Several of you asked what happened yesterday, after the mighty bird siege that happened over the weekend.
Dear Angry Birds:
Yesterday morning when I left for the day, with my son and the dog, I was very disappointed to see your baby bird, once again, roosting in the middle of my driveway. I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice that we were, once again, armed with tennis rackets. My son, being adventurous, was happy to oblige by “covering me” while I got the dog into the car.
When I arrived home after work, I was pleased to see that, sometime during the day, you sought out more appropriate accommodations for your offspring. I did not see your baby bird in the driveway, bushes, nor on the front porch. We really appreciate that since my husband had to carry in a 65-pound sedated dog.
Last night, after our other dog’s final trip to the “privy”, we were surprised to see her at the back door, dancing wildly and wriggling like a belly dancer on meth. We opened the door, and there was your dead baby bird at her feet.
So…yes. Yes, a dingo DID eat your baby. Looks like you chose badly.
Game over. Better luck next spring, bitches.
Warmest regards and a big FUCK YOU,
No, there are no dead baby bird pictures. You’re welcome. Although hubs did ask me, when he scooped it into the Target bag, if I wanted a picture for my blog. I acted like the idea was beneath me. It wasn’t. I secretly wished I had taken a picture.