So, I’m driving to work this afternoon when this bird decides to dive in front of my car. Now, I don’t want to kill the bird, but I don’t want total my car by jamming on the brakes and swerving into on-coming traffic, so I ease off the gas, tap the brakes and hope for the best.
The bird, realizing that it was going to smack into the front of my car, immedately began trying to change course. It didn’t take a Doctor Doolittle to understand the look of, “Oh shit! I’m gonna die! Pull up! Pull up!” on the bird’s face as it backwinged and tried to grab air.
Sadly, the bird didn’t make it. The front end of my car engulfed him and he was gone. I checked the mirrors to see if somehow the bird had gotten ducted under or around the car and survived. No sign of the bird at all, which meant he probably smashed into the grill, and that I’ll have to dig him out.
As I slowed for a stop sign a few miles later, I checked to see if the bird had fallen off, hoping that I might be spared the task digging him out of the front of my car. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the bird, rocketing away from my car and over the flapping of his wings, I could swear I heard him twittering, “Thanks for the ride, buddy!”