Dear oh deer
Three weeks ago, while out for a walk, I came across a deer that had been struck on Highway 4 West. It was a recent hit so I called it in to our highway contractor and reported a detailed location where the deer was.
My name and phone number were recorded and the female on the desk thanked me for taking the time to report it. I thought no more of it; I’ve spoken to the local employee of the contractor in the past, on a different concern and I was impressed with his timeliness and attention to that concern. I was confident I would hear from him.
Last week, while walking along Highway 4, I was assaulted by a wicked stench coming from the ditch where the dead deer was seen two weeks prior. The deer was not picked up — it still lay there, beneath the sensitive fish habitat sign, bloated and wretched, leaching into Harris Creek.
I called the contractor again and questioned why no response had been sent. No reason was given — just an apology and reassurance that the matter would be dispatched forthwith.
This week, I made a special trip to see if, by chance, the deer carcass had been removed over the weekend. Indeed it had not. On my third and final phone call to the help desk I was given rhetoric about an animal decomposing in a ditch was not a priority and when and if they had a moment, someone may be dispatched to attend the matter.
As I was offering my services to meet anyone being dispatched in order to show them the exact location, the line went dead. I take it the young lady had said and heard all she was willing to on this subject. I have contacted B.C. Wildlife Services and she clearly indicated the matter needs to be reported to the highway contractor and when I explained how often this had been done, she offered to take down the particulars and pass it along to one of her officers for follow up. Doesn’t this seem like a lot of work?
Three weeks ago, the deer carcass could have been retrieved with very little mess or effort and the contractor would have received my accolades and thanks. Now, the job is a distasteful one — onerous and odorous at best, but needs to be done.