Scrambled Egg

A bird laid an egg on our car the other day.

There are no trees near where we parked (unless said bird shot-putted the egg from the branches of the maple across the street) so we're not entirely sure how this happened. All I know is that we walked out our front door and Steve said, "Aw man - some bird yatted all over our car!" (aside: yatted just might be the funniest word I've ever heard for this) and when we went to clean up the damage, there were tiny, speckled bits of shell, right there in the yat.

When I told my sister about this, she made several (funny) comments about the loose morals of big-city birds. We wondered if perhaps the naive lady bird didn't even know she was pregnant (how else could an egg just fall from you when you're flying? In late June?) Now that the weather is cool enough to leave the windows open, I might just spend some time reading aloud from a book on the facts of life so that these chickadees don't end up in this kind of trouble again...

It's also possible that a gang of birds has decided they don't like us (or the way THAT DOG gleefully sprints for them like a scene from Born Free the minute I open the door, forcing them to scatter in every direction) and have targeted us for retribution, trying to drive us from the neighborhood. You'd think they'd love us - after all, we're the people who held up traffic on a four-lane road while a flock of Canadian geese and their fuzzy little offspring strolled across the street the other day. Of course, we had Chicken Romano for dinner that night, so perhaps these two acts cancelled each other out...