On our way to the market today I saw several pheasant couples having brunch in the fields near our house. Per usual, I had the same reaction to them as I do to chic women on the streets of Paris: slam on the brakes; pull over to the side of the road; dump my huge tote on the back seat of the car; start tossing stuff until I find my camera; and jump out of the car in preparation for the grand photo op.
By this time, not a pheasant in sight. My wild animal skills need polishing. I regret this picture is not mine, but you get the idea. My-Reason-For-Living-In-France, oddly enough, never seems to get used to these exercises. When in Paris, he usually says something -- at high volume -- like, "One of these days someone is going to kill you." And variations on that general theme.
(Speaking of slamming on the brakes, the other day on our way home from Paris -- in the pouring rain -- my car started to slide on slippery, wet leaves. And, what did I do? Exactly what you're not supposed to do. I slammed on my brakes. The car literally spun around three times and finished its pirouette on a hunk of concrete. Fortunately there were no cars in the vicinity to join us on the turns and no damage to my car.)
I'm telling you, life with me is a laugh-a-minute.
Do have a lovely weekend.