OOOOOOoooooooooo, SCARY!!

Birdy Boyz warn me, warn me, warn me of the dangers of non-clipped parrot feathers. We sit and talk briefly of it last night as Chino rambled on my shoulder.

After taking delicious fertilized, yummy yard-chicken eggs to Mumsie this dawn, I rattled off to my nearest park to romp dogs and commune parrot with Zephyrus. I, in my sleepy clothes and sans footwear, laying sleepily in the humid grass. Dogs smelling, sniffing, frolicking with glee. Chino sees Hawk. Hawk cries and Chino (of the "thought-to-be-clipped" wings) heads soaringly off into the foresty banks of the Trinity trickle with me trippingly, hyperventilatingly, akimbo-edly skipping after. Bushwacking at semi-dawn in jammies and naked feet, I thrash the underbrush and crash after my darling pstittacine. Perching pluckily on a low branch, he hoots and trills letting me know that this is great fun and I should try. As I approach, he flips off to another branch, feathers flashing as he dashes farther into the growth. Stumbling after, heart caroming around in my chest, burrs clinging desperately to flannel pants, I thrust my commandeered stick up to my fluffy child and he chooses to sidle down the branch to my waiting naked limb, immediately clutching shoulder and tucking head coyly under my chin.

I swear to Gawd!!!!!!!!!!!11