Blake still doesn't type much. In the meantime, here're a few things his fond
mother has written. Note that "fond" here is a portmanteau, connoting
both the archaic "foolish" and the current "affectionate, doting."
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Atop
a cupboard door, directly under the plaster ceiling.
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On
his playpen, here atop a crate by the glass door so he can watch the world
go by and yell at it occasionally.
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Here
he is where we found him (he was lost for a few minutes) in the back of
the closet, having scaled a pile of boots to get closer to his objets
d'amour, two pairs of patterned (very important) shorts. You can't really
tell but he's opened his beak a tad, hostilely, demonstrating his desire
to protect the shorts from other suitors and threatening us if we remove
him from them. With knee-high black leather boots and a blue silk nightie
to fixate on, he wanted the shorts.
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Despite
appearances, the velcro is securely fastened. The yellow lanyard
leash connects by a clasp and ring to a thick bit of black velcro. The
black velcro goes between the two sides of the gray harness, which attach
by velcro. So there's quite a bit of velcro going on there, and what looks,
to my nervous eye, like a loose fit is actually a triple ply of velcro.
There are little white straps that go over his shoulders and then the
grey fabric down his belly and under his wings over his back. The humiliating
aspect of it (or the most humiliating aspect, from his point of
view maybe) is the little bit of extra under his cloaca, as if he were
a city horse wearing a diaper (which I notice that cab horses but not
police horses wear--why is that?).
Remember "The Road to Wellville" and the song they'd sing at
supper, "Chew chew chew..."? That is Blake's motto.
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This is why people hate pet pages. This is why the pets hate their pet
pages.
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First stretch the left side, wing and leg...
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Then the right side...
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Blake sees a man about a horse. Or a boy about a dog. Probably
both. Notice the fluffed belly, the squat, and the keel seam.
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 Preening
is an important part of a bird's daily routine. On the back of the chair
zipping his tail from base to tip, a buddy in a blur of motion.
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My
mother gave us a candelabra for Christmas (2000). Blake can't walk by
it without bowing to it. He worships things.
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