It’s a long one. This is therapeutic, people. And from what I understand, therapists don’t really have any interest in helping me work on my type of “issues” because apparently having birds living in your bathroom vent isn’t important unless one of them is your MOTHER or something. Or unless your mother is married to one of the birds in the vent, and now that bird is your horrible stepdad. And they are having like this weird human to avian relationship

Keeping in mind that our local birds’ nest was quite a bit more roomy just 5 days ago (Exhibit A), I imagine the conversation these days is quite a bit different since the nest is stuffed to capacity (Exhibit B below). NOTE: They are all named George. For the backstory, see this post. George I: Could I be more blurry? I’m in the foreground. I should be the center of attention with my pretty eye all highlighted. Geez, lady, you suck

OK, full disclosure. We had birds last year and the year before. I bore them ill will. I’m just gonna come clean on that. But it’s because they built their nest on the top ledge of the covered front porch and, as my brother hilariously put it, used our front porch “as their personal latrine.” I believe they used us for target practice though I’m pleased to report that at no time were they successful in hitting us. Nevertheless, by

We’ve got a nest all cozied up in a holly bush by the driveway. Check it. I’m pretty excited to see these little fellas hatch. No touching, I promise. Now, I have a very serious bone to pick with the perpetrator of this atrocity. I’ll be watching, you little POS. You take another shot at one of those eggs? Imma take you down.

Oh, how I’ve missed her! Today, Anna and I took her on a proper spin for the first time in far too long. All I’m missing is a basket with a stolen pooch, a black, pointy hat, a nasty wart atop my large nose, and a funnel cloud behind me to make the scene complete.