Okay, let's get one thing straight, right off the bat: Mojo is NEVER WORNG. I mean, WRONG. (That was a TYPO, and I was going to FIX it, but it struck me as so deliciously ironical I couldn't bring myself to do it. Besides, what's wrong with "worng" for a word? But once more I digress.) More Mