Yesterday, I was at my best friends' house. Which isn't normally a surprise because I basically live there. And we were all in the kitchen trying to convince her younger brother to make us pancakes for dinner. He deftly responded, "No" and walked out of the room in his trendy striped cardigan, non-prescription lenses, and BB-gun. Ten minutes later, we hear sounds that resemble party poppers and some commotion from the Bible Study Group across the house. I look out the kitchen window to see Pickles, the family Pit Bull, with a slightly plump pigeon in his mouth, trotting around the yard. And Little Brother, chasing him, holding the BB-gun, and unsuccessfully trying to remove the fluttering pigeon from Pickles' mouth. But every time Pickles drops the pigeon, it tries to fly away with its broken wing, and Little Brother tries to shoot it again to kill it, but Pickles thinks it's a game and continues to retrieve the bird, and play keep away. This carries on until my shrieking best friend runs outside, scoops the dog up, runs inside and screams at me, "OPEN THE GARAGE", (orders which I completely obey), and we throw Pickles in, amongst broken bicycles and storage crates. Then, we arrive at the kitchen window again, just in time, to see Little Brother, shoot and kill the bird, stoically remove his striped cardigan, and then wipe down his BB-gun, and converse with a moistened paper towel. Then we made shrimp dumplings.
And later, I ran over a garden gnome.
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