Ruffled Feathers Parrot Sanctuary Inc.
Where Hope Takes Flight
Not every deer rescue ends with a miracle. In fact, not every wildlife emergency response goes the way you hope. Sometimes it’s you, a 100-pound deer with opinions, a busy highway, and the very real possibility of recreating that scene from Tommy Boy where Chris Farley ends up in the backseat with a “dead” deer that’s very much alive.
However, this one did.
We got the call about a deer rescue on the side of a busy road. As usual, it was a wildlife emergency response, but this one would test everything I knew. What was unusual was that this deer wasn’t small. We’re talking roughly 100 pounds of muscle, bone, and survival instinct lying in the worst possible spot for both her safety and everyone driving by at 50+ mph.
The whole drive there, I was mentally preparing myself for the worst. I kept repeating in my head: Find the heart. Two quick shots. Find the heart. Two quick shots.
It’s something I hate doing. Something that never gets easier, no matter how many times you have to make that call. But when an animal is suffering and there’s no other option, you do what needs to be done. Quickly. Humanely. With as much compassion as you can muster in a moment like that.
I was afraid this was going to be one of those calls.
I was afraid this was going to be one of those calls.
When I pulled up, I could see her immediately-lying in the leaves, head up but body compromised. She wasn’t running. Obviously, that’s never a good sign. Deer don’t just hang out by the roadside unless something is very, very wrong.
I grabbed my gear, took a breath, and got to work. This is what deer rescue work looks like in real life.
Here’s what they don’t tell you about deer rescue work: it’s like trying to lift a 100-pound sack of angry, uncooperative Jell-O that occasionally tries to kick your teeth in. This is the reality of wildlife emergency response.
I crouched down in the leaves, checked her vitals as best I could, and then started trying to get her up. She was weak, too weak to stand on her own, but strong enough to deliver what I can only describe as Olympic-level kicks.
The first time I got under her shoulders and tried to lift, she exploded. Immediately, hooves flew. I lost my balance, stumbled sideways, and nearly went down hard on my back, all while still trying to protect her spine so she didn’t hurt herself worse.
I fell. Then got back up. Tried again. She kicked. So I fell again. Rinse and repeat.
At one point I’m pretty sure I was horizontal in a pile of autumn leaves, still holding onto this deer, thinking, ‘Why do I do this again?
But here’s the thing: I wasn’t letting go. Because if I let go, she’d crash back down. And if she crashed, she could break something. Or panic. Or bolt into traffic and get hit again.
So I held on.
Meanwhile, I’m fighting physics and gravity, trying to lift 120 to 150 pounds of floppy, nervous Jell-O with hooves. No backup. No animal restraint tools. No tranquilizers. Just me, my spine, and a very unhappy deer.
But I kept going. Adjusting her position. Correcting the blanket. Trying again. Because that’s what you do when an animal needs help.”
Just when I thought I was going to have to MacGyver some kind of pulley system out of sheer stubbornness, a car pulled over.
A young man, total stranger, saw me struggling and didn’t hesitate. He got out of his car, ran over, and said, ‘What do you need?’ Honestly, I could’ve cried.
But here’s where it gets even better: the homeowner whose property was nearby also came out and jumped in to help. Between the three of us, we finally got her up and into the back of my truck. It was not graceful. It was not pretty. But it worked.
It was not graceful. It was not pretty. But it worked.
Huge shoutout to that young man. I don’t even know your name, but you’re a legend. Thank you for stopping. Thank you for helping. Thank you for not filming me getting roundhouse-kicked by a deer and posting it on TikTok.
Also, shoutout to the guy who held the lead on the deer so if I did get her up, she wouldn’t dart back into traffic. You kept her-and me-safe. That matters more than you know.
And massive shoutout to the homeowner who didn’t just watch from their property-you came out and helped us get her loaded. That’s the kind of person who makes a difference in these moments.
Let me be crystal clear about something: do not try this at home.
Deer are not gentle forest creatures.
Deer are not gentle forest creatures. Instead, they are wild animals with powerful legs, sharp hooves, and zero interest in your good intentions. In fact, every year, people get seriously injured, or worse, trying to help downed deer.
They can kick hard enough to break bones, thrash and injure themselves further, panic and hurt you in the process, and carry diseases (though that’s less common).
