Published October 5, 2024

If you saw yesterday’s post, you know I drove to Oregon the day before. What you didn’t know until now is that when I got back home to Washington, there was a big artisanal splash of bird poop on my car.

Or, if you knew me when I lived in Oregon, maybe you were all but certain this had happened.

It was a running joke (joke?) that during my time there, birds seemed to target my car often. Like, a lot. I’d occasionally check for a bull’s-eye on the roof. On days when I’d get lazy and not park the Civic inside the garage, I was just asking for it. But it happened everywhere I went.

It doesn’t happen nearly as often in Washington. I don’t know why.

They got me again

The photo above is from August 2012. I’m sure that before day’s end, they made sure I’d have to wash the Civic soon. Twelve years later, in a different Oregon town, they got me. Again. They knew.

Different car. Different decade. Heck, different name and more for me, and still, they knew. Hey, Carly, you can run, but you can’t hide.

I was going to take a photo of the deposit they left as their way of saying hello, but rain washed most of it away.

Hey, birds. Hey. Hiya. Till next time, take care.