While we can easily count the losers in this death race, just how many live to take another lap is a great unknown. We do know, however, that many of the survivors are granted their continued existence based on the benevolence of drivers.

A study conducted in Canada found that 97 percent of drivers made attempts to avoid hitting wayward turtles. That tells me that 3 percent of drivers there are douche bags and that they are running out of things to study in Canada.

Road-kill is making headlines in Illinois these days. Our legislators, who won’t take the time to find a solution to the state’s massive debt, is moving fast and furiously to legalize the taking of road-kill from public highways. (That it was illegal before is probably news to most of you)

Of course, lawmakers in Illinois can’t bring themselves do things the simple way such as writing the legislation to say that, if you call “dibs” on a squashed raccoon, it’s yours. Rather, the law states that you must have a license to legally retrieve dead meat off the highway.

I need to get one of those. That way I can walk around like James Bond boasting that I have a “license to road-kill.”

There is another little known fact about Illinois road-kill bureaucracy. Bob Bluette with the Illinois Department of Natural Resources tells me that IDNR employees count the number of dead skunks, opossums and raccoons they see during their travels as a means of factoring the population sizes of these fur bearers. The state has a formula for using the number dead animals per 1,000 miles driven.

Bluette said that, of the big three, not one stands out as being more adept of getting itself killed than the others. It depends on the time of year for what color fur you’ll find splattered on the road.

For example, after a baby raccoons have grown large enough to roam, Momma Coon will take them for a suicide stroll across major highways. That is why you will often see multiple raccoons greasing up the asphalt in a concentrated area during the summer. Man that is some tough love.

Suppose one does get his hands on some fresh R-K, what does he do with? Well, depending on what it is and where it’s found live, it might be eaten.

In England, a country known as the culinary Hades of Western civilization, they enjoy hedgehog fricassee and badger casseroles. This is stuff straight out of Granny from the “Beverly Hillbillies” recipe drawer.

In Alaska, dead moose, bear and caribou are “donated” to needy families and soup kitchens. Let this serve as a warning: if you are down on your luck in Anchorage, don’t accept any handouts.

In West Virginia, where “Gourmet Style Road Kill Cooking” unseated Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck” calendar on the state’s literary chart, they host road-kill festivals. It is truly a BYOB (bring your own beaver) affair.

Closer to home, you guessed, Kentucky, particularly our neighbors in Owensboro, are renown for cooking up a mess of “Burgoo” which includes all types of road-kill with a sprinkle of vegetables.

If all this talk of food is making you hungry, be award is healthy and unhealthy road-kill cuisine. Putting aside the potential for catching a disease from eating rotted flesh, while an opossum splattered on the pavement might look tempting keep in mind, it is high in fat at 10.6 grams. Raccoon clocks in at 11.8 grams and 211 calories per serving.

What is road-kill health food, you might ask? Well, it’s the turtle with virtually no fat and only 89 calories.

This brings us back to the original question, “Why did the turtle cross the road?” The answer is now obvious, “It wants to keep fit.”