Actually, the attack came on Wednesday. But I didn't have my camera with me, and the incident left me rather shaken.
So I armed myself with my camera, my missile rocket launcher, my B.B. gun from childhood and my Canadian army fatigues (ha ha ha!) and went to work this morning to catch the black fiend and blast him to smithereens.
The picture above is of one of the outside walls of the building where I work. And you will notice that there are no bird behinds sticking out over the edge, some three or four storeys above.
My prey had escaped.
It was making itself scarce, apparently hanging out on some telephone pole out of my range, where it was cawing or laughing or whatever crows do when they shit on someone's shoulder.
There I was, leaning against the building on Wednesday, my right ear plugged because of a buildup of ear wax and who knows what else, and I was just trying to smoke a cigarette in the warm almost-spring sun.
Right on my left shoulder. Missed my head by an inch, maybe two. I knew, immediately, what had happened. Others had similarly been victimized.
I immediately looked up and saw the crow's ass and tail feathers. I swear, its butt was laughing.
Linda, the artist/illustrator who was the only other person out there, saw it all. She immediately burst out in laughter herself. I can't say that was my initial reaction.
My black winter jacket was now polluted with a giant grey/white, oozing stain on my left shoulder. My first thought was "EWWWWW!!!" and to take the jacket off to get the poop off, but it was too cold.
Linda helped me clean off most of it as she tried to contain her guffaws, recommending I needed to wash it off with soap and water inside the building. So we went up the escalator to the third floor, and that is what I did.
But I instantly pledged to get my revenge on that crow. Unfortunately, he made himself scarce on Thursday. I could only take that one picture above, otherwise I might have been shot myself by our security weenies.
Still, this got me to thinking, in a bird-brain kind of way. I would have assumed that the dopey pigeons that fly aimlessly around our building year-round would have been responsible for such a dastardly, cowardly act.
I think they train for that, don't they?
And in a rather weak attempt at a suitable segue, I was finally able to attend to my doctor's office on Thursday.
There, he sprayed about 1,000 gallons of water into both my ears to dislodge about 10 pounds of ear wax that, eerily, similarly looks like shit.
Maybe there's a message in there somewhere.
(Eds note: This is not MY ear wax. My ear wax looks much worse. For pictures, which you do not want your children to see, contact Dr. MacLeod).
And while I'm at it, Happy Birthday, Gerry!