One of the reasons I'm very glad to no longer live in Maine.

So, out here in California we have something the locals call 'deer'. They are, taxonomically, of the same genus as the eastern White-Tail deer, but most hunters from back east would turn up their noses at 'em - Mule deer are quite small. They can still mess you up summat awful if you should contrive to hit one, mind, as they do have enough mass to leave a dent.

Anyway. So there I was, driving home from work of an evening. At the time, I was working at Edwards AFB, and had roughly a 90-minute drive to get home, across what is termed the 'Antelope Valley'

Please note that I have never seen antelope of any sort within this valley. I'm told they exist, but much like Greenland, I think the name was more aspirational and intended to drive interest in settling in a rather windy and unpleasant desert landscape whose only real saving grace is that, being dry and windswept, there's not much chance of crop-ravaging insects surviving there. This, together with tapping an alarmingly dwindling aquifer and by the grace of Mr. Mulholland's aqueduct, provides for -- honestly, mostly alfalfa these days. Back in the 20th century there was a 'Desert Farming' movement that tried to settle the area, but for fairly obvious reasons, that didn't pan out too well.

What -does- exist in this valley are a large quantity of cattle ranches, some solar and wind farms, some small settlements that might be described as 'hardscrabble', and - well, mule deer.

Those of you familiar with the habits of deer in general will anticipate that this story took place at twilight.

It did not. It was full dark.

So there I was, bombing along at 57mph (because the cops along this stretch are -bored- and love to hassle anyone who dares break 60) in the full dark, singing "Hotel California" as one does to keep awake on a dark desert highway after a very long day. There's not much relief to the landscape along this particular stretch, except that there's a slight rise to the landscape so you can pass over the Aqueduct before going into a little dip between a couple bluffs and then a rise back to the usual terrain level.

And just as I'm dipping down between the bluffs, this deer erupts out of the ditch by the side of the road, heading -right for me-, head down, -charging- me. He proceeds to ram the driver's door -right by my foot- before, incredibly, bouncing off, turning, and running back into the ditch.

This was surreal enough that I half-thought that I'd hallucinated the whole thing until I got home and - well, sure enough, a big ol' antler ding was right there on the driver's side door.

So let that be a lesson if you drive in the desert scrub backlands of California: the deer may be small here, but boy howdy are they -mean-