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Animal instincts? Not so much for this gal

Years ago, comedian Jerry Seinfeld did a skit about his childhood pet parakeet.

He was confused about its life choices. One of which was to fly directly into a mirror and aim straight for its own reflection.

Now obviously, parakeets have severely limited ability to reason, or even see very clearly for that matter. I mean, have you seen how tiny their heads and eyes are?

Still, Seinfeld was always perplexed by their pattern of pegging other parakeets for pursuit.

“I mean, even if they’re going to aim for a target, why not at least try to avoid the other bird?” he mused.

He ain’t wrong.

Birds, in general, do stuff I just don’t get. Like, what is up with the family reunions on phone lines?

I mean, are they talking to each other? Trying to tap into our conversations from the outside in? Spying on the aunts and uncles who ditched the invite?

Then there are the ever dim-witted types that dive bomb in front of moving cars, set up house in car engines, or stay north in winter while their more clever cousins commute to the Carolinas.

Dude, if I had the option to fly for free to Florida and frolic in fun forgoing all frost? Um, fuhgett about it. Instinct alone should tell them to follow their friends to freedom from freezing, no?

Animal instinct. You hear about it all the time.

I especially appreciate how, in the animal kingdom, the pack leader always takes particular care to shielding the oldest, sickest and weakest in the pack. And the runts, too, BT Dubs.

All animals are supposed to have super senses. Even Donkey in Shrek had instincts.

Okay, he’s not real and his were sketchy but he did know Shrek was crushing on Princess Fiona.

Hmpf.

Back in the real world, what is up with deer? No instincts in those exquisite creatures?

Listen, deer are some of the most graceful, gorgeous and grand beings galivanting the globe. The boys are fierce with those wicked cool horns and intimidating resting buck face and what not.

The doe are nearly ballerina beautiful when bounding. And the fawns? Um, stinking adorableness.

In fact, I’m pretty sure they got the name because of how much goobers like myself will just fawn all over them.

But here’s the thing: deer are denser than dodos. Er, are they not able to see and hear oncoming traffic? I’m talkin’ hundreds or thousands of 18-wheelers, SUVs, etc. racing down a major highway at 95 mph.

The doe that didn’t look both ways before crossing Interstate 86 last weekend had some seriously questionable instinct, my friends.

It happened as we headed home from New York last Saturday when at 7:30 p.m. or so, a/k/a, zero EXTREMELY dark thirty, there she was. Straight outta nowhere, just casually making her way to the other side of the road, like the proverbial chicken.

And just like the chicken, no one can really be sure why.

But I can tell you that the slamming of the brakes and swerving of the car that ensued saved her life — and ours, too, BT Dubs.

Oh, did I mention my husband is a hero? He saved both the perpetrator and his own litter’s runt: moi.

It’s fine, it only took ’til today for me to stop feeling like a crumpled Kleenex.

Dodge those deer, darlins!

Kimerer is a columnist currently in traction. Contact her gently at www.patriciakimerer.com

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