While I was thinking about this column, I outlined some thoughts in my head and came up with what I hoped would be an interesting article. It would be sweet and reflective; my observations about seeing a mama robin build a nest and wait for the eggs to hatch; watching the little ones grow up and fly off, leaving her an empty nester.
I could see the parallels between us. Families everywhere are creating homes, worrying and fussing over the little ones. It’s challenging to keep them fed and safe, and then all those mixed feelings that come when they strike out on their own. Roots and wings.
Sigh.
And then a bird pooped on me.
But that is getting ahead of myself so let’s back up a bit.
Last month, I hung a spring wreath with silk flowers on the side entry door of our garage. I was busy with all the spring weeding and planting, mulching and arranging and didn’t look at the wreath until my husband asked me when I had put that nest on top of it.
That was not a design choice made by me, but apparently some mama robin thought the top of my wreath was a good place to call home.
So we let it be.
I could not understand why she chose such a busy and inconvenient spot. We are in and out of there several times a day, and with the grandchildren over, we’re not exactly quiet people.
But when I saw her sitting on the nest for hours, we began using the overhead door so as not to disturb her. She was skittish at first, flying away and scolding when I worked nearby in the yard or patio.
It wasn’t long before we saw three little sets of beaks poking upwards. I enjoyed sitting on the deck from a safe distance, observing mama and papa continually feeding the babies. Just like kids, always hungry.
The scrawny babies grew feathers, their eyes opened, and I wondered how they could still fit inside that nest. Mama had grown tolerant of my presence as I watered and weeded the nearby flowers, chiding me less often. We seemed to reach a truce; she wouldn’t dive-bomb my head and I forgave the bird poop on my wreath.
And then one day, just like that, they were gone.
I was a little sad not to see them anymore. I wondered if the mama missed them, too. It’s hard to be an empty nester.
A week later, I was in my daughter’s driveway, carrying a dresser, when I heard and felt a huge, gloppy, drippy plop on the side of my neck. Immediately, I could feel a lot of liquid running down. There were also purple blotches on the dresser and my hand.
“A bird pooped on me!” I screamed, running for the door. My helpful daughter was hysterical with laughter but managed to recover enough to help me clean up.
It felt disgusting and nasty, and I was not happy about a mulberry-loving bird pooping all over me.
As I shared the story on social media, friends said it is considered good luck when a bird poops on you. I looked it up, and it seems that is a true saying. 150,000 people get pooped on every year, and if the bird is small, your chances of good luck increase. Also, if it happens around noon when the sun is high, it’s a sign of good money and financial gain to come.
I am optimistically waiting for that financial windfall to come my way. In the meantime, I’ll take any good karma I can get. I’ve been battling poison ivy for three weeks now. Multiple Urgent Care visits, medications and the endless itching is tiring. There is improvement but finally getting rid of that rash would be wonderful.
Some bird owes me.
• Karen Roth is a semiretired librarian/educator living in Ottawa. She can be reached at dbarichello@shawmedia.com.