First, he merely bumped off my sliding glass door. Not hard, mind you –just sort of hopped off the ground, bumped into the door, shook his little head, chirped, "Ow, dude!" and flew onto the lawn.
He pecked feverishly for a moment with the other little birds, hopping ever-closer to the house.
Then he hopped off the ground and bumped into the door again.
"Ow!!" he chirped, and flittered over to the patio table where he perched and ruffled himself up a few times, hopping up and down with increasing fury. He talked to himself, going from intermittent chirps to a constant barrage that sounded suspiciously like a battle cry…
He erupted off the table like a dogfighter, zoomed the few feet across the patio, and !!SLAMMED!! into that sliding glass door. Made a tremendous cracking noise as he hit, and then fell to the cement patio thoroughly stunned. I swear I could actually see little cartoon stars circling around the feathery head.
He then had to endure me laughing my butt off as I made sure he was still alive. I held him for a moment, checking the little wings and legs for damage while he regained what little sense he had. I made a cradle of my hands and he sat nestled in it for a long moment, not seeming particularly upset at being handled – probably still a bit out of it from having attacked the double-paned slider with his hollow little noggin. He chirped quietly a couple times: "Ow… Ow... Ow... Ow…"
And then he jumped from the cradle of my hands to the top of my fingers, glared at me, shook his head in disgust, and flew unsteadily to the fence, where he has been sitting for the last several minutes telling his buddies about the Evil Door and the mean lady who laughed at him for face-planting into it…
Thomas A. Edison
7 hours ago