A big city with a small town heart.

I had heard so many ugly rumours about Los Angeles that I was actually terrified of moving there. The saving grace was the fact that I wasn't going to live actually IN L.A.. I had a cozy little nest reserved for me up near the "mountains". (Heh, heh, heh... yeah, mountains. Listen, I grew up in the Sierra Nevada's and they are just foothills to the Rockies. I know from mountains and these weren't. But I digress...)
Yes, I started my adventure in the Big City actually in the hiccup in the Interstate called Gorman. And not even IN Gorman. Out behind the ATV park; seven miles from town. I had actually gone backwards in time to a life of no electricity, no running water and no (you got it) flush toilets. It was months before I even saw the "City".
When that time came though, I was astonished. I don't think even San Francisco, Dallas or Denver had prepared me for that many people, or automobiles, or lights. I remember one of my first thoughts was; "How can humanitarianism survive all these humans?" I thought it would be impossible to find anyone who even knew anyone else, much less care about them. I figured they had to all be strangers to each other.
Then I attended a Holiday party. The folks were all smiling, and polite! At one point in the evening an announcement was made regarding a fellow that was known to the group and his unfortunate accident that had landed him in the hospital. His situation was such that every day away from his job put his family at risk of losing their home.
Without waiting for the announcement to conclude, one gentleman reached for his wallet... then another, and another.
Humanitarianism is alive and well in the "Big City".

The day the pidgeon died.

I still hadn't gotten used to driving in So.CA. Oh, I'd pretty much gotten over the nightmares of thousands of cars all coming straight toward me; all bigger, heavier, with more horsepower and me in my very tiny tin can. It was the the challenge of finding the right street/freeway exit/page in the Thomas Bros. mapbook that was holding me up.
That's why on this particular day, I was feeling pretty good about things - well, okay - about myself. I'd found the establishment that I was looking for without any trouble. The other idiots... oops, I mean drivers on the roads were keeping a respectful distance. The sun was shining and the sky, for once, was actually blue! Life was good.
Then, just as I drove under a railroad overpass, something large and dark grey and airborne slammed like a RPG into my windshield! The glass didn't break, thank you Fate! Then I saw the "Rat with Wings" bounce off the window and roll off the hood of my car.
I'd killed a pidgeon.
Like an idiot, I swerved trying not to run over my hapless victim. The dead one. And in the same instant realized that I was going to ruin my good driving record for the day be causing a major accident. The tears of fear and shock were filling my eyes; I knew I had to get off the road.
Once I was stopped in the parking lot of the Western Bagels store, I gave in to the shudders and sobs. My significant other inquired innocently why I was reacting the way I was. After all, it was just a pidgeon.
"But I killed it!" I cried. (I love animals... hurting an animal is an anathema to me, much less to kill one.)
"No you didn't" he said calmly. "You see, it's all a part of pidgeon evolution. Man builds artificial nesting sites - like a concrete overpass - and the pidgeons feel it is their duty to protect their nests. So, they dive-bomb the cars that continue to invade their nesting area. You didn't hit the bird. He hit you!"

Suicidal Pidgeons, who knew?