Fun with divebombing

Jim's mom has a decent-sized back yard, and with several bird feeders scattered 'round, it's a great place for bird watching on a summer afternoon. When Jim and I visit, sometimes we'll all end up in the back yard, loungin' around in lawn chairs and watchin' our little avian friends dart in and out of the feeders.

Doesn't this sound like it's gonna be a nice story? Well, it's not.

On a hot, still, and sunny day some 13 years ago or so, we were similarly gathered in the back yard, and Jim and I were side-by-side in metal fan chairs (I don't know if that's what they're called, but they have the big fan-shaped backs on 'em. Anyone?), both drinkin' ice-cold Coke out of big, tall plastic cups. I was really skinny then, and was positive I looked absolutely fetching in my sleeves-cut-off jean jacket-turned-vest. We were watching some red-winged blackbirds feed, and I guess they decided to let me know that it wasn't polite to stare. I am not exaggerating the next part of this story at all, and I have several witnesses who would be delighted to laugh their asses off while corroborating my version of events.

I watched as the two birds flew off the feeder together, and then they seemed to fly in formation, circling over my head. Of course, I continued to watch 'em, and they circled together, and, in a breathtaking and wholly unexpected maneuver, they flew past me together, inches from me in fact. At the same time I felt the rush of air from their wings beating so very close to my person, I also heard a very loud SPLAT sound, not a tiny splat, but like the godzilla of splats. I looked down to find the front of my too-cute jean vest was now covered in bird shit; the coverage was staggering, from two relatively small birds, and they'd let loose their payloads in perfect harmony. It was the most deliberate, preplanned, evil thing I'd ever witnessed a bird do (until I had a parrot, and then I saw that all the time...'nother story, 'nother story).

We all sat in stunned silence for a split second, and then Jim shook his fist and yelled "Bastards!" before he collapsed in laughter. I was just kind of holding my arms out, in disbelief but with enough sense to not want to dip my arms in it. Then I realized I still had a nearly-full cup of Coke clutched in my hand. It was, of course, full of all the poop that hadn't made it onto my vest.

I could barely finish it.

[okay, so I might have exaggerated the last line a little, but the rest is absofuckinglutely true]

You can see why I've never again completely trusted birds.