Birdslayer

Anyone who has read any of James Fenimore Cooper’s classic Leatherstocking Tales about Natty Bumppo’s exploits will be familiar with the nickname; ‘Deerslayer’. I’ve always loved these classic 19th century wilderness adventure stories, and I especially liked the idea of Natty receiving a meaningful sobriquet from the Indian tribe that had adopted him.

The Native American tradition of awarding a name to mark a memorable event, or a distinctive character trait, seems very wise… and I have carried on this tradition in naming many of my family’s cars.

For instance, years ago I gave my mother’s trusty Volvo station wagon the name ‘Deerslayer’ because of the alarming frequency with which it seemed to hit these docile, four-legged road obstacles. The irony lay in the fact that my mom is a huge animal lover (please G-d, don’t let her ever have to chose between her dogs and any of her children!), and each one of these vehicular slaughters shook her to the very essence of her being.

On the memorable occasion that precipitated the name being given, she walked into our home, aghast at having ‘offed’ yet another defenseless deer. When she came into where we were all seated (barely keeping her composure), she glanced at the TV and saw that the kids were watching Bambi, and completely dissolved into tears. From that day on, her car was known (at least by me) as ‘Deerslayer’.

With that in mind, I’ve decided that my own car has earned a tribal name of its own: ‘Birdslayer’. I chose this name because I think my car has developed an unhealthy appetite for our fine feathered friends.

At least once a week I have the disquieting experience of having a bird fly directly into my windshield with a sickening thud. I then watch my rear-view mirror in horrified fascination as the avian remains execute a slowly rotating arc and come to rest amidst a cloud of feathers in the roadway.

Unlike the countless animals I see (and usually avoid hitting) during my daily commute… the birds fly out of nowhere, and are impossible to evade. On one memorable occasion, I watched in revulsion as the airborne carcass of a bird I had just hit slammed into the windshield of the car directly behind me. The second impact looked as though somebody had placed a hand grenade inside a feather pillow!

So...Birdslayer it shall be called.

Just as a reference…y’know, in case anyone is curious as to what this aweful event actually sounds like… click on this link to an advert for a Ford sport coupe that is eerily accurate!