|You know what they say: "Freakishly big feet, massive beak"|
Slowing the Silver Hornet down to observe the speed limit because I am a responsible driver who takes a dim view of killing people TO DEATH, there is a blur of motion to my right and something spangs me on the shoulder and into the back seat of the car.
And pulling over, I find a very small bird sitting stunned among the dog hairs and tangled lap belts, with a look on its face that is very much "What in the name of shittery just happened there?"
Degree of difficulty: 30mph, open window, loud 1990s indie rock. Even the most dimwitted member of the Tufty Club must have seen me coming before trying to cross the road.
I am a nice person, so I coax the wren out on a tea towel (and the picture really doesn't do justice to how small it really was), and give him/her its freedom, sticking him on a branch in the hedge from whence he had first emerged. He appeared a little shocked and stunned by the whole affair, and I left it at that.
It does not thank me.
In fact, there is fury in those eyes. Just look.
In summary: BIRD. Bird with massive feet and rubbish sense of direction.