The Day a Bird Got Me

The other day I was out by the driveway, working off the tailgate of my truck and not bothering anyone. It was one of those simple jobs where you’re focused enough to get it done but not focused enough to notice much else.

That’s when something hit me on the head.

Not hard. Just enough to make me stop.

If you’ve ever had it happen, you know the feeling. There’s that split second where you hope it’s anything else. A leaf. A drop of water. A pine needle. Anything. But you know better before you even reach up.

We’ve got an oak tree by the driveway that fills up with birds in the winter. A whole crowd of them. They pack into the branches like they’re waiting for a bus, so I guess the odds finally caught up with me.

It felt like a bird in a tree doing what birds in trees do, and me standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

For a second I couldn’t help thinking, did they see me and think it would be funny? Did one of them say, “Did you get him, Johnny?” Probably not, but the timing made it feel possible.

I wiped it off, finished what I was doing, and kept going because there wasn’t much else to do. Later, when I thought about it, it was almost funny. Not the kind of story you brag about, but the kind you tell because it’s too common not to share.

Someone told me recently that getting hit like that is supposed to be good luck. First time I’d ever heard that. Standing there with my hand on my head, it didn’t feel like luck. But hey, I’ll take it.

I’m pretty sure this happens to plenty of people. They probably just don’t mention it.

Birds don’t care where you’re standing. They don’t look down and think, not today, he’s busy. They just live their lives up there, and every now and then gravity gets involved.

That’s all it was. Just a bird, a branch, and me standing in the wrong spot.

Or was it.