The Whitetail Deer is an extremely beautiful and majestic animal. I currently hate them all.

Last Monday, on my way home from work on a bitterly cold January night, I hit a deer. Or more accurately, it hit me. I was just cruising along, minding my own business, listening to a Chicago sports radio station pointing out to me for the millionth time why the owners of the Chicago Bears are dumb, when it happened. My Jeep and I crossed paths with Bambi's dad. Most licensed drivers who reside in northern Illinois can relate to the situation I am about to describe.

Out of the corner of my bespectacled left eye, I could see movement in the crisp darkness. I knew what it was even before I rotated my head. In what little moonlight there was, I could see the antlers running parallel with the road I was driving on. Or, I guess I should say, almost parallel.