They’re perky little guys with bright eyes and cheerful dispositions that bop around the deck going “beep! beep!” all day long.
“Help!” says the little twig. “I thought it was supposed to be spring!”
What Western bird nests on the ground, lays a small clutch of pale blue eggs with rust-colored spots, and looks like a calm Quaker maiden in an unadorned gray dress?
How did this happen? I should be the boss of me, not some crazy bird!
The thought of my dad coming back as a stately, dignified owl warmed my heart in an unexpected way.