The Steed creaked and wheezed in its usual way as my feet rose and fell in time, spurring it ever forward. The Steed really is a wonderful beast, when you get right down to it. Never a protest at being ridden up steep inclines, nor a complaint at the speed of going down the other side. It was on this morning, 28 June, 2012, that I happened to be pressing the Steed up a smallish street running parallel to Spring Garden Road, which in conjunction with Barrington and Robie Streets provides the main arterial roadway of Halifax. I was on one of the smaller capillaries, Sackville, riding between the Public Gardens and a large field on my way towards the graveyard at the end of the street.

Both the graveyard and the public gardens are cordoned off by the same sort of black, wrought-iron fence, which lends a pleasing symmetry to the ride down Summer street, which runs perpendicular to Sackville and leads back through Spring Garden on the way to the University where I work. It's around here that the ride becomes easy, the hills level off, and I can take a nice breather as the Steed and I roll along in fourth gear.

So it was that I approached Summer Street on this appropriately sunny day, cranking forward from second to fourth gear as the slope petered out. It was then that I heard a loud and entirely unwelcome noise from off to my left.

WHONG.

I don't know how many of you are city folk, but for those of you who aren't, I want to make something perfectly clear. "WHONG" is not a city noise.

"VOOM" and permutations thereof (including but not limited to "VAROOM" and "VROOM") are perfectly respectable city noises, indicating the passage of cars, or similar vehicles. In the more eco-friendly areas, the hissing rustle of leaves in the wind is welcome and expected. The dull, persistent roar of pedestrians, their conversations blending together into a sort of sonic rat-king is entirely expected, and indicates healthy pedestrian flow in the city. Construction, which is constant in any city, produces many noises, among their number "CLANK" (and its sibling "CLONK"), the coarse scraping of gravel, the rapid "CLICKETY-CLACK" of machinery, and the aforementioned vehicle noises, though slowed down considerably given the average speed of construction equipment.

"WHONG" doesn't even count as an anomalous city noise. There's the loud intrusion somewhere between a CRASH and a CRUNCH that indicates vehicular collision, in the worse neighbourhoods it's possible to hear gunfire and other assorted warzone noises, and perhaps the most unpleasant of all unlikely city noises, "Hand it over, your money or your life".

Yet, there it was, hanging in the air like some kind of unpleasant carrion bird, hovering anxiously, waiting for an excuse to aggravate those below. City dwellers know the noises of their city, and any deviation is disturbing, the same way a woodsman may be perturbed to hear the sound of a Formula 1 car roaring to life in the middle of the forest.

I admit I hopped off the Steed at that moment, anxious to see what obstruction lay in my path. And indeed, it was approaching rapidly, without heed for obstacle.

Two thoughts crossed my mind at this moment, almost instantaneously.

The first was Is that a greyhound?

The second was WHAAAAAAAAT.

Barreling down the street like a bat out of hell was a deer- seemingly full-grown, running full-tilt down a city street. An inner city street, far from anywhere that could conceivably house a deer, let alone many deer, without human notice. This spot is bracketed by three of the most busy and populous streets in Halifax, as well as Citadel Hill, one of the biggest tourist attractions/traps in the city. And yet, suddenly, deer. Like the "WHONG", which had evidently been produced when it collided with the fence near the public gardens.

I stood, taking a moment to decide between gobsmacked and dumbfounded, and eventually settled on the first. By now the deer was nearly on top of me, charging through the crosswalk in a rather flagrant display of total disregard for traffic safety. Fortunately for my ribcage and several major internal organs, the beast turned away about two meters away from me, and continued its course in the direction from which I'd come.

It was then that I saw the blood. The outside of the deer's mouth was caked with blood, fresh and glistening. Now, I don't know much about deer- I used to see a few from a distance when I worked at the Bedford Institute of Oceanography, which bordered a sizable wood- but I know that blood around a deer's muzzle means one of two things:

1. It is bleeding, either orally, internally, or both.

2. It has developed a taste for human flesh.

Regrettably, it seemed it was the first, as the poor beast passed me by and continued on its terrified way. I say regrettably, because that means the miserable thing was hurt, and besides, if it was the second, I'm pretty confident I can take a deer in single combat. Maybe not if they swarmed me, but I know the Steed's got my back in the worst scenario. Regardless, the beast carried on.

The next several minutes consisted of me standing on the street corner yelling "Did anyone else see that? I'm not the only one who saw that, right?!" Followed shortly by "I'm not crazy! I'M NOT CRAZY!", in defiance of all evidence.

Now, the relation of the story may make it appear as though I was in full command of my faculties during the entire experience. This was not the case. Rather, once the decision to be gobsmacked had been made, my brain was occupied mostly by thoughts of "WHAAAAAAAAT", and occasionally by "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT". And although I carry my camera on me at all times, by the time I had registered precisely what was going on, the deer had taken its leave of me. Even if I was in full command of my senses at that point, I wouldn't have had time to unsling the Satch, pull the camera from its pocket, turn it on, and snap a worthwhile photo.

But the experience haunted me. It wasn't until I sat down at work that I realized the experience would have made the perfect submission for this task. But I learned my lesson back in Insatiability- Praxis without Proof is Prattle. So I resigned myself to having to wait until something of comparable or greater strangeness cropped up, sad that I wasn't faster with my brain in crisis/deer situations.

But then I saw this.

You can even see on the map the path it was taking. Judging by the direction it was going when I saw it, the track starts at Citadel Hill. You can even then see that its trajectory would take it right past where I was- intersection of Summer and Sackville, corner of the public gardens.

Granted, this isn't an isolated occurrence (there are links to similar incidents in that article), but it's the first time I've been so privy to it happening. And in spite of how bizarre my workplace can be (unexplained smells sulfurous and otherwise, missing tanks of Nitrogen, unusual coffee consumption), this was by far and away the strangest thing that happened to me- at least this week. Really can't compare to what happened last week... ah, but that's another story.