Chickens in the Basement

I love to write and I love to laugh. When I write, I get to the point quick. My stories would fit on the back of a postcard. They usually make me chuckle. And you know what they say, "It's all about me!"

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Baby Groucho

When did the word "SUCKER" get tattooed onto my forhead? Why didn't I feel it? Didn't it hurt? Shouldn't I have noticed it was there when I looked in the mirror? And why are my glasses whop-sided? (Ignore those ugly eyebrows!)

I guess the name is appropriate. See the next photo! This little guy fell out of a nest in my neighbor's yard. I couldn't just leave him there. The photo isn't very good, but you can see the eyebrows. I don't know what kind of bird he is, but Groucho Marx is his father!

He has a small injury on one wing, so it may take a little longer for him to learn to fly. He is a very chatty fellow. Tony doesn't know he's here yet, but when I asked Rick to take a close up photo of my face so I could tattoo SUCKER on it, he immediately asked, "What have you done? Is that a chicken I hear?"

No chicken! Just another cute baby that crossed my path!

1 comment:

Jenny S said...

hahaha! You are tooooo funny!