That's right; it's Pretty Bird!
. . .let me explain.
So then I ended up barefoot, breathless and covered in dew, holding a bird. Which hadn't really been on my bucket list before then? But it suddenly became one of my major accomplishments.
A "thank you" is owed to my Mother, for being the kind of person who doesn't ask a lot of questions and lets their teenage daughters drive in cars with one-eyed pigeons hanging out in their laps. Along with being the first person to suggest that Pretty Bird might just be a dove and not a Ring-Tailed Pipit, or whatever absurd Southern birds I'd been staring at, trying to determine just what "exotic species" was currently hanging out in a cardboard box in my bathroom.
It should be known that my avian expertise is very, very abysmal. So much so, in fact, that I can't recognize pigons.
Once we got home, the next few hours consisted of joining Yahoo!Questions, crushing pumpkin seeds, and feeding Pretty Bird water with a knitting needle.
Since Pretty Bird's right eye was damaged to a questionable extent, I was ridiculously tempted to construct a crude eyepatch, hoist the bird onto my shoulder, steal a ship and start my life-long dream of becoming an infamous pirate. Sadly, I didn't even make it to the first step of my cunning plan, due to the fact that I didn't really have any small black eyepatches hanging around- nor did I know where one would buy an eyepatch for a dove.
So instead, Pretty Bird just hung out on my shoulder while I played with a foam sword.
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