Black Birds of Death

Is it just me or are the black birds getting larger? 

Not the Saffron-cowled blackbird (Xanthopsar flavus), nor the Scarlet-headed blackbird (Amblyramphus holosericeus).  And not even the oft-discussed and snuggly Yellow-hooded blackbird (Chrysomus icterocephalus).  No, none of those commoners. 

I am talking about the true original American blackbird – the North American Roadkill Blackbird (ieatdisgustingdeadthingsacus).

I was driving along the freeway last week, minding my own business trying to get an SUV off my bumper when suddenly one of these birds swooped down out of the sky and took down a cow!   Scout’s honor, it’s the truth!

Okay, so I wasn’t a Scout, which means I am free to tell tales like that one.  But seriously, have you noticed how big these things are getting?    On the side of the road, picking away at nature’s forgotten auto accident critter-victims?  These birds dwarf turkeys for crying out loud.  

I am always afraid that one of them is going to go kamikaze and suddenly fly in front of me as I am driving by.   Because you know what?    I’d be calling a tow truck and the bird would causally fly off looking for its next meal.   There should be a separate collision limit on our auto insurance policies for having a run in with one of those things.

I just wonder if the scientists are noticing this phenomenon.   Are they studying the ever increasing girth of Roadkillicus?   Or is this going to turn into one of those horror movies where I am the only one who notices the phenomenon and gets killed off by the creatures in the first act before anyone fully understands that there is a problem. 

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.   

A Bicycle Built For Who?

My husband recently had the idea of going on a bike ride.
It was one of the few sunny days we've seen in what feels like 12 weeks.   So, we packed up the water bottles, cell phones, keys, garage door opener, jackets and sunglasses.  

It was a lovely ride up steep hills, in and out of traffic, around rollerbladers and dodging the occasional unleashed canine.    We took a trip on the Kent Trails.    The trees are just starting to fill in, but still have empty spots here and there.  So the sun kept peeking in and out of the trees, blinding me periodically like some strobe light trying to send me into nature-induced seizures.

Panting, sweating and squinting, I made it to a resting point, where hubby allowed me to rest for 45 seconds, and then we headed back up the path toward home.  

I do have to ask the bicycle manufacturers who designed the seats on those contraptions.   I don't know about yours, but my seat has managed to find places on me that my doctor has yet to reach!    What makes me laugh is that mine is cushioned.  Who would know?   As soon as I put my fat seat on the bicycle's tiny seat, it feels like I am trying to hatch a brick egg.  

Blissfully, the ride was finally over.  I had bumped and bounced over every sidewalk crack and pothole in the county, ending up in our driveway and limping my way back into the garage.   Glaring at my beloved, I simply grabbed my hind quarters and announced "My butt hurts."

Manage Your Perspective

Glass is half empty:  For every Friday, there is a Monday lurking just around the corner, waiting to shoot a spitwad at you.  

Glass is half full:   But for every Monday, there is a Friday waiting in the wings, arms open wide,  wanting to greet you and guide you into a happy go lucky weekend. 

Which one are you?  

I’m neither.  I’m too busy wondering what’s in the glass.