Birds are jerks

Once in a blue moon the parking lot behind the newspaper office actually has more than six cars in it and I'm forced to park far away from the doors at the edge of the lot.

This was the case yesterday when I arrived back from lunch. So I found a spot and made a tip toe dash across the icy lot to the warmth of my desk.

No problem.

A few hours later I began making my way back to the car when I stopped in my tracks and burst out laughing.

There is a line of trees that grow along the perimeter of the lot and they were all completely bare save one.

In the tree directly above my car were no less than 60 birds. The tree to the left? Empty. To the right? Nada. All of the other trees within sight? Bird-free.

They watched me quietly, snickering to each other under their bird breath, as I gingerly made my way over to the Hot Pursuit (my grandparents named my vehicle).

Sure enough they had clearly spent a productive afternoon redecorating my car.

I honestly can't think of any bad karma I've put out there lately. I've been a busy little elf, making hats and cookies and hand-painted Christmas cards, conducting myself admirably, or at least not terribly at holiday parties and you know, just generally spreading the good cheer.

So it's safe to assume that I've either annoyed a Disney villain who has semi-incompetant minions or I'm being punished for being such a lackadaisical blogger lately.

My sincerest apologies either way.