The Tommy Boy scene? The one where the deer wakes up in the car and chaos ensues? That’s not comedy, actually it’s a documentary. Hauling a large deer is genuinely dangerous, and if you’re not prepared, it can go sideways fast.
I’ve been doing this for over a decade, and I still get hurt. My back was screaming. My shoulders were toast. My shins took a beating. And I’m pretty sure my ribs are still mad at me.
Once we got her loaded, an incredible volunteer Kelly rode in the back of the truck with her. Yes, you read that right. Kelly sat in the open truck bed with a 100-pound deer for several miles to make sure she didn’t panic, hurt herself, or try to jump out.
Kelly, you’re a rockstar. That took guts, patience, and a whole lot of trust.
We drove a few miles down the road to the back of the homeowner’s property-a safe, quiet spot where deer always pass through, away from traffic. The homeowner gave us permission to leave her there overnight, and honestly, we thought we might just be moving her dying location.
But when we got her out of the truck and settled her down, I saw something that made my heart skip: she stood up.
By the grace of God, she stood.
Not for long. And not well. She couldn’t move forward in a straight line. She’d take a step, wobble, and lay back down. But she stood.
That’s when I saw it-the slight swelling on her head. Head trauma. Likely from being clipped by a car or hitting the pavement when she went down.
But everything still worked. Her legs. Her balance, even if it was shaky. Her will to live.
Maybe-just maybe-this gal had a chance.
That first evening and into the next day, the homeowner stayed with the deer, offering comfort and keeping watch. They brought more food and water, sat with her in the leaves, and just… stayed.
The homeowner’s got this way of being calm and present that animals respond to. The deer didn’t run. She rested. She ate a little. She drank.
Then our friend and volunteer Ashley came by with meds to help with the swelling. Anti-inflammatories, supportive care-the kind of thing that can make or break a recovery when you’re dealing with head trauma.
Massive shoutout to the homeowner who not only helped us load her but then dedicated your time to her recovery, providing comfort, food, water, and a safe place to heal. And huge thanks to Ashley for bringing those critical meds. You both gave her the best chance to survive.
Within 24 hours, she got up. And this time, she didn’t just stand-she moved.
We think a pod of deer came through and she joined them. Because that’s what deer do. They find their people. They keep moving.
And just like that, she was gone.
Here’s something most people don’t understand about deer rescue and wildlife emergency response:
People always ask: “Why didn’t you just take her to a wildlife rehab?”
Here’s the truth: there’s nowhere around here that can rehab a deer that size.
Deer are:
Too large to safely contain
Too unruly to treat in captivity
Too stressed by human contact
Too dangerous to handle long-term
Even if we could find a facility, the stress of captivity would likely kill her faster than the head trauma. Deer don’t do well in cages. They panic. They hurt themselves trying to escape. They stop eating.
The best thing we could do for her was exactly what we did: get her off the road, give her a safe place to recover, provide supportive care, and let nature do the rest.
And it worked.
My back hurt for days. My shoulders were sore. I had bruises in places I didn’t know could bruise.
But that deer is alive.
She’s out there right now, moving with her pod, eating, living, being a deer.
And that’s why I do wildlife rescue. That’s why I respond to every deer emergency call, no matter how dangerous.
Not for the glory. Not for the “likes.” Not because it’s easy or comfortable or safe.
I do it because someone has to. Because that deer didn’t ask to get hit. She didn’t ask to be lying on the side of the road with head trauma while cars whizzed by.
I drove there prepared to end her suffering if that’s what mercy required. But by some miracle, I got to help her live instead.
And when she needed help, we showed up.
A random stranger showed up.
The homeowner showed up.
Kelly showed up.
Ashley showed up.
And together, we gave her a second chance.
If you see a downed deer, please call a professional wildlife rescue service. Deer emergencies require trained responders who understand the risks. If you want to support the work we do at Ruffled Feathers Parrot Sanctuary, visit www.rfpsinc.com or follow us on Facebook. Every share, every donation, every act of kindness helps us keep showing up.
Because sometimes, saving a life means getting kicked in the ribs by a deer who’s just trying to survive.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. 🦌❤️
#rfpsinc #wildliferescue #deerrescue #Louisville #Kentucky #rescue #wildlife #compassion
Where Hope Takes Flight
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