“Doesn’t help”, she said making a face.

“Doesn’t help”, she said making a face. “Sorry”, I replied self consciously. “No…I mean, it doesn’t help because you smell like dog shit. No amount of gum or mints is going to
do a thing until you do something about that sweater! I leaned in closer and let the flames "clean" the dog shit off. "How's this?", I cooed, not hiding my sarcasm or hurt.
I always coo. I cooed at the funeral, I cooed my marriage vows, I cooed "Mr. Glandlesplunk White Courtesy Phone" at the airport, I couldn't stop cooing because it was awesome and
just a bit of squab talk always left me with that COO COO Cool feeling that came cooing. The main problem was my tendency to try roosting under over passes and bridges. My eggs
were in constant danger from gravel flying up from the tires. Several eggs had been broken this season and I decided a new nesting spot might be called for. One possibility was
in the middle of the wheat field but the "profit plants" were growing there, well away from the pigs. Where did you nest where golden eggs were the result? Not near
the crows of the black towers, that's for sure. Some people had their donkeys, but I only had a cat. I nested, so to speak, by circling and trampling down some leaves, far from
everyone and everything that moved or made a sound or took a breath.but as my grandma always said 'it is never possible to be completely alone'there was this young little bird perched right above the place i had decided to rest(besides my cat ,of course).it was
abandoned by it's mother and chirped the first eight notes of "Ode to Joy" before my famished cat pounced on it. I rescued the bird who imprinted on me & introduced it to Beethoven
and Bach. Soon the bird itself was composing music. As the bird began to gain worldwide fame, I found myself Garfunkeled and forgotten. I will never forget that bird.

Started: 2011-02-02 02:42:46
Finished: 2012-02-18 21:19:03

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