"I tagged a deer."
That's the first thing Mike said when he called to let me know he was on his way home last night.
"What do you MEAN, 'tagged?!?' Like, 'TAG, YOU'RE IT!' tagged?"
I can't tell you the panic and adrenaline that immediately surged through my body. Images of him on the side of the road, mangled truck in a ditch, mangled deer on the median, and no telling what sort of bodily harm might have come to him.
Turns out, it really wasn't that bad. Just enough to be a hassle and pain to repair. The door doesn't open right, and the bumper is all messed up, and for some reason the horn is no longer functional.
We had a funny moment last night when filling out the insurance form online. They wanted to know if it was a collision with a standing object, a moving vehicle, an animal, or a pedestrian or bicyclist. Considering the other options, we were happy to report it was an animal. Then they wanted to know if there were any fatalities: yes, no, or I don't know. Mike and I were at a stalemate. Yes, the deer probably died. But would she have counted as a fatality? And if we answered "I don't know," would the police show up at our door because of a possible hit and run to a human being? So we answered "no" and went on with the form.
But Mike is OK and has beautifully survived his deer initiation without a scratch. With it hitting the driver's side door out of nowhere, another millisecond and a slightly larger deer would have been very much bad. God is good.