"Low to the ground it was, with huge shoulders bulking above its cocked head, its eyes amber-glowing pits -- a thing that might have been half man, half wolf. And its eyes rolled to follow him as he sat up, his scrotum crawling, his hair standing on end, his breath a thin winter-whistle in his throat: mad eyes that laughed, eyes that promised horrible death and the music of screams that went unheard...."
Bathos silenced the CD and turned to me. "Did you hear that description of Cujo?" she asked. "Well, Cujo will seem like a stuffed animal compared to your new sentry. Meet Rose."
Bathos then shoved this photograph in front of my beak, pointing directly at the dog's enormous canine teeth.
"If you make even the tiniest attempt to move, Ramon, she will not hesitate to use them. Chicken is her favorite meal. Flamingo can't be that far off."
I had thought that Bathos was merely joking, albeit poorly, but now I was not so sure. The dog appeared to be fierce, and canines are nearly as ferocious as cats when hunting avian species.
Once we arrived home, I realized that I was due for some significant lifestyle changes. For one, I was not placed in the welcoming position of honor near the front door. Instead, I was relegated to the back of the house near a bird feeder. (Really, if Bathos expects me to forage for bird seed, she had better reconsider. The only seed I will consume is the sesame seed adorning a delicate water cracker atop of which sits a delectable morsel of smoked salmon.)
For two, Bathos was not joking when she threatened to post Cujo as my guard. The hairy beast has not left my side since I was perched here, probably because she is waiting for the perfect moment to devour me.
On the bright side, the yard is beautifully landscaped, and I can only imagine that, should I survive, my feathers will likely complement the floral garden which will emerge in spring.
Until tomorrow, I will hopefully remain,
Ramon the Flamingo
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