Sharing Rural Roads with Unruly Wildlife and Livestock

On the night that I drove my first brand new car home from the dealership, an owl flew into my open window.  There was much screaming and squawking before it exited through the opposite side.  Later that evening, while I was vacuuming owl feathers from my upholstery and picking them out of my hair, I realized that I probably would not have had this experience if I were still residing in Providence,RI.

When I lived in the city of Providence, the roads I traveled were always reasonably free of cows, chickens, sheep, goats, and other livestock.  Wildlife was confined to the occasional pigeon, squirrel, or skunk.  However, when I moved to the rural town of Rehoboth, MA, I had to learn to share the road with God’s other creatures, great and small.

It’s a bit like being on a safari.

A flock of chickens owned by my neighbor is constantly crossing the road.  The hens and roosters have a tendency to cross at random intervals, never as a whole unit.  Consequently, there are usually only one or two of them actually on the tarmac at any given time.  Keeping one eye on the unruly poultry and one eye on the oncoming traffic, it is a fairly simple task for me to outmaneuver the chickens.

The ducks, on the other hand, cannot bear to be separated from one another.  They cross the street slowly, deliberately.  It is impossible for me to proceed until my last feathered friend has finally finished jaywalking.  I imagine them quacking to each other, plotting, scheming.  I am certain they recognize my car, and slow their steps.

Sometimes, once each and every one of them has reached the other side of the road, they loop around and return to their starting point.  I refuse to believe that it’s just a coincidence.

Although they have occasionally caused me to be late for work, I actually find them rather charming.  I have to smile when I see cars stopped in both directions, as far as the eye can see, while drivers wait for ducks to cross the road.

Canada geese usually fly from place to place rather than using our roadways.  The fat white domestic geese, on the other hand, behave much like the ducks do, albeit in smaller numbers.  I watch them waddle directly into the path of my moving car.  They shuffle their feet, pause, and look confused before proceeding.  I sit in my car and wonder what time I will finally make it to my destination.  I wonder whether there are more geese waiting for me around the corner.

The turtles are the slowest.  I worry about them.  They are dark in color and rounded like army helmets with creeping feet solemnly trudging their way home.  They can be difficult to spot, especially for careless out-of-towners who drive our country roads as though they were competing in the Indianapolis 500.  I have observed the turtles always seem to cross the street diagonally.  They obviously don’t realize this just increases the time they are exposed to danger.  They often do not survive unscathed.

When my boyfriend is in the car with me, I always pull over and make him carry the offending turtle to safety.  He never complains so I reckon he must care about the turtles as much as I do.

I have not yet discovered how to prevent suicidal gray bunny rabbits and squirrels from hurling themselves under the wheels of my car.  They leap out of nowhere.  Before I can react, they are either sprinting safely away or lying moribund in the street, victims of their own carelessness.  In my neighborhood, it only takes several seconds for squirrels to go from scampering to splattering.

Enormous flocks of grackles blanket the roads, rooftops, and cow pastures.  When I drive past them, they explode into the air like fireworks in an old black and white movie.

I am at my most careful when the cattle are running amok.  Last night, as I was driving past one of many local cow pastures, I saw a large animal stomping all over someone’s front lawn.  Upon further examination, I realized that it was a Jersey cow.  I soon spotted another cow, then another, and another.  I immediately slowed down to 15 miles per hour for safety’s sake.  Also, I wanted to see how many had escaped their enclosure.  I counted six of them before continuing on my way. 

The frogs come out in full force on rainy nights.  I have seen hundreds of them, perhaps thousands.  They hop, stop, hop, stop in the glare of my headlights.  I try as hard as possible to avoid causing injury to these innocent little travelers.

Unfortunately, all too often, all I can do is look straight ahead and hope for the best.  It would not be prudent for me to swerve all over the road trying to evade frogs (or grackles, or turtles).  If the police pulled me over, I doubt I would be able to explain my actions to their satisfaction.