call me doolittle

okay, one would think after my last post containing photos of my devil dogs looking all pretty in pink that the animal kingdom would stay clear of me these days. after all, their eyes said yes, as their lips said "you'd give me cookies if you loved me" as i snapped their pictures that evening in my kitchen. i can be one mean muthafcuker.

do they believe me? nope.

seems like my home is the friggin' promised land for all creatures great and small. neighborhood dogs find their way to my door when they escape the clutches of their guardians grasp, knocking, breathlessly, "hey lady, is this chloe and sadie's house? i hear you have good cookies. lemme in, will ya?"

in the wintertime, we have tiny mice and the snakes that love to hunt them move into my basement.

now, it seems a little bird with a highlighter yellow body is convinced he should reside at our house as well. how do i know this? because the little fcuker keeps hurling his little day-glo body at my kitchen window. the first time i heard the clicking, i didn't think much of it. i was doing laundry after all, a time when all machinery on high begins to clink and wheeze and whirrrl throughout the house -- what's one more chink-chink really?

this time though, he's going to get hurt. seriously, having watched the movie the omen last week late at night (two thoughts on this: 1) never watch a scary movie of that magnitude late at night by yourself, and 2) why is it always rottweilers who are portrayed as the hounds of hell? when the devil seed need to be protected, who popped up -- rotties, looking all mean and vicious, too! do they ever show one in his or her true element -- curled up in ball, soundly asleep with one of their squeaky toys and her golden retriever sister? maybe passing a little gas for good measure? noooo...)... where was i?

anyway, the little bird hurling himself at the window reminded me of the scene where the monkeys and gorillas freak the fcuk out when damien goes to the zoo. i mean, these monkeys weren't having none of him in their house, that's for damn sure.

so after watching this bird hurl himself at the glass repeatedly, i began to look around the room. is there any sign of the pending apocalypse happening in my kitchen?

i wasn't cooking, so we could scratch that one of the list. as if my first ever successfully cooked meal could inspire the four horsemen to dinner, that would be my friggin' luck.

oh, wait? i am not pregnant, am i? because aside from sucking big hairy donkey balls, that surely would be the sign of the second coming. the alien creature would be checked for 6-6-6 on every part of its body before slain at the very unholy altar of martha stewart living in supreme and utter sacrifice for all of man- and womankind. puppy-kind, too.

good thing i lost that tampon last week to remind me, no, i will not bear the spawn of satan. or mam, for that matter.

nope, this little bird just wanted inside. just call me doolittle, and be sure leave your doo-doo outside the door, please.