Automotive Natural Selection.

I killed a bird with my car yesterday.

I assume I've killed before. I don't remember the last time it happened, but I'm sure I've hit my share of small animals over the past 22 years I've been driving.

The circumstances were a bit odd this time, though.

I was driving around part of Greenlake on my way from our Phinney Ridge store to our bank. It was early afternoon, around 1pm. The sun was out, it was clear, if a little brisk outside. The road was straight and I was going about 30 mph (okay maybe 40).

About 50 feet out I notice a small bird in my lane, eating what at first glance appears to be a previously crushed bird carcass (which, in fact, it turns out to be). The dining bird is 8" to 10" tall and looks like a tiny falcon, with a light brown coat & hood, white chest, and a distinct raptor beak. It looks up at one point, then goes back to pulling at some red/grey string coming out of the dead bird.

I always drive with my headlights on, so I'm pretty sure he saw me when he looked up. But since he seems unconcerned I give him a blast from my horn.

Sidenote: I have always updated the horn in every car I drive. I speak softly, but carry a big honk. Currently I'm driving an '85 Mazda RX7, a sporty little 2-seater. Hardly a commanding presence, but with the added 137 decibel low-note horn firing in sync with the Mazda's OEM factory horn it's hard not to be noticed. (Standing in front of the car when the horn goes off won't give you a heart attack, but you'll probably clench all your doughnut-shaped muscles.)

He definitely heard me this time. His head pops up, cocks to one side like he's trying to do the math. The crows around here will wait 'til the last possible moment, then step just enough out of your way to let you know they're doing you a favor. His attitude seems about the same, and I expect him to hop out of the way at the final moment.

THUMP!! I feel the impact through the accelerator pedal, through the frame of the car and up into my lower back through the bucket seat (keep in mind in the RX7 my butt's about a foot above the asphalt) .

A quick glance in my side mirror and I see a classic, almost cartoonish, puff of feathers; a down-pillow hit with a squib.

I'm too surprised at first to feel anything except shock. Then I feel a little sad, then a bit self-conscious.

Then contempt. The fucker saw me; we practically looked each other in the eye. And I know damn well he heard me. WTF? I glance back and the feather cloud is settling, but still in evidence.

What a dumbass.