"Come on, already!" he shouted to his hunting companion, "You gonna spend the whole first day of deer season eating potato chips?"

"I'm coming," Brad replied, tossing the chips aside, "It's not even seven a.m. yet, you know."

They walked through the woods for almost thirty minutes in silence, high-powered rifles over their shoulders. They hadn't missed deer hunting season together (or duck or goose hunting season for that matter) in almost ten years.

Brad spat on the ground and turned to Phil. "You think we'll get two big bucks this year?"

"I hope so," he replied, "but remember, this year it's legal to shoot a doe. I'll take whatever comes along."

The morning passed without so much as a glimpse of a single deer, or even another hunter. They stopped and ate the bag lunches that they had brought along.

"I thought they extended hunting season this year because of deer overpopulation," Phil asked, "So where are they?"

"We just picked a bad area," Brad replied, "We should just keep moving. We'll find us some real good deer. You'll see!"

The day wore on, and by five o'clock the sun was getting low in the sky, and still they hadn't seen any deer. They were just about to give up for the day when they happened upon a large clearing. There, munching innocently on some wildflowers, were two deer. They weren't the most magnificent deer the men had ever seen, but after a full day of frustration the eight-point buck and large doe were just what the doctor ordered. The men simultaneously aimed their weapons at the oblivious animals, carefully noting that they were upwind of them.

"You take the buck," Phil whispered to his friend.

The men were about to fire when a sudden blinding flash of light enveloped them. It was like a lightening bolt, only the sky was clear and blue, and there was no thunder. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Phil and Brad found themselves looking across the clearing at themselves.

Phil turned and looked at Brad. Brad turned and looked at Phil. It took them less than two seconds to figure out that they had somehow become deer.

"What the hell?" Phil asked. His mouth didn't move, but somehow Brad could still hear him.

A shot rang out, missing Brad's ear by less than an inch.

"Let's get out of here!" Brad shouted, and they both ran off into the woods together. They fled until they were sure they weren't being followed. Finally, they lay down, gasping for air, in a pile of leaves.

"What the hell is going on?" Phil asked.

"I don't know. We were hunting, and next thing I know we're both in these deer bodies. How could this be happening?"

"I don't know," Phil replied, "But if we're inside the bodies of the deer, than who was firing at us? Are the deer in our bodies?"

"If so," Brad said, "One was a pretty good shot for someone who's had hooves its whole life and never held a gun. It just missed me! And by the way, how come I can hear you? I know deer don't talk, and your mouth ain't moving."

"I don't know, but your mouth isn't moving either. It's almost as if I can hear you inside my head."

"Oh great! What are you telling me now? We're telepathic deer?"

"Something like that," Phil replied, "I don't know what to make of all this, but we're in big trouble! What are we going to do?"

"Wasn't there a Twilight Zone episode or something like this?" Brad asked, "Suddenly we become the deer, to teach us a lesson about what it feels like to be hunted?"

"I think the Twilight Zone one was about Japanese and American soldiers during World War Two, but what does that have to do with anything? Do you see Rod Serling standing behind that tree? We've got to come up with some sort of plan!"

"What plan? We're deer! What can we do about it? We have to just wait and see if we change back. At least this coat is warm. Maybe we could go back to the truck and get our beer."

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Phil asked, "We can't take a chance on going back there! And how do you expect to open the cans? I don't think twist offs were designed to be opened by hooves!"

"Well, what brilliant ideas do you have? I don't hear you making any suggestions!"

"I don't know! Pardon me for being a little upset! I've never been a deer before, okay? Especially not a female one!"

"Okay, okay," Brad said, "Why don't we get some sleep now that it's getting dark, and we'll deal with this in the morning."

"All right, I guess. For once I'm glad I'm single," Phil joked, "Kathy's going to be pretty upset when you get home!"

"Oh my God! What am I gonna tell Kathy?"

"At least you've got someone to help you through this," Phil said, suddenly becoming serious, "I've been married three times and none of 'em could stand the sight of me. You're the only friend I have. I guess I don't really have much of a life, do I?"

"Come on, Phil. This will all work out somehow. Let's get some rest."

When the sun came up in the morning, they awoke to the start of a beautiful day. The woods were lush and green, the birds were singing, and it was pleasantly warm with just a hint of a breeze -- unfortunately, they were also still deer.

"Now what?" Brad asked.

"I'm hungry, " Phil replied, "Let's find something to eat, and then we'll have to try to find some help."

"Okay, great. What do deer eat anyway?"

"Plants."

"I know that, you idiot! What type of plants?"

"I don't know. Do I look like some kind of deer specialist or something?"

Nearby there was a clearing filled with tall, spike shaped purple flowers.

"Those look like the same type of flowers the deer were eating when we found them yesterday," Phil said. He wandered over and nibbled one. "Hey, they're good!" he shouted, and Brad trotted over and joined him for breakfast.

