A Bird Story

So I've got a low-grade fear of birds, right? Not, like, a BAD fear, not anything crippling—it's actually more of a passive dislike. I will look at birds from afar and think that they are pretty, and I'm certainly not immune to the cuteness of some birds, but as a general rule I'm very okay with them staying in the trees where they belong.

All of this being said, I live in a city, and pigeons are (unfortunately) a thing. I've come to accept that they'll be around, and I've come to accept that they aren't afraid of people, and I've come to believe that they are probably not trying to kill me. OR SO I THOUGHT.

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This morning, as I got off the train to go to my first class of the day, I felt a tap to the back of my head. Many of my classmates take the same train I do, so I turned around expecting to see one of them trying to get my attention. I saw no one.

Moderately confused at this point, I looked to the ground. A pigeon looked back at me, it's beady little eyes filled with spite. I had not been love-tapped by a classmate. I had, instead, been viciously attacked by a pigeon. A pigeon that now stared up at me with its feathers puffed up, as if I'd personally offended it instead of it viciously assaulting me. I kicked a little bit in its general direction and it pooped, then flew away.

Fuck pigeons.

TLDR: A pigeon flew into my head this morning. It pooped, but not on me.