Twenty-one years old and the only deer I had seen were in a zoo and one early morning when I was sleeping with some other guys on the cabin porch at Morgan-Monroe State Forest in Indiana, and a doe came out of the mist to investigate the snores, or something.
Then, according to my father, deer began to show up at dusk at the edge of the woods on the Buck farm, which he leased from the Buck family (hence the name we used). Therefore, every time we visited, we took an evening break to drive the five miles to the Buck farm to see the deer. Although we must have made that trip two dozen times, and my father assured us that he often saw deer emerge from the woods while he was working there in the evening, we never saw the deer.
Then one night, after dark, when I was driving home alone from my summer job, at the speed limit, just a few miles from the farm, a buck deer appeared at the edge of the road in front of me. I didn’t count points on the antlers. A vision of collision appeared before me, and the deer moved into the road in front of me and leaped over the hood of my car, clearing the car completely, leaving me breathless and amazed.
It was worth the wait.