When I saw the big red smear on my terrace window this morning, I thought that a bird had crashed into my window and died a grisly death on the terrace below. I gathered up some plastic bags to remove it, took a deep breath, opened the door, stepped out, and found... nothing.
I looked all around. Still nothing. Then I looked again at the red smear on the window and realized that up close, it didn’t look like blood at all—more like digested fruit. Smelled like it, too. Other smears nearby indicated that what I had to clean up was evidence of life, in the guise of normal, healthy bodily functions, not death.
Whew. What a relief.
I never thought I’d be grateful to clean up bird poop. But I am.