Split Seconds

There are so many "What ifs” as we move through the day.

Evidence

I hit a deer the other afternoon as I was travelling at a moderate speed through a wooded area. Woods uphill to the left, woods downhill to the right. The deer came from the left and suddenly he was there, glorious antlers held high, center stage. I slowed and veered to the left, and I thought he had cleared me, but a soft thunk that neither caused the car to veer nor my body to react indicated otherwise. I turned around; two cars behind me had also stopped. Apparently the deer fell, got up, and ran off down into the woods. We had a clear vista to search, but saw no indication of him. I hope he continued to safer quarters, survived the impact and outwitted the hunters who are afoot in the woods.

This happened the same day that a friend was to die. Her car had been hit by a falling tree a month earlier, and in spite of heroic and loving efforts, she died that night, the day the deer escaped. 

The car is in the shop for three weeks, with the headlight and hood askew, and several panels cracked and needing replacement; the front passenger door was jammed shut.

We rented a car for the first week, and Niko took against it instantly. We had a college appointment to help relieve exam stress four days after the deer encounter, and as I cheerily opened the back seat of the lovely compact rental car, Niko backed off with all his weight. I prevailed, and off we went across the river and through the woods to one of the local colleges, where he was the object of many students’ love and longing for their dogs back home. Two hours later, we approached the car in the cold, wet darkness, I was eager to get on the road to home, but Niko had other ideas. He pulled back once again from the car. I pulled on his harness, calling out encouraging words, but he pulled back, more strongly and extremely determined. He pawed his way out of his harness.  I was instantly terrified as the suddenly free Niko pranced backwards into the darkness. I reached out for him with strong hands and loving words. Somehow, he decided not to bolt; somehow I got the harness back on him. 

I sidled into the back seat and held out a treat for him, and with physical, verbal, and gustatorial encouragement, he grudgingly arrived into the back seat with me. But I needed to drive, and as I sidled by him, he pushed by me and bolted out again, loose once more. This time two students were walking along the road. Niko loves his students; he ran to them, sat, and said hello. That gave me the chance to step on his leash. I have no idea how I finally got him into the car, but my will and his resignation somehow colluded and we were suddenly both in our proper places in the car and on our way home. 

Niko's third day with us

Niko is our Easter dog; two days after Easter in 2015 we went off to visit a dog who had not grown up tall enough to be a show dog and needed to find a new home. The second he skidded to an exuberant greeting at his front door I knew this was our dog. An hour or two later, we popped him into the car and drove him home. He had been a beloved dog in his first home, and he instantly became a beloved dog in his new home. 

He wasn’t so sure. As that first day came to an end, he was looking to go home. As days went by, he showed a few troublesome quirks. He wouldn’t eat, although about ten dog foods later we finally found one he decided would more than satisfy him. And he wouldn’t get into our car again. That ended up being a long, hard sell. After several weeks, he finally consented, with personal encouragement and many tasty lures, but to this day he will only get into the car from the left – the right was the side we put him in when we drove him away from his first home.

Niko three years later.

A split second that Easter season in 2015 and Niko was on his way to a new home, leaving behind all he had ever known. He is now devoted to us and our house is indeed his house. My thought is that Niko’s fear of the rental car was a kind of PTSD that he carries deep inside himself. The rental car smelled and felt like danger to him, and he was not willfully going there again. 

Split seconds are so haunting. A split second either way – total escape for the deer, or the deer (and impressive antlers) up and over the hood of the car and through the windshield. Or a different home for Niko. 

Or safety for my friend.

Sunrise with ducks, Long Island Sound