late. Alas. He hit the truck right where the sturdy tow loop jutted out of the front. He must have died instantly.
Oh yeah, and we’re leaking radiator fluid. Just our luck. Looks like we won’t be making it out to Powerline after all.
It can’t be later than 5am at this point. It’s still dark. We’re the only vehicle out here. The truck is undrivable.
Now we get to call in a tow. Now we get to wake up Gail to come rescue us. Now we’re out a vehicle again. Now, now Mud Clogs needs a new name. Another incident, another personality revealed.
Chris rechristens him: Meat Grinder.
