Anyone who lives here knows that deer in the road are as commonplace as a rain shower in Seattle. You learn to prepare for it because it will eventually happen, especially near deer season. An insurance agent recently told me he had four phone calls before 9 a.m. on a Monday morning, all involving deer.

Once you live here for a while, you become part of a click driving around in deer-marked vehicles. You can't help it. The country is remote, the roads are lined to the edge with trees, and there are curves, hills and other objects to hide your view. To make it worse, the males are skittish and very tuned into what's happening with the does, if you know what I mean. I don't think their mind is always focused on staying alive.

It seems a little cruel to have hunting season while the "girls" are in the dating mood anyway. Could you imagine how confusing it must be for the young bucks to have to dodge bullets and watch their backs just to go out for a little romance one time a year?

Think back to when you were younger, would the dating scene seem as appealing if you didn't think you'd make it back alive? Young men would be kind of like, "Mom - I'm leaving now. If I'm not back by midnight, it was nice to know you."

I always thought it would happen to Richard before me. He drives a lot more than I, and frankly, much faster and in a more relaxed way. I'm much more "defensive," if you will. I scan constantly, drive slower, and plan my trips as much as possible to avoid dusk, high deer population areas and anywhere on Route 5 - which could easily be renamed Dead Deer Byway.

I was trying to get home for the evening and had my kids strapped in the back seat. They had a knock-down-drag-out kind of fit over who was going to sit in the front seat, and after a few minutes of that, I was ticked off enough to make them both get in the back next to each other. Best decision I made that day.

To make it worse, the weather was below freezing, it was dark and late, and I had a 30-mile drive home. Richard was working and wouldn't be home until late. And, of course, there was no cell phone coverage. Even though I knew better, I didn't have my seatbelt on either.

We had already passed a few deer near the road so I was cautious. Going around a blind curve I saw a shadow come out of the brush on the hillside above. He was coming down the hill quickly and I had just enough time to brace myself hard and begin to brake. There was a car on my tail so I was afraid to stop too fast, but I couldn't see around the curve either.

When I saw him jump mid air I thought he would hit the windshield instead of the hood, so I instinctively wanted to close my eyes and hold on tight. But I didn't. We hit with full impact, he did a couple summer salts into the air and never hit the road - he came down hard on the opposite side berm. I could tell he wasn't getting up again.

The impact was loud and I heard things break. We skidded around the curve sideways on the wrong side of the road. I was holding on for dear life, and hit the steering wheel. I heard my son cry in the back seat when his head hit the glass. Thankfully, no one was coming on the other side of the road and I was able to maintain control.

We eventually pulled onto a wide spot and my kids seemed a little dazed, but OK. I hopped out of the truck to inspect the damage. There was no smoke or fire, nothing was oozing from underneath, best I could tell, but there were some serious cracks, rattles and clanks. There was also some deer fur stuck in a few places. I had proudly nursed this little truck through 12 years of uneventful reliability, and now it looked, well, a little redneck-y. I guess I'm now part of that click.

I've been determined not to purchase another car until we get a house built, so I guess I'll continue to drive my little truck, cracks and all. Maybe a little bondo, duct tape and superglue will help for a while.

I climbed back in and decided to try to make it home. The kids were still quiet. I was a little concerned, wondering if I needed to stop at the ER.

"Son, are you OK?" I asked, "Does your head hurt?" Finally he spoke, and that's when I knew he was fine - even at age 9, he had turned into the typical male this time of the year.

"Mom," he said. "Did you see the horns on that deer?" It was obvious what had made it on his radar screen. I had seen the horns, probably an 8-point at least, but I could have cared less.

We made the rest of the trip without further incident, except for all the irritating noises coming out of the hood area. We got ready for bed when the phone rang. Rich called to say he was heading home and I proceeded to tell him what happened. He was quiet for a moment, and, in true deer season fashion, only wanted to know one thing.

"How big was his rack?" he asked. I wanted to whack him on the head with the phone. To give him a little credit, I had already told him that we were all fine.

I've learned that deer season here is like a state holiday. And it was obvious the two males in my house had the fever, too. Ironically, though, I was the only one who bagged a buck this year.