Tuesday Morning

Tuesday morning did not start out well. Look. Here is the evidence.

Can't quite see the problem? Here's a closer look.

Feathers.

Fresh feathers.

You know … from a bird.

Tuesday morning, while driving the oldest child to school, I hit a bird. It wasn't really my fault. The bird waited too long to leave the road. You know how they wait until the last possible second before they take off into flight. This one waited just a scootch too long to fly away and I hit it with the Honda.

Probably killed the thing.

Most likely killed the thing.

I'm not proud of it, but my immediate response wasn't to have sympathy for the bird. Or my child who may or may not be traumatized by this experience.

No, my immediate response was to yell "I thought we had a deal with the birds! They are supposed to move out of the way!" a la George Costanza from Seinfeld.

In times of stress, I'm prone to quoting TV shows.

My early morning killing bothered me.

It bothered me a lot.

This prompted me to text my husband. I think he should be kept up to date on all my early morning killings and other assorted botherments. At least the important ones.

My text went something like this:

"I have already killed a bird this morning and it's only 9:05. I'm on a roll."

What follows is the rest of the texting conversation.

A few explanations are necessary.

1. Boo is the name of our mouse munching, garage living, stalker-of-mulch black cat. His three greatest joys in life are stalking pieces of mulch, weaving in and out of my feet when I'm carrying in large bags of groceries, and eating other animals.

To date he has eaten twenty mice, seven birds, one rabbit, one frog (that did not go well -- too gassy), one roll of Jimmy Dean regular pork sausage sitting in the trunk of my car waiting to be taken inside, and countless bags of spoiled lunch meat out of the neighbor's trash cans.

Boo took one look at the feathers stuck to my car and immediately went into investigative mode trying to find the rest of the bird.

And licking his chops.

2. What did my husband mean by "there are two large black wings under the back deck", specifically "large black wings"?

That could be anything - a butterfly, a crow, a wasp, a vulture, a condor, a bat, an angel, a spy plane.

I hate it when he says stuff like that and then doesn't have time to explain before I launch into a full blown spazz attack.

Geez. Now I don't want to go in the backyard. Whatever originally had those wings probably has friends that are hanging around my yard to serve up a side dish of justice on whomever walks out the back door next.

3. What did he mean he noticed the unidentified wings on Sunday? This is Tuesday morning for cryin' out loud. Two whole days passed by with some random wings lying under the back deck and he didn't think to mention it?

Today has got to be a better day.

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