What it's like having a deer as the passenger of my car.
I won't call it shotgun for...obvious reasons.
Lil Pool Boi has been a companion of mine for a few months, found discarded in the trash when his previous owner (and murderer) decided he no longer wanted to be in the presence of this majestic creature. Allegedly there was teasing from friends, an angry wife, a move, a banishment to the attic, a final trip to the curb. It’s giving Rudolph.
And so now he resides happily in my car—my current house has no room for him and the new house is not yet fit for a king. At first, I’ll admit he alarmed even me. His soulful, unblinking marble eyes. His horns jabbing me during too-tight turns. His cold furry nose nudging me the times I banished him to the backseat when I needed a human guest upfront.
But none of that compares to the pure confusion and shock and disgust and occasional delight of other people when they realize that yes, I have an actual dead deer in my car.
Here are their stories.
The woman at the Walgreens pharmacy who screamed over the speaker then started looking in the back of my car asking, “where’s the rest of his body?!” then called over the other pharmacist to see who was waiting to pick up his antidepressants.
The woman at the state park who said, “don’t worry he won’t need to pay the fee. He seems more well-behaved than most of the dogs and all of the children who come.”
The girl who rolled down her window and screamed, “I love him!” as we drove down the highway.
The older gentleman at the gas station who called out to me from a very respectable distance, “is that a deer? A REAL deer? May I come see him?”
The guy at a trail race who said, “why do you have a…nevermind, it’s you that makes perfect sense.”
The great kiddo with the painted nails at the McDonald’s drive-thru (don’t judge) who said, “I thought I was seeing things that’s so cool.”
The jackass who honked at me and screamed, “that’s hot!”
My favorite kid who rode in the front seat and said, “your boyfriend won’t stop looking at me.”
The bank teller who asked if that was a dog and upon realizing that he is not a dog, brought her hands to her mouth and gasped.
The guy who in total seriousness asked if I had just shot and dismembered that deer.
The many, many people who can’t help but ask me if I know a deer is sitting in the front seat of my car.
Depending on the person or situation, my explanation for Lil Pool Boi varies. If it's a scared woman, I'll reassure her he doesn't bite. If it's a curious and amused woman, I'll tell her that he's the best kind of man—silent, dead, mounted to a board, and always horny. We will chuckle together and exchange knowing glances. If it's children, I ask if they want to pet him. If it's a polite man, I'll tell his backstory and we will giggle at his less-than impressive-rack and pity the man who paid good money to mount him. His loss, my gain.
But. If it's a creepy man who honks at me, motions for me to roll down my window, makes a suggestive comment, I look him dead in the eye and seriously say, “this is what I do to all my men. Shoot them, cut off their heads, mount them to a board. Any more questions?” It's a wonder I'm still alive with the mouth on me.
As for when people ask me why, I challenge them to think why not. He’s fun. He’s a great listener and great conversation starter. He’s the trash castoff that I’ve had a soft heart for my entire life. He fits well with the rest of my car’s aesthetic of bird feathers and animal bones and weird bumper stickers. He adds whimsy to a rapidly-worsening world.
So that's the tale of Lil Pool Boi thus far. I'd like to think he has a much more exciting and colorful life now that he's a known celebrity in local race circuits and gets to travel around the Southeast. It'll be a pity to sentence him to a life back on the wall inside of my house. He may just have to become a permanent fixture in Black Betty.