It is Fall and deer are mating in the woods. By itself that is an inconsequential factoid. Animals will wish to procreate just like humans. But as it turns out, deer mating is not an activity that exclusively affects the deer populace while keeping the rest of the world sheltered from it's side-effects. When aroused, stags turn fiercely aggressive, even towards humans who for the most part, at least here in Pennsylvania, aren't vying for the attention of the doe that they have their eyes on. But even this aspect of the deer mating season does not have any major implications for humans. We venture very rarely into forests, and when we do, we usually watch them from a safe distance. Except if it's hunting season, in which case we do not venture into forests at all.
There is another aspect of the deer mating season that affects residents who live in these areas and consequently, me, being one of those residents. The deer turn suicidal. So when a horny stag sees a car coming down the highway, he turns to the not-so-horny doe standing next to him and tells her, if she won't bear his children, life won't be worth living anymore, and he might as well become a martyr to her love by killing himself under the wheels of the car. And most of the times, this spiel fails to find a sympathetic audience in the doe, who keeps chewing on her favorite piece of turf, unconcerned, as she watches the stag rouse himself into a frenzy of unrequited passion, until finally, he hurtles into the path of the unsuspecting motorist and turns into a shower of flying body parts.
And this keeps happening all over this state, which, as it turns out, holds the distinction of having the highest deer suicide rates in the country. The main problem is, unlike humans, who usually get turned on after 11:00 pm, when they are done watching late night Cinemax, deer get turned on during early morning and late evening, when most of the denizens of this land are either commuting to or from their places of work. And so, the roads of this state run red with the blood of these poor sex-crazed creatures and this is no exaggeration, the stretch of PA turnpike I travel on everyday is slick with deer entrails and limbs. In fact, if you've murdered someone, (probably for good reason, I refuse to judge a man purely on his actions) and are facing the tough conundrum of where to dispose of the body, look no further. Pennsylvania is the state for you. Just chop the body into small bits, throw in an antler for good measure and toss everything out the window as you drive on the PA turnpike. You will watch your life's work merge effortlessly with the rest of the gore and gristle adorning the highway, and at the same time, free up that space in your basement for your future projects.