Sunday, I walked home from work like it was any other day. I didn't know that this day had something special in store. Special like a bird attack.
I crossed Fairmont and turned to walk up it, like usual. I was looking at flowers and thinking about the temporary nature of beauty, like always. Suddenly, I felt an unusual light scratch against my left arm. I looked, expecting to see a branch or something I had absentmindedly brushed. But instead I looked straight into the beady, murderous eyes of a mockingbird.
At first, I felt like laughing. I thought, seriously, did that bird just bite me? But then it started flying at me again. I said "Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?" and ran away a little. Then I thought about what this must look like (dumb; a little crazy) to anyone watching me out their window, and I stopped running.
But the bird was not done. I noticed its assaults seemed largely directed towards my purse, so I held it away from me awkwardly. I walked as quickly as possible and made sure it wasn't following me. Finally it did stop and I ran into my house and stood behind the door. I still felt a little like laughing, but I was a little freaked out, too. I realized then that I could have used my massive purse as a weapon if necessary. I also thought, this is going to make a great story. And indeed, I hope that it has.
It was like this, sort of. Also see this Guardian article.
Sidenote: Tuesday morning I saw the bird attack someone else. I have decided to walk on the other side of the street, and find myself flinching a little whenever birds fly near me. They could be out for blood, like this mockingbird. You can't be too careful.