Drove over the hills and far away last week to the wonderful West. Whole country was lined with the corpses of pulverised beasties . . . cats, dogs, badgers, rabbits, hares, otters, brown rats, black rats, mink, foxes, pine martens, bank voles. All turned into the same barely-recognisable brown and red pulp. Roadkill overload. Carnage.
Even pigeons and crows lay pummelled into the pavement. (Answer me this - how does a bird get killed by a car? Is it nabbed while feasting on mashed mammals - or does it die in mid-flight and conveniently land on the tarmac, only to have its "former pigeon" status reinforced by a truck?)
It was eerie. Skies were full of little animangels making their way up to doggie or cattie or other mammalie or birdie heaven . . .
The increased death toll must be down to the summer season. Poor animals are all away on their holidays and are thus unfamiliar with the roads, making crossing more dangerous. The lack of sunshine these past few months means they've probably left their sunglasses at home too, rendering them more vulnerable to being caught, rabbit-like if you will, in oncoming headlights.
Personally, I've never - knowingly - flattened an animal with my car, never had a thumper-on-the-bumper. (There's a certain neighbour's dog with a psychological predisposition to perpetual barking that I would consider turning into puppy puree if it emerged in front of me on a dark night, but that's another story.)
In fact, so averse am I to splatting critters, I almost killed my whole family in Washington DC many years ago by grabbing the steering wheel to prevent my father making squirrel pie of a furry jaywalker. He was not best pleased. (My father, that is. The bloody ingrate of a squirrel was oblivious.)
In my defence, I was going through a six-year-long self-righteous vegetarian phase. Thankfully, I'm over it - the vegetarianism, not the self-righteousness. I'm now officially carnivorous, morals bedamned. I like meat, the bloodier the better.
Which brings us nicely onto the subject of roadkill cuisine. There are quite a few authors and restaurateurs who have made their fortunes filling cookbooks and menus with witty puns about tarmac tartare. Fair play to them, as long as their culinary creations are taken with a pinch of salt. (And tabasco. Very good with possum, so I hear.)
For chowing on carrion is not to be recommended. 'Tis riddled with foul diseases and pestilences, the average critter. Riddled.
You may point out that Alaskans can sign up to get free dead moose and dead elk that have been hit and killed by trains. But they are Alaskans. They eat seals. Have you ever been served seal? Smells and tastes like rancid wellies, so it does.
While a still twitching hare or deer may appear very enticing - and economical - to the more voracious and adventurous of you, remember one thing: You are Irish. You are not as tough as an Alaskan. Don't even think about it.
Irish roadkill is not food. And, if you can't eat it, what's the point in killing it?
If you don't want to accidentally ex an otter, there is something you can do - fit animal warning devices to your vehicle. These small discs stick to your car or motorbike or truck and work like whistles, emitting an ultrasonic noise inaudible to humans as air passes through them.
Apparently, they can be heard up to 400 yards away, depending how fast you're travelling. According to the makers, the idea is not to scare our four-legged friends but rather to warn them of impending danger, giving them a chance to scarper.
If they're too thick to escape, let not thy conscience torment thee - it's natural selection, innit?
