Buzzard Dead

I was returning back to Jackson the other day, cutting up through the back woods that runs through Somerville and Whiteville and on a particularly long stretch of road I passed by an unusual common occurrence of roadkill. Common, by that I mean in West Tennessee you will see most a kind of roadkill on the roadside. Because of my advancing years I have seen dogs, cats, possums (oh so many possums), deer, and here lately, there have been new editions to the roadway menu and they would be coyotes and armadillos. These latter two emigrated from other parts of the country to get slaughtered on our highways and byways. I have seen a dead fox or two and an occasional owl. But they are rare and uncommon. Could be they are sly and wise and can avoid the death merchants we drive.

I haven’t run over a skunk yet but I’ve been close behind other motorist that have and be it minutes or days after they merged with the black and white varmint, the odor is distinct and definitely lingers. I’ve seen rats run across the roadway but have never quite closed in on one to flatten it. Being a trucking dispatcher I have drivers that have reported some unusual roadkill incidents. I’ve had a driver that managed to hit a cow while going down the interstate. Another ran over a horse in Louisiana late one night. The young man that had stolen Trigger managed to jump off seconds before my driver ended any dreams this potential Seabisquit had dancing through it’s equine head. I had another driver that managed to knock off a black bear as he came out of the West Virginia Mountains. Being as he was half Cherokee I accused him of going across three lanes to nail the lumbering brute. As it cost him around $8,000.00 to a truck that he owned I accepted that assertion that the bear was at fault. I had a driver recently hit two deer in the same night at two different locations. That’s got to be a record. I had another driver claim to hit a deer but my safety department begged to differ unless the deer was wearing one of those purple safety helmets, judging from the paint markings left on the truck’s fender.
The particular roadkill this day was one of our feathered friends. I’ve seen birds that have gotten up close and personal with vehicles of every make and model and those fowl range from redbirds and bluejays to hawks and owls. I’ve seen doves that have been victims of hit and runs. I’m not sure if I’ve seen a covey of quail that’s been flattened by a covertte but I can see that happen before I believe what I just passed must have occurred. There was the usual large greasy spot on the road but arranged around it was a bunch of particularly large black feathers. This looked to be buzzard feathers. I’ve seen many buzzards in my lifetime. Mostly in the sky circling. Patiently circling from now until forever. A poster from my formative years in college was that of two buzzards on a limb with one saying to the other, “Patience my ass, I’m going to kill something!”. I’ve seen buzzards circling high in the sky and feel that they must have some sort of communications network going on. The way I see it would be one buzzard lands on a fresh roadkill and starts into his grisly duties. His ear piece crackles as voice says “Zeke, I got a 87 Nissan maxima headed your way. Three clicks out, eastbound at 60 mph. ETA to your position two minutes”. Zeke answers “Copy that. Stripping out the tenderloin now. Wrapping up in less than one minute. I don’t know who came up with this idea, but putting these possums inside the protective shells is sheer geniuses. I gotta cousin in Texas that was telling me about it but I would never have believed it until I seen it up close. Hell, this baby hasn’t been hit maybe two, three times. Still in great shape. You take a regular possum and this baby would be mush by now. Hell, you might as well knock over a Piggly Wiggly and grab a couple of cans of ham spread”.
I’ve seen buzzards leaving the remains of roadkill but only at a distance. They are very cautious, bordering on paranoia as they fly off or fly up into a nearby tree as they wait for me to pass and so they return to their cleanup. I’ve seen them hobble off to the side of the road as I approached, knowing I’ not going to swerve over on the shoulder to try to take them out. They give you a malevolent glare as you pass and then they waddle back to their work. But this time a buzzard let down his guard and stayed just a little too long and got nailed. I’m guessing it must have been two good old boys in a pickup truck, probably sporting a lost cause flag on the bumper. The scenario as I would imagine it would be as follows. These two bubbas would be returning from an early morning deer hunt with their two four-wheelers loaded up on a trailer. The bubba in the passenger seat is dozing. The driver perks up as he hits a long streatch of road. Bearing down on a buzzard intently working on the carcass of yet unidentified piece of roadkill he closes in and punches his buddy on the shoulder. “Joe Bob, wake up. Tell me I’m not dreaming. You see what I see?”
Joe Bob looks up and is instantly awake. “Jeepers Jim Bob. That’s a buzzard. And he ain’t lookin!”
Jim Bob kicks his pickup into passing gear and with a nervous voice that kicks up a couple of octaves says “I’m going for it!”
Joe Bob turns his ball cap around backwards and white knuckled places both hands on the dash. Criminey, I never knowed nobody that run down a buzzard before”.
Jim Bob snorts. “Hell Joe Bob, nobody in my family ever hit one and we come over on the Mayflower”. A few seconds later and splat, the deed is done. I know this couldn’t have been a buzzard that was raised up in Tennessee or the surrounding states that border us. Local buzzards would know better than to tary long on any roadway in West Tennessee. I know buzzards have keen eyesight and they would have been schooled from an early age to look out for the many pickup trucks out there with the tiny possum, raccoon, etc. figures that are painted on the sides of said pick up trucks keeping up with the roadkills scored over the months and years. No doubt this was probably a buzzard that had relocated south from some northern or eastern state and had read one too many press clippings about how wildlife was to be respected and protected at all cost. Perhaps in the state they had previously departed, they had experienced a driver or two that has braked for them or even stopped and waited from to finish up their main course and then order dessert before they lazily lifted off and returned to the sky. Not today.