Just to make you feel better, you didn't hit the deer; the deer hit you.
This past October, I was on my way home from the store when a deer ran out in front of me. I had just enough reaction time to slow down, but the stupid thing ran straight into the woman in the next lane over from me. It rebounded back towards me and rather than risk losing control of the car by swerving, I gritted my teeth and just hit it. The only damage to my car was a tiny, tiny dent under the driver side door and a lot of fur on the undercarriage. The other woman had pulled over to the side of the road and when I got out to check on her, she was hugging herself, rocking back and forth, and wailing like a banshee. There was a lot of damage to her car, so I had to reach past her and turn it off, just in case. She was in no position to do anything, so I stayed and called the police.
After the first officer got there, three more cruisers showed up and parked in a triangle around the poor, stupid, dead deer and tried to determine it there were too many internal injuries for the meat to be any good. I love Georgia.
The weird thing about it was, it happened on the one year anniversary of this.
And when I was a kid, my dad hit two deer in the space of six months traveling the same stretch of road. After spending x amount of dollars getting his Blazer fixed, he got these things that you mount on the hood that make a very high pitched sound as you're going down the road that basically say, hey watch out, here I come. He didn't like deer too much, either.