Commute Count: Running Over Animals Not What It Used To Be

What’s the deal with the animals?
Back in the day, only dogs ever got run over. Poor Mom picked off a bunch, herself, including a few of mine. My milkman, who shall remain anonymous, rolled Prince under his truck like he was in the spin cycle. Missed the tires completely, though. Didn’t teach the dog anything. He kept chasing cars, and if he wasn’t chasing cars he was chasing chickens. Couldn’t break him of either one. He’d chase cars with a dead chicken tied around his neck. Somehow he lived to be 20-some years old. All the kids grew up and moved away, and Prince was still there.
I ran over a dog once, on Long Lake Road. That was so sad. Picked up the limp ankle-biter and carried him to his owner. Turned out, she was a friend of the family’s, which made it even worse. Miraculously, the dog was only knocked out. It woke up and was fine.
A fat robin slammed into my head while I was riding my Honda Scrambler 90, and a bee flew into my mouth. Never hit a deer, but almost. On Fragaria Road, right when I was about to pop one, it sprang over the hood of my car, a gravity- and death-defying feat.
Occasionally, chipmunks dart into the road, changing directions like Barry Sanders. You think they’re goners, but when you look in the mirror you missed them.
Those are close encounters of the Kitsap kind, as opposed to raccoons and possums. Where did they come from, anyway? I’d never seen one before. Now they’re in my garage, in my garbage and dead on the shoulder. If there were ever two animals that should stay away from highway, it would be them. They can’t run, they can’t jump, they can’t think and that adds up to a poor win-loss record against 3,000-pound, 60 mph cars. Despite all the black-masked carnage, however, they don’t seem to be on the decline.
I used to think raccoons were cute, and that hawks were majestic. It was a rare treat to see either one. Now hawks are just street vultures, sitting atop every light pole waiting for a raccoon to get hit. Even in the city. Hawks don’t belong in the city.
That was a low blow. I’ve never seen hawks eating dead raccoons or any other kind of roadkill. I have watched them swoop down into the median and grab something with their talons. That’s pretty cool, but distracting if you’re trying to drive.
Talk about distracting. I gave up trying to get a glance at the Gorst baristas a long time ago, but Gorst, of all places, has other head-turning attractions. Going down the hill from Tremont, there’s the red-winged blackbirds that come back every year to the brushy island between the northbound and southbound lanes. Nearby, a kingfisher sits on a telephone wire overlooking the bay. Most days there’s at least one bald eagle perched or flying around. Black cormorants dry their wings on floating logs. I’ve even seen a fisherman drag a big, flopping salmon onto the mudflats.
And Canada geese. They’re thick between Viking Fence and the Navy ships, often followed by strings of goslings. I don’t remember seeing Canada geese when I was young. They’re the raccoons of the Kitsap bird world, but at least they know enough to stay out of the street.