If it isn’t enough to do a drunken tiptoe ballet to avoid the crottes every time I set foot on the sidewalk, now I have to duck for cover. Springtime in Paris also brings out the birds. Lots of them. And it seems like they’re on a mission to decorate every car in sight. 

But now they’ve gone too far. 

Today I had my bedroom windows flung open to circulate a bit of fresh air. As I came back in a few minutes later, I heard a rustling noise in the corner next to my armoire. A sparrow! You know, one of those cute little brown birds you find all over the city. 

“Bonjour, you poor little birdie,” I crooned, planning on shooing it out the window. He cocked his tiny head, blinked his beady eyes, and swooped into dive-bomb mode. Wait, make that dookie-bomb. 

My little feathered friend had chosen my Porthault bedspread as a target. It’s hard to say who was flapping more furiously around the room – me or the bird. To add insult to injury, he crapped all over my sky-blue Gerard Darel suede jacket on his way to join his pigeon buddies gorging on tourists’ baguettes at the Tuileries. 

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