Roadkill (2005)

1. The clean up crew

Some people slam on the brakes or swerve, others don’t even slow down.  They know the limp animal will just bounce off the car. Bloody entrails and matted fur will stain the road for only a few days. The clean up crew - maggots, bacteria, vultures and other helpful workers – will take care of it.  After their services are performed, the roadkill will be nothing but flattened bones, a slight jolt as a wheel rolls over it.

We drive to connect in the Midwest.  We just have to.  Everything is so damned spread apart.  In order to get to anyone or anyplace, we have to climb in the car.  Most of us don’t mean to kill anything in the process.

When I lived in the east I didn’t have a car at all.  I went everywhere on foot, a method of transportation which may result in the deaths of a few ants but doesn’t threaten mammalian life.  Rats were a common sight, and sometimes the person I was walking with shrieked at them.  For me it was more a matter of nodding and saying hello.  We walked away, and the rats went on about their business, which is the business of a clean-up crew.  They clean up human trash, the things we leave for dead.

2. Cats

Domestic roadkill makes some people sadder than feral roadkill because it used to be someone’s pet.  I personally feel the same amount of sadness for both wild and feral roadkill, regardless of the human factor in the equation. 

Though cats are usually thought of as independent creatures, the truth is that they prefer to live in colonies or groups.  However, since they are lone hunters, they lack advanced communication skills. They don’t need them. 

A group of cats is called a clowder.  Males are toms.  Females are queens.       

3. Humans

I have very few female friends. All my life I’ve watched females go off in little groups, but I never developed an understanding of what this is all about or how to be involved in it.  Once I spent about a week researching how to intentionally cultivate female friendships, looking into online groups or organizations I could join. During this time a stray cat decided it loved me and moved in.  A female.  As I continued my research at the computer, a furry black and white arm began to reach in under the door, feeling around for me. 

4. Rabbits

I’ve never hit one, but many times I’ve seen them hopping in the road, uncertain which way to go to escape the danger.  They perform a mad, frantic dance.

5. Humans

I went to my first dance in junior high with a few other awkward girls.  For the first hour or so we flailed and writhed around to the music and had a lot of fun.  Deciding to dance our way over to the concessions stand was our mistake.  Ebony Harmon, popular and coordinated, covered her mouth and laughed at us while pointing us out to her own group of gracefully dancing friends.  Suddenly we were uncertain which way to go.  Soon we hurried home.

 6. Skunks

Skunks are unusual in the pantheon of roadkill because you can smell them before you see their corpses.  It’s like a final act of defiance.  I admire skunks. 

7. Dogs

Dogs are a sadder form of domestic roadkill to me than cats because we mow them down in spite of their trust in us. Though cats may like to live in clowders, dogs take it a step further and consider us humans an actual part of their group.

Unlike cats, dogs hunt in groups and have advanced communication skills.  A group of dogs is called a pack.  Females are bitches.  Males are dogs.   

8.  Humans           

In high school I went to my first rock concert with festival seating.  I trusted that when the doors opened there would be a surge of camaraderie, that the crowds would joyfully cooperate together in the run for their seats.  What really happened is a massive pack of adolescent boys in black concert T-shirts nearly ran over me.  I raced down an aisle in blind panic, the boys shoving me and hitting me from behind.  “Stupid Cow!” they yelled as I ran for my life.  “Fucking Pig!  Fat Whore!”

9. Raccoons

I hit one a few weeks ago.  I had no time to react at all.  I was traveling late at night, the only car on the highway.  The coon must have sensed the relative calm and thought it was safe to cross.  He darted directly into my path and looked up.  I had time to see his terror, and then he was dead.  For the next week, I had to commute by his corpse.  When he had finally deteriorated to the point I could no longer recognize him I felt immensely grateful toward the hardworking clean-up crew.

10. Squirrels

Not long ago, I made friends with a squirrel in Indianapolis.  Using almonds, macadamia nuts and pieces of dried apricot, I drew him toward me.  I realized right away I’d probably done something people would hate me for.  My mother has told me that when she lived in Indianapolis the squirrels were a nuisance.  They were so tame they came in people’s kitchens and tried to eat their food.  If my mom’s husband had a few free moments with nothing else to do, he stepped outside the backdoor of their house with an air rifle and shot squirrels.  Both my mom and her husband were struggling student musicians without much money for food, so they skinned the squirrels and ate them.  I worried I might have made my poor little friend so tame that he would wander into someone’s kitchen and be knocked off with an air rifle by a struggling musician. 

I know squirrels are supposed to be prosaic and uninteresting.  But I had never seen a squirrel close enough to consider how his gonads were arranged.  Squirrels all seem smooth bodied and genderless from a distance.  But there he was, standing on his hind legs in front of me, everything on display.  A little pervert flashing me in an island of trees in the city.

At first my friend kept his distance and I threw him nuts and pieces of fruit.  Some of these he buried for later.  Though he was very jittery, eventually he came up to me.  His little hand, if it can be called that, reached out and took a banana chip from my hand.  But after he had grasped it, I stupidly withdrew my hand by reflex.  He was startled by the movement and retreated several feet to begin contemplating me all over again.

 11. Birds

I hit a bird on the interstate.  The day was very gusty, and she was blown off her intended trajectory and into the path of my car.  She tried to pull up, but there was nothing either of us could do.  

12. Deer

People will go to great lengths to get their car stopped before hitting a deer since a deer won’t just bounce off.  A deer involves big dents, police, insurance, and sometimes a totaled car.  Several times I’ve seen cars get stopped in time before hitting a deer. Sometimes the car can’t move for awhile because the deer stands there just looking around, looking at the car, taking her time.  I admire deer. 

13. Humans

People are mad at most kinds of roadkill because there are too many of them, and that’s why they end up in front of our cars.  But of course one big reason there are so many of them is because our towns and suburbs scared away their predators. Predators are notoriously shy and fickle.  Build one too many housing developments and they’re off in a big huff.  Their erstwhile victims are more affable, which is why they now live with us comfortably in our suburbs.  They are the animals that don’t mind homogeneity.

14. Possums

He dashed out on a busy two-lane highway and danced for a few seconds like I’ve seen rabbits do.  Then, in an act of dramatic desperation, he decided to play dead. With cars zooming by him on both sides, he threw himself onto the median, fainting like a silent movie drama queen. God help him, it was all he knew to do in the midst of all that.  He didn’t know it was of no use, not there, not in that place.  My heart ached for him.