There ain’t enough to make a pot of soup with when one of those 18 wheelers splatter a full grown deer while doing 70+ mph on the interstate highway. A little rolled up ball of hair and a big blood splay on the road is all that’s left. I often wonder what happened to all those bones. I mean, where to they go? Do they disintegrate?
Uh. The buzzards out here constantly scour the countryside for anything they can get. They get tired of possums, so an occasional deer, or even skunk is like ambrosia to them. I guess they haul the bones away, clean them, and drop them in the ditches and fields. - I don’t think they like to have to clean up one of their own. I once saw a bunch sitting in trees beside the road near here looking hesitant. One of their number was dead on the road; so I took a stick and scooted him into the ditch under some leaves and brush. I felt gratitude directed to me; don’t know how to explain it, but I did sense their gratitude.