They spent the entire day walking through the woods, stopping occasional to snack. They tried to consistently walk toward the north so they wouldn't accidentally backtrack, noting the growth of moss on the tree trunks. They walked for many miles, and never saw anyone. Then they entered a small grassy meadow to rest.

Phil smelled something strange coming from the south. It smelled like beer, and armpits that hadn't seen deodorant in days, if not weeks. When he looked up he saw a hunter no more than 100 yards away, leveling his gun at them.

"Don't shoot!" Phil screamed, "We're really people! Don't shoot!"

Even before he heard the shot, he saw a huge gaping hole open in the center of Brad's chest. Brad fell to the ground, shrieking in pain. What seemed like gallons of blood poured from the wound in a pulsating stream.

"Run, Phil, run!" Brad gasped. "Save yourself!"

"I'm not leaving you!" Phil shouted, but it quickly became obvious that Brad had only moments to live. The hunter, dressed in orange, was running toward them. Overcome with grief, Phil ran as fast as he could into the safety of the forest. He ran toward the north, and kept going until the sun was setting. Then, when he finally found a comfortable place to rest, he stopped, and cried himself to sleep.

He was awakened in the morning by a strange sound - a sound that seemed extremely nearby. He jumped up, turned around, and found himself facing a huge, twelve point buck, not ten feet in front of him.

"Hi there, nice to meet you!" Phil said nervously. It quickly became obvious that only deer that were previously people seemed to be telepathic (or perhaps all deer were telepathic, but didn't speak English). Phil found that to be quite frustrating, and inconvenient.

The huge buck slowly circled, and then came up behind him. Phil was very frightened, and tried to avoid any sudden movements, holding completely still. That is, until the buck started to mount him from behind. "Whoa there!" he shouted, and ran like crazy into the woods. The great buck kept catching up with him and trying to mount him, but he just kept running and running, until the majestic animal gave up and terminated its pursuit. Phil stopped to catch his breath.

"Boy, nature's a tough cookie!" he said to himself.

As he continued north, depression started to set in. This bizarre situation was getting tiresome very quickly. He needed help, but from who? Where?

Eventually the woods began to change character. He was entering a rural neighborhood. There were farmhouses on large plots of land, scattered few and far between. He stumbled upon a house with a huge yard. There was a large vegetable garden toward the back of the property, only half planted. Phil could see all types of vegetables -- corn, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots. He suddenly realized how hungry (and sick of purple flowers) he was. He trotted over to the garden and began devouring the vegetables.

He was so caught up in his feast that he didn't hear someone slowly approaching. When he looked up, a blond-haired young man, no more than twenty-five years old, was only a couple of yards away. In a panic, Phil stood up on his hind legs (which took great effort and concentration), and waved his front legs frantically. "Don't shoot!" he cried, not realizing that the man wasn't armed, "I'm one of you!"

"Wow, I've never seen a doe do that before!" the man said aloud, "How are you, sweetie?"

Phil knew the man couldn't hear him, but at least he wasn't shooting. Then, he got an idea. He walked over to the area of the garden that had been left unplanted. Using his right front hoof, he wrote in the dirt, "My name isn't Sweetie. My name is Phil. How are you?"

The man gaped at the message, and then read it aloud twice, as if he believed his mind was playing tricks on him. Then, hesitantly, he said, "My name is Rudy."

Phil scratched out his last message and wrote, "Hi Rudy. Please help me."

"This is unbelievable!" Rudy exclaimed.

In this way, they talked for over an hour. Phil gradually explained what had happened to him, and Rudy was appropriately astounded. Finally, Phil wrote, "I'm starving! Any chance of getting some beer and pizza?"

Soon, they were in the nearby barn eating pizza and drinking beer. Rudy put the beer in a clean bowl, and cut the pizza into bite-size pieces. Phil was pleased to discover that it was delicious, and seemed to settle in his stomach without difficulty. He wrote on a pad of paper using a pencil held his mouth, and he and his new friend talked for hours.

Toward the end of the evening, Rudy asked, "What do you plan to do?"

"I don't know," Phil wrote, "I don't think there are any specialists in converting deer into people."

"True," Rudy said, "Maybe you have to consider the possibility that, at least for the time being, you're going to remain a deer."

"What, are you trying to depress me?"

"No," Rudy replied, "All I'm saying is, if you're going to be a deer, you might as well make the best of it."

"Make the best of being a deer?" Phil wrote, "And exactly how does one go about doing that?"

"I've got an idea," Rudy replied.

That night, Phil slept in Rudy's guestroom, in a soft, comfortable bed.

