Why, yes, of course I am making it up. Who the fuck has a pet sparrow?
Young Mordechai and Curly Sue were kind enough to take care of the bad dogs over Sunday night as I had to go to one of our nationís less cosmopolitan state capitals to sell some sparkly beads and infested blankets. I thought that YM had my cell phone number, but apparently he doesnít, so when he needed to ask me whether or not I had a pet sparrow that I allow to fly (and crap) all over the interior of my house, he had to call the greggers instead. Seems that when they went over to play with the bad dogs (and watch the GOOD cable) there was a lot more flapping than they expected to see, so came to the conclusion that I have a pet sparrow.
The conclusion I came to (after I stopped laughing) was that Pumpernickel had brought a sparrow inside to kill it, but then let it go too soon. Anyhoo, Curly Sue (truthfully, the brains of the operation) suggested turning out all of the lights inside, leaving the outside lights on, and leaving the door open. Worked like a charm, of course.
So I came home Monday evening to a bird-free environment. Then I got up this morning and on my way to the front door to get the leashes, this is what I found on the living room rug:
The moral of the story is that if Pumpernickel is in a killing mood, she will have her way.
By the way, Buster likes YM so much that he has climbed over the fence to go visiting.
In addition to more dead bird pictures, here are some pictures of Pumpernickel and Junebug. Aaaawwwww.
Then one that shows how Katy feels about those net scrubby shower things. Katy hate fake loofah!
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