Attack of the Kamikaze Cardinal

Years ago, pitcher Randy Johnson uncorked a fastball that through some cosmic freak occurrence nailed a poor bird on the fly on its way to home plate.



Yesterday, I played the roll of Randy Johnson. The ball? The Man Van.

The Man Van was so dubbed by the women of the TLC Creative team. Discovery was having an off-site workshop, and I was carpooling some of the guys up in my black Mercury Villager. And thus, the "Man Van" was born. It would actually later become the inspiration for one of TLC's Life Lessons figurines.

Unfortunately, it became a key player in another life lesson yesterday.

About half-way through my 15 minute commute to work, I'm driving about 50 m.p.h. as I pass my daughter's school, oddly enough, I see a red streak out of the corner of my left eye.

THUNK - THUNK

A male cardinal had swooped directly in the path of the Man Van, hit the front bumper, flipped up, slamming into the windshield directly in my field of view, and then rolled up and over the van.

I felt sick.

Now, I don't know what the odds are of a bird getting nailed in flight in that 60 feet, 6 inches between batter and catcher, but it doesn't happen every day. And I have to admit that the time I first saw it the view of feathers exploding and the absurdity of the situation made me laugh.

But now I know how Randy Johnson felt that day.

I can still see clear-as-day the image of that poor bird's wings and tail making contact with the windshield right in front of my face. The poor thing never saw it coming.

I've run over things before - squirrels, primarily. I usually feel bad, although squirrels and I have a history.

A few years ago, shortly after we moved into our new house in Rockville, we had one get into the house. Our best guess was that it fell down the chimney flue. I woke one morning, hearing a scampering of claws on our hardwood floors.

At first I thought it was the cat. When I looked down and realized the cat was sleeping on top of me, I'll admit I was a bit freaked out. The cat ended up cornering the rodent behind a couch, so I closed all the doors to the bedrooms (we had a basement ranch), opened the front door, with the hopes of herding the damn thing out.



That didn't go so well.

What I forgot to do was close the door to the laundry room and storage area down in the basement, so once I moved the couch, the thing ran downstairs and climbed up into the rafters between the first floor and the basement.

Two days and a $400 call to a humane trapper later, the varmint was caged up and relocated to friendlier confines.

It was lucky, too.

After the trapper left, I discovered a huge 4-to-5-inch hole at the top of my knotted-pine paneling where the wall met the ceiling.

So, needless to say, squirrels and I are not on the best terms.

I try not to hold the rest of his species responsible for his act of vandalism. I do jam on the brakes when I see one dart out in front me.

But this time, I had no chance. And neither did the cardinal.