Wind rustled through the evergreen branches as I admired his droopy eyes. He yawned, stretched, and sank to his knees, finally falling to his side.
I studied Applejack, knowing that he expected me, wanted me to come closer.
So I did.
I followed his example, liquifying my joints. I settled onto the ground next to him and stroked his neck.
He promptly fell asleep on my lap.
We stayed together as the late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the trees. I stroked his neck, face, and legs.
Hannalore the cat strolled past. She must have sensed our warmth, because before I knew it, she’d cuddled up with Applejack.
The Guinea Fowl.
The chitter-chatter-chitter startled me, waking Applejack, who sat up, ready to play. I begged Roz to leave, but she refused.
I cussed her out and she remained rock-steady, screaming at us.
Applejack grew bored of Roz’s antics, stood, and trotted off to his mother.
Anyone know a good recipe for Guinea Fowl stew?