I made--I mixed; the hardest step comes after setting by refrigeration--my favorite cookies. Blake wanted to help. He doesn't usually show any interest in what is happening on the counter if it doesn't involve a toaster, but I think he was intrigued by the back and forth motions, of shaking the sifter and shredding ginger on the grater. He paced the windowsill and commented distractedly. Perhaps he would rather have listened to rock and roll instead of The Odyssey.I doubt Australia grows peppers as hot as America does, and wild American parrots have been known to munch on cayenne peppers just for fun.
Lately we have been using the old comforter as a tv blanket instead of my cozy fleeze blanket: Blake does not fixate on the comforter, and it's bigger if not as warm, and best of all it is quilted with nylon threads that have popped over the past decade and therefore need to be groomed.
This morning I met a puppy named Nellie. Eleven weeks old, big paws, agitating stern, sweet face, needle teeth in my bike gloves, woolly coat, chocolate Labradog. This evening I watch my feathered, crested, monocular, hammer-tongued, zygodactyl, sweetly dusty smelling buddy, pretzeling himself to do his tail, tangling himself in my hair to preen my tendrils, slowly relaxing his crest, fluffing his plumage, tranforming from sleek prancing falcon into puffy sleepy beak-chewing squab. I love Blake. And I don't think it messes with his head too much that I call him my puppybird.