Wordsmoker

I was perched on fourthbranch of Appletree when I heard him, the groundling who whistles.

O, how I wished that infernal whistling would cease! “Stop your fucking whistling! Stop your fucking whistling!,” I yelled at least five times in repeated succession at the groundling, but to no avail. At this time, and for some unknown reason, the groundling began whistling even more loudly from behind his skyscreen, even though I had clearly told him to shut the fuck up.

Blackbeak and I are raising our four beautiful chicks under the northwestern eave of Whitehouse-under-Appletree. And believe me, we need all the quiet we can get. But the groundling kept whistling. “I’m trying to parent! I’m trying to parent!,” I yelled. But this only seemed to encourage the groundling further in his perverse aria.

And that’s the moment I snapped. Read the rest of this entry →