About six months had gone by, and Phil and Rudy were rapidly becoming very famous, and very wealthy. They were the most popular act in Las Vegas, and there was talk of a world tour. The entire premise of their show was that Phil was actually a man trapped in a deer's body, but of course no one really believed it. On stage, Phil would perform tunes on a piano, play cards, write answers on a blackboard to questions asked by audience members, and solve complex math problems. He would get up on his hind legs and dance the tango with Rudy. He was called the "Miracle Deer," and he and Rudy were welcomed everywhere they went.

They would stay in the nicest hotels, eat in the finest restaurants. Four-star restaurants where the owner would faint if even a dog entered the lobby, opening their doors to a deer and his entourage, giving them their finest table! And the surprise of the patrons when the deer went politely into the restroom to relieve itself! At the end of the meal, Phil would always pay for everyone, taking his own personal credit card out of the wallet in his specially designed purse.

Life was so good that Phil had stopped caring about changing back to a human being. He had never had this much money, been this well liked, or lived in such luxury. It seemed that he was universally loved, except among hunters, since there was now a push to ban all deer hunting because of his fame. As if all this weren't enough, he and Rudy had become best friends, and spent as much time together as possible. They both shared a love of horror and science fiction movies, and watched them together often in the evenings.

"I've got a new idea for the act," Rudy said one night after they had watched Alien for at least the fifth time since they had met. When they weren't on stage, Phil used a portable computer with an artificial voice simulator to communicate. He would use a pencil in his mouth to type out what he wanted to say, and the computer's voice would speak the words.

"What's your idea?" The voice asked.

"We could have a special bicycle designed for you to ride on stage. A deer riding a bicycle! It would blow the audience away!"

"I don't know," Phil's computer voice said, "It sounds kind of tricky."

"Okay," Rudy replied, "You think about it, and I'll run it by some of the prop guys."

They had the next day off, and that afternoon Rudy was going to pick up some relatives at the airport who would be visiting for a few days. Phil decided to take their limousine out to Hoover Dam. He had never been there, and he felt like getting away. Rudy took the Porsche, and Phil went downstairs, and was met at the door by their driver, Jerome.

"Good afternoon, Phil," Jerome said, "Where too?" He held up a clipboard with a pen attached, and Phil wrote, "Hoover Dam."

"Very well," he said as Phil climbed into the back seat. He removed his beret, which he wore almost continuously as a reminder of his humanity, and placed it temporarily on the seat beside him.

They took the highway through the desert to Hoover Dam, and Phil truly enjoyed the tour of the facility. He wasn't sure what was more enjoyable -- the visit to the dam, or the surprised reception he received from the other tourists. He signed over a hundred autographs, and by the time he and Jerome finished supper and started on their way back to the city, the sun was already setting. He had lost track of the time, and now he was worried about being late for his first show of the evening.

There were few cars on the highway, and Jerome was driving well over the speed limit, trying to make it back to the city in time. He came to a particularly sharp curve in the highway, and suddenly the left front tire blew out with a loud bang. Jerome struggled frantically to control the car, and Phil looked on in horror as the car skidded far off the road, and head on into a tree. Jerome was thrown violently through the windshield and onto the limousine's hood. Phil had been wearing his custom made harness, and was very disoriented, but alive and uninjured. He got out of the car and lay down on the ground, shaken, and just a little confused.

Once he got his bearings, he wandered over and checked on Jerome. It was clear that his neck was broken and that he was dead.

"Now what do I do?" Phil asked himself.

This part of Nevada was barren, sparsely populated, and exceptionally dark at this time of night. He carefully made his way back over to the road, hoping he could flag down a car. At this point, there was no one in the world that wouldn't recognize him, especially with his trademark beret and purse.

He reached the road, and started to cross to the other side. When he was just about halfway across he suddenly heard a loud grumbling sound. He looked up just in time to see a car careening around the curve at high speed, right toward him. He tried to jump out of the way, but he couldn't move. It was as if his feet were welded to the pavement. He was mesmerized, almost hypnotized, by the two bright headlights shining directly into his eyes. His heart pounded with terror, as he thought "Come on feet!!! GO!!! GO!!!" but he could only stand there, paralyzed. The impact threw him over fifty feet, and he was dead before he hit the ground, his beret and purse flying in opposite directions.

The man and woman stood over his body, both of them shaking with fear.

"My God, what was it?" the woman asked.

"I think it was a deer," the man replied.

"A deer? What the hell is a deer doing in the middle of the desert?"

"I don't know," the man replied, "But we could have been killed. Let's drag it over to the side of the road so no one else hits it. Then I'll call the auto club on the cell phone."

The two of them dragged Phil's body to the shoulder at the side of the road and left him there. They had no idea that they had killed the most famous deer in the world until morning, when the police came looking for Phil and Jerome at Rudy's request.

The entire country mourned his passing, and his was the largest funeral ever in the history of the state. The flags flew at half-mast in Phil's honor, and the schools in Nevada were closed. To this day, people still talk about Phil, the Miracle Deer, who was so smart he was almost human.