January 1992. I was a 3rd-year medical student at the University of Missouri-Columbia. Wife, four kids, one on the way. Lean times? Yes, absolutely. But also great opportunities for God’s provision.
I was driving down Stadium Blvd at dusk one Friday after a long day at the hospital. The tiny Datsun sedan in front of me slammed into a large deer. I pulled up behind the vehicle. The front end was crushed but fortunately the driver was unharmed. I dragged the dead doe to the side of the road. Shortly, a city cop showed up and took a report.
After taking the report, the cop offered the dead deer to the driver—“I can write you a roadkill tag and you can have it butchered.”
“Oh no! I’m a vegetarian!” exclaimed the distraught college student.
At the ready, I stepped up and generously offered my services—“I’ll take the deer.”
And before you knew it, I had a roadkill-tagged large doe crammed in the trunk of my tiny 1982 Toyota Tercel, head and front hooves sticking macabrely out the back end. I got home that evening and strung the deer up in the tree behind the house and gutted the animal making great use of newly acquired surgical skills. My 4-year old daughter, Hannah, watched with horror from the upstairs window having just enjoyed the movie “Bambi.” “Daddy’s killing Bambi’s mommy!” she cried. The next day I delivered the carcass to the butchers and we ate venison for the next several months.
About a year later, after a night on call in the hospital, I was traveling down the same stretch of road on an early winter morning and there was another large dead deer on the side of the road. I headed home. Diana was still in bed.
“Diana, there’s a dead deer on the side of the road on Stadium.”
“Don’t you even think about it, Lowell!!”
“Oh, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot! It is 10 degrees outside. If that deer is still warm, that deer is mine.”
I collected the deer from the side of the road and took it to the butcher that day. We ate venison until medical school graduation.
Just call me Dr. Roadkill. Others have.
(I do draw the line at opossum, skunk, and armadillo)
God provides.
True story.
Dash Stories 