I couldn’t wait till tomorrow. I was afraid I would get busy, not post in my blog, and all of you would be pining away for the promised entry.
A few years ago when my kids were small and still at home, we drove out to church one Sunday morning (yes, most of my traveling DOES seem to involve traveling to or from church and choir practice). As so often was the case, I was trying to find ways to involve my children in conversation and relieve a little of their boredom. One of the boys suggested something called “bowling for buzzards” when we saw a group of the nasty looking birds gathered around a dead animal a little further up the road.
Apparently, bowling for buzzards was the process of speeding toward the buzzards on the road and getting them to fly away from their prey. I was game (uh, bad choice of words here, wasn’t it). I sped ahead, gleefully watching those nasty birds scatter in flight. All except…THUD!!!!! Oops. I think one of the buzzards was too hungry to pay attention and ended up stuck to the front grill of my vehicle. EWWWWWWWWW!
We get to church and I take a look at the front grill and, sure enough, there were feathers plastered there. As my children ran into church, their Sunday School teacher, Dwight, greeted them and they excitedly told them their Mom had been bowling for buzzards on the way to church and that she ran over one. At that, he drew a frown, looked at me and said:
“You know those are a protected species, don’t you?”
Oh my gosh, are you kidding me? Buzzards? Protected species? This can’t be true. Who would protect something as nasty as a buzzard. Well, I’m not sure whether they were at that time or not. All I know is I stood there in church having just killed an innocent, albeit ugly, creature in the pursuit of entertaining my children and felt just as low as…well, as a buzzard. Yes, let’s face it, I’m a murderer.
And yes, Fat Chick and Henrietta are now staring at me in horror. Sigh.