ergo Out the back deck for a smoke, I notice a mourning dove that didn't fly away. Made tame by some malady, it sits quietly under the feeder, feathers all puffed out against the chilly drizzle that mortifies us both. I try not to stare, not wanting to cause an uneasiness, but there is no apparent fear. "Will you live tonight?" A rude question but no offense taken. Here, now, I am warm and dry. When I stand up from Blather will it still be perched there?..............No 100512
syringe The bird was probably close to death, then the cigarette smoke pushed it over the edge. 100522
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