This photo is used under a Creative Commons license.
Just in case you were on tenterhooks all night wondering what has become of the "horribly splatted bird" stuck like a moldy marshmallow to the front of our house, wonder no longer. It's alive and appears to be in fine fettle.
Our youngest popped out of the front door to look at it before school this morning, and as he did, the bird was still clinging to the wall but looking down at him. It took off in a flurry. Maybe it'll come back. It's likely, because it's the bird's second night perched there, based on the goo on the wall and on my snow shovel.
One of my wife's friends in England, a raptor enthusiast, thinks we've got a Cooper's Hawk shacking up with us. I'm not so sure based on the pointy-feathered tail I saw on the thing last night, but I'll defer to our expert.
Another of my wife's English friends called me a "big girl's blouse" because I put a paper towel on the shovel handle because I didn't want to touch the bird goo on the shovel as I cleaned the sidewalks and driveway last night. I told him I take umbrage at that insult, though I'm not quite entirely sure what it means. And maybe he's right, given my family's past history with being manly with birds:
So maybe I am a big girls blouse after all.
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