I felt the warm night air on my face as I drove ahead. It was the first warm night of the season in Minnesota, and I felt obligated to enjoy it. Being Sunday night, few people were on the suburban road, so all I heard was the faint hum of the tires and the static of the wind.

I had just finished playing a couple hours of hockey, and I was feeling pretty good. My hair was still a bit damp, which made the tepid breeze feel that much better.

As I approached an intersection with a divided highway from the west, I noticed a swarm of squad cars blocking all of the northbound traffic. The lights were all flashing, and a mob of officers was in front of the cars. Intrigued, my gaze followed the cruiser headlights toward the point of interest as I turned south at the intersection.

For a split second, I saw a deer lying on its side in the middle of the road. In the next instant, I saw the muzzle flash from a rifle and the deer jolt from a bullet. The crack of the round reached my ears, and the scene flew out of view. I drove on.

In my almost 24 years, that was the first time I’d seen a deer get shot. I haven’t fired a gun in ages, and I’ve never gone hunting. I still like a good steak.