I have a bit of a unique history with that most loathsome of Southern fowl known as the buzzard. On at least three occasions they and I have intersected in unique ways.
There was the time that several of them were flying over the valley by my house, thereby inspiring me to lay on the ground and moan like a dying creature. The result was hysterical as one of them flew right over me and, when I looked up and we locked eyes, he got a look on his face that seemed to say, “Rats! He’s going to live.”
Then there was the time that we showed up on a Sunday morning to find a buzzard perched on our church steeple. That absolutely creeped me out, and I threw a rock at it to chase away.
But the buzzard episode that I am currently reminiscing upon involved a carcass, several buzzards, our minivan and the law of sowing and reaping.
On this particular day, we were driving down a country road at the posted speed of 55 mph when up ahead I observed several buzzards right on the side of the road, eating some unfortunate dead thing. I pointed it out to my wife, and said, “If those buzzards decide to fly…”