Day 2 within Day 51.

It is three nights ago*. Day 48. The hour for hitting hay impends. With civic opinion of Bassett at base-level, he is aerobically hampered. I bid Pfidze to slink from her room pre-cockcrow and proceed cattily† to the raven cage - Bassett‘s in a no-flutter funk and his plumage must know the wind. Pfidze overcomes her adiposity and deftly abides. She untethers Bassett. He soars freeward. He encircles. He LIVES.

It is two nights ago. Avian discharge is found in the trifle. How was the trifle open to disgrace? Why was it un-fridged? Enigmata that precipitously unravel when one considers… if one was to enjoin Bugs Bunny to tend an allotment, one would be a fool to expect one’s carrots unmolested. To the pitchfork peasants, I swear on my children’s lives that I did not emancipate the bird‡. But it turns  ...