Was it a California Condor?
brother rat:
Are you sure it wasn’t a tumbleweed? I live in a desolate area of Texas, and I know people who’ve had their windshields caved in by enormous, evil tumbleweeds. The stems on some of those babies create the effect of a javelin coming through your window.
Maybe it was a really stupid (or overly optimistic) bird who was trying to mate with your car?
As far as your karma, I have mine dry-cleaned every two weeks. Damn thing came back with a button missing last time, though . . . “No tickee, no karma!”
It was most definately a bird. I don’t believe it was a condor. I think it was some sort of bird of prey. Maybe a type of eagle, but I don’t think so. It’s been so long and my dad is gone so I can’t get the details again. But I vaguely recall the head might have gotten through. And you thought a small bird had guts! shudder
Hmm, you now how they put those extra bits on telephone poles to keep birds from getting electrocuted? Well perhaps they could put some extra bits on the car … um … although I really think that would ruin the pleasure of driving. Although it would probably also save hundreds if not thousands of human lives. Driving just would be the same if you brand new vet had a big bird vagina on the hood.
dantheman - cute, but not likely, apart from the location.
Califonia Condors have a wingspan between 8 to 9.5 feet (sorry, can’t find the metric converter).
Possible candidates in order of likeliness:
Turkey Vulture (about 6 foot wingspread)
Black Vulture (about 5 foot wingspread)
Crested Caracara (about 4-4.5 foot wingspread)
These scavengers tend to congregate near roads waiting for squished critters, and it takes a bit to get the lift to get them off the road and out of the way of a speeding car.
brother rat - Get a copy of Dave Barry Talks Back! - short humorous article on artificially inseminating falcons: the bird is imprinted to accept its caretaker as another bird/potential mate - (“Lots of cheeping and bowing between the bird and human”). The caretaker then dons a special hat with a rubber dam, and the bird copulates with the hat. (Great companion illustration by Jeff McNelly in my edition of the book.)
shudder I can barely watch nature shows about animal sex. I’m a real prude, sometimes. Although I do like Dave Barry. I’ll put my bets down on the Turkey Vulture. That sounds about right. Thanks.
California, Texas, what’s the difference? 
Both states, right?
I thought about the TV after I posted. (Sure I did!) You see a lot of them in NJ, but mostly they’re waaaaaaaay up there, coasting on breezes. A few times I’ve seen them on the ground, feasting on carrion, and DAMN those brothers are big.
Pretty smart, too.
Mortimer and Jeff are both non-releasable after being hit by cars. Both get enrichment toys in their enclosures: Jeff’s favorite is a tied-up sneaker, double knotted. He can get that untied and de-laced in minutes. Not bad, only using a beak.
Oh, and Lester is the aforementioned Caracara.
Just one little bird? Can’t be too much bad karma from that.
Now, Mrs. Danalan has real bird-killing experience. She was hit by 1) a turkey vulture, 2) a robin, 3) another robin, 4) a barn owl, and 5) another turkey vulture; all in one month.
She lost her job the next month. She still maintains that all the birds hit her, kamikaze style.
I’ll admit to two animal assisted suicides. The first occurred when I was a young-un, with my driver’s permit. A bunny dodged and ran under my wheels.
The second occurred last summer. In the early morning hours as I delivered my husband’s rural paper route in this shithole we call Texas, I ran over a horror-movie-sized rattlesnake. I’m sure it was lying in the road to soak up the residual heat. I felt bad.
Okay, one more. Those damned rabbits just dodge and dart everywhere, running into and under one’s tires in the wee hours of the morning. The countryside here is infested with jackrabbits. I unintentionally smashed one; after delivering a few papers at the end of the street, I had to turn around and come back.
That poor little bunny wasn’t killed instantly. His hind legs paddled the air as he tried to get up, but he was too badly damaged to do so. I watched him for a minute, crying, trying to get up the courage to twist his furry neck to bring an end to his pain. He stared at me with his wide, black eyes. Shame on me, I couldn’t do it. I still think of him sometimes.