There was a running cadence in the Army:

Birdie, Birdie in the sky,

Left some whitewash in my eye,

I'm no sissy, I won't cry,

I'm just glad that cows don't fly.

It's said that it's good luck when a bird poops on you. I heard something to make me believe it's true.
It happened to an Army buddy, Smuckatelly. This would be one of the times I wished I was Smuckatelly.

While waiting under a tree for a dress greens inspection, a bird let loose over Smuckatelly's dress uniform.

The sergeant excused him from the inspection, I became jealous. I started shaking the same tree to scare a bird into hitting me too. No such luck.

Smuckatelly, dressed in civies, drinking cold beer, waved at us from the barracks window as the colonel checked us.

God, I hated Smuckatelly.