After watching a news clip on the addicting game, Angry Birds, it left me pondering my own encounters with the feathery little beasts. I’m sure many of my experiences are quite ordinary; a bird flying into an overly clean window scaring me half to death with it’s loud thud as it crashes full speed into the pane or the many instances in which birds have mistaken my grill for a nest and my hood for a restroom.

 

These mundane experiences do not bother me in the least. It’s when they mistake my fingers for, well a place to relieve themselves that it becomes problematic.

Before I became a bit wiser, I often paid no attention to the location of pigeons, or any other sort of feathered being above my head. I just went about my business without a thought as to the need for cover or safe-haven from their antics. On this particular day, I was lulled into the false sense of security as I basked in the warming sun after a particularly wet winter. It was the beginning of spring, and I was determined to enjoy it fully by being out in nature and soaking up the sun.

On the way to our intended destination, my children requested frozen coke-one of the little perks of warmer weather. As I made my way out of the store, arms loaded with three overflowing slurpees, I paid no attention whatsoever to the giant overhangs above my head, after all AM/PM’s and many other gas stations often have these
overhangs to protect gas pumps from the sun. I heard the fluttering above my head, but walked unimpeded by the ominous warning as I began to thirst for the sweet icy drink now dripping from the cups. The cherry looked especially inviting as it drizzled over the lip of the cup sending tiny droplets of red cool sweetness onto the concrete below.

I felt a large drop fall on my hand, then another. Certain that the frozen treat was everywhere, I licked the wet place on my thumb hoping nobody was looking at the unmannered way I just lapped up what I was sure was a savory treat without even looking up.

I was shocked and horrified as the pungent flavor that suddenly hit my tongue, only to travel immediately to the back of my sinuses. The revolting familiar flavor instantly reminded me  of the vaguely familiar odor one might experience in a dirty public restroom. The kind of acidic odor that is nearly tasted but one that is never wanted-only I did taste it. It was unmistakable. This had been no slurpee taking rest on my fingers; the sudden recognition that this most bitter, vinegary, and urine-like taste must have been a direct shot from one of the many pigeons overhead sent me running for the car. Why had I not realized the
substance on my hand had not been cold?

I’m certain I drew attention to myself as I went from a casual stroll to a full-blown sprint attempting to balance three overflowing drinks while spitting and sputtering every bit of liquid from my mouth. I slammed the drinks on the roof of my small car, opened the lid of one of the drinks, and began swishing it inside my mouth to erase the bitter bathroom taste. I watched the horrified faces of my children who’s wide-eyed stoic lips began to turn up in a smile watching their mother feverishly rubbing her tongue with the palms of her hands while simultaneously jumping up and down. My husband waited for no one in laughing. He assessed the situation rather quickly as the mocking menaces fluttered violently overhead as if laughing too.

I’ve had very few frozen cokes since that day and always under the secure cover of the roof of a car!

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