Do you think I could ask for time off?

Something happened on Monday that has taken me days to come to terms with, and to acknowledge that it ACTUALLY happened:

I got hit by a bird!

On my back!!

A real, live, bird!!!

I literally almost had a heart attack when it happened, and I swear I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!

Here’s the story*:

I’m out for my daily walk around campus, which I love, because I’m able to enjoy the beauty of nature, college-kiddie watch (which sounds kind of creepy), and contemplate the meaning of life**.

As I was turning the corner past the football field and into the parking lot, I saw something swoop out of the corner of my eye, and then “THUMP” on my back.

My initial thought was “Stupid football boy, hitting an old lady with a ball!”***

But, when I turned around to pick up the ball (and yell out “Finders keepers!” to the offending fella), I saw to my horror, shock, and dismay, that it was not a ball, but, (shudder) a bird!

A little bird! A fledgling!****

When I saw the poor creature, I was overcome with compassion, gently picked it up and placed it in a nearby bush…okay, not really.

I screamed, and started shaking out my shirt to try to get the bird cooties off it, while looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed my attack. (No one had. Praise to the heavens! How embarrassing…)

Then I quickly ran into the bathroom of the science building to see if I had bird blood, feathers, or poop*****stuck to my shirt. (I didn’t. Which was a miracle. Because I totally would have thrown up.)

Once I calmed down, realized there wasn’t any permanent damage to my WHITE LACY shirt (although, there was to my soul) and got a drink of water, I went back outside to view the carnage.

Only…

The bird was gone!! He (or she) had survived!! And its parents******had come to collect him (or her).

And, I have to say, although I was slightly sad to not have proof of my assault, I was relieved to know it hadn’t died by hitting my back fat.

Overall, I’m still greatly upset by the whole thing. The rest of this week, I’ve kept my eyes scanning the heavens, and debated carrying my nunchucks as a visual threat to all others.

But, so far, no other wayward bird attacks.

I’ll keep you posted.



*Oh, how I wish you were here to hold my hand while I re-live this…

**Although, truth be told, on this particular walk I was trying to talk myself out of watching the new season of Tori and Dean. (Don’t judge!)

***My second thought was “Am I always going to get hit by a ball? I thought I left that behind in Junior High, and then High School, and then Community College! I mean, really?”

****Thank you Ornithology class! You didn’t cure my fear of birds, but you did give me the proper terminology to describe it. (P.S. A fledgling is a “toddler” bird learning to find food, water, shelter, and fly while not hitting people in the back, etc.)

*****Another tidbit learned in my bird class. Birds have no control over their sphincter. They poop indiscriminately.

****** Fledgling birds are always watched by their parents. They’re learning, after all.