Minnesota Roadkill Enthusiasts Eat Thousands Of Animals Killed By Cars

Around this time last year, Minneapolis hunter and former chef Alan Burgo was crying over Lucia while driving past his home in Menomonie, Wisconsin, when the one-year-old deer jumped in front of his car. Bargo slammed on his brakes and the deer jumped out of his bumper.

Autumn is the main season for road accidents. Of the more than 1 million large-animal vehicle collisions on U.S. highways each year, most involve deer, though Minnesota drivers have encountered everything from bears to cougars. State Farm estimates that local drivers have a 1 in 70 risk of making a pet-related insurance claim, 11th among states.

Road kill is often eaten by scavengers or broken up by repair workers. But for people like Bergo, the silver lining of car-killing animals is their free-range meat. Heavenly manna for the modern age.

When Burgo got out of the car, he discovered that the deer he had shot was still alive, but unable to walk. Assuming his pelvis was broken, Bargo killed the deer. (He travels with all kinds of knives and scissors, including scissors to pick up food. "My car looks like a serial killer's goal," he admits.)

Burgo called a local DRC conservation officer, then took the animal home and euthanized it. "I probably gained 70 pounds of meat," he said. "It was the perfect revenge for buying my first car."

The only urban hit-and-run combat you'll ever experience might be from the video game Frogger. But vehicle and wildlife collisions on country roads are often enough to create roadkill bingo cards and comedy routines about law firms representing game hunters. ("We get a dollar for our dollar and money for our work.")

Bourgo does a lot of what he calls "meat picking" in southwest Wisconsin, where NextDoor's regional publication often publishes random incidents. "People talk about it like it's normal," she explained.

Before joining the wildlife hunting community, Bargo thought it was crazy to eat a pheasant hit by a truck, as he often does. "I already knew how to tear up whole animals, but I would never consider eating them dead on the street, because it's a shame."

But if the animal had recently died, wasn't sick (chronic fatigue could be a concern), and the meat hadn't lost much of its flesh due to damage or injury to the internal organs, Bourgogne figured his meat wasn't so good. . different. Did he feed. Food for $30. And certainly fresher than anything you'll buy at the supermarket.

"Everything is so sanitized now," Bergo said. "Apparently people ate much more dangerous things than those who died on the road."

the salvation of the flesh

Some states have banned car ownership because of concerns that drivers are intentionally arming their vehicles. But about half of the United States, including our own, allow the public to kill on highways. A wildlife ownership permit obtained through the Minnesota DNR or other law enforcement agencies is required. (Otherwise, removing the animal would be considered a poaching offense.)

It's hard to say how much roadkill is saved and how much meat people eat in Minnesota. DRC conservation agencies issued about 1,600 wildlife permits last year, but other state, county and city law enforcement agencies do not count the total. And the signs don't differentiate between a dead animal found on the road, say, from a dead animal found in a field or pond. and how the owner intends to use it. Hunters use street loot as bait. Wildlife habitats feed it to their animals. And trophy lovers can only keep the horn, horn or hide of the animal.

According to DNR spokesman Joe Albert, the DNR does not have a formal process for disposing of the meat, although interested parties can notify their local conservation officer, sheriff or police department that they are happy to take the carcass. "We don't want the animals to get lost," Albert said. Local conservators understand who needs it, who can use it, and they keep in touch with those people.

"Dead Deer List"

Mark and Sophia Johnson hunted about one deer a year while on the Minnetonka Police Department's "deer kill list." Johnsons noted that you must arrive within 30 minutes to qualify and can only give up the deer once.

When the police were first called some 25 years ago, they had limited experience with butchers. But, being DIYers (they built their own house), they decided to raise deer themselves, guided by a video from the pirates' library. "We wanted it to be accessible," Sofia said. "And we decided we could do better."

Since then, the couple have developed such a reputation for road accidents that relatives bring them ducks and turkeys to shoot. "The lamb is tender, but the slow cooker turkey with pineapple juice was still very firm after 24 hours," notes Sofia.

He uses venison in stews, moussaka, curries and chilies, and recommends reducing the lean game of the meat by cooking it with fat and fruit. Not everyone participates. According to Sophia, her youngest son, who was about 11 years old when they took the first deer, was scared. "He swore he would never eat."

The Johnsons say that when it comes to Minnetonka's deer population, their neighbors generally fall into two camps: those who hate the animals for eating hostas and rose bushes, and those who grow corn to feed them. Very few of them belong to the third group - suburban road users.

"I think they're used to us being a little weird," Sofia says of her neighbors. "People pay very little attention to old hippies," added Mark.