Here’s something you don’t hear every day. I’m rolling the Vespa out of the garage to scoot over to the senior center, drop off our mayoral-runoff ballots, and our neighbor tells me her new dog ate her old bird.
And I ain’t talkin’ a bucket of finger-lickin’ from The Colonel, either — I’m talking a decorative item, a parakeet, which probably wishes it had never seen a long-haired dachshund. As if life isn’t already short enough.
Meanwhile, the smart money is on the wrong guy winning the mayoralty, surprise surprise. This is Bibleburg, after all, wherein reigns Nature, red in tooth and claw.
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