A number of years ago I had just purchased a new 2 door Buick and decided to take my wife and daughter out to a lake up north for the day on a weekend adventure. The day was fine and the weather even better. We had all enjoyed our time at the lake swimming, carrying on playing games, generally relaxing away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Afterwards I fired up some charcoal in one of those small metal BBQs you sometimes find atop a steel post in public picnicking areas and grilled up some hotdogs and burgers.
A few hours later, it was time to pack the crew into the car and retrace my route back to the highway and head home. All was good in the world that day. Tuckered out, my daughter fell asleep in the back seat as my wife and I enjoyed the scenery as we cruised down the road at 55 miles an hour, listening to the radio as the miles vanished behind us.
About twenty minutes into the drive a small bird who maybe had troubles on his mind, or suffering from a hangover, and for no other reason that I could fathom, decided to commit suicide by flying directly across my path, slamming into the front of my new car, which for the record, I had just finished washing and waxing before setting out that morning. I know he hit the front of my car by the fact that he didn’t fly up and over the windshield, so I figured it must have hit the front bumper or grill. As soon as he hit, I looked into my side and rear view mirrors and saw no sign of a cloud of feathers or a bird somersaulting down the road behind me. I almost expected to see the bird giving me the bird as if this was my fault!
Now I have no problem admitting that I find certain birds, sea creatures and select parts of four legged animals quite tasty when prepared over a hot flame or even deep fried, however I don’t have the heart to kill any of them myself. If I had to hunt and kill for my dinner to survive, I would be one skinny vegetarian. A very hungry vegetarian I’ll concede, but one with a clear conscience. Yes I know, that’s a wee bit hypocritical.
I immediately felt bad, really, really bad at what had just happened and instinctively glanced into the back seat and was relieved that my daughter was still sound asleep and had not witnessed the carnage that took place ten feet in front of her. Well at least I wouldn’t have to live the shame of being thought of as “Dad the Bird Murderer” for the rest of my life.
After a suitable period of mourning, I calmed myself down and said a little silent bird prayer to whatever deity was listening and in charge of all wounded winged warriors.
About an hour later the gas gauge was telling me it was time to stop and refuel for the rest of the drive home. After exiting the highway, I pulled into an old timey gas station and up to the gas pumps. As soon as I drove over the ding-ding rubber hose (I told you it was an old timey gas station) a young gas jockey hopped out of the office and approached my window from the rear of the car where the gas filler-upper door was located. I glanced at him and simply said, “fill ‘er up with regular” and he immediately set about the task.
After inserting the nozzle and starting the pump, he stepped back towards my window with a squeegee in his hand and started to clean the windshield when he stopped and turned back towards me and quietly said, “Sir, can you come out here for a moment. There’s something I need you to see”.
Now I have to acknowledge that my grieving period for the bird that slammed into my car had long since passed and was completely forgotten, however the fact that the young man needed to show me something of interest, brought it all racing back and I immediately thought, “Oh great, I must have bird bits and pieces splattered all over the front of my new car”!
We both stood there looking at the front of the car, and there it was, like an avian crucifixion scene firmly affixed to my grill.
My unwitting feathered passenger was facing straight forward with both its wings fully splayed out to his sides, his back seemingly glued to the front of the car like a dashboard Jesus nailed to the cross.
As the two of us stared at the scene of carnage in front of us, the young lad, aware that my daughter was now awake in the back seat and watching the two of us talking and pointing at the car, he quietly asked me if I would like him to remove the bird and dispose of it without causing any alarm to curious eyes?
Before I could answer, and proof that my prayers to the God of all birds big and small had been answered, the bird simply gave his little head a couple of shakes, kicked himself off the grill, flapped his wings and flew up into the air as we looked like two proverbial deer caught in the headlights standing there mouths open and gawking upwards to the sky!
This was one tough bird! He had somehow managed to survive over an hour stuck to the front grill of my new coupe while I travelled at least fifty miles at close to 60 miles an hour and he just up and flew the coop right before our eyes, and that’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth!
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(Every word of this story is 100% true. Well except the parts that I simply made up!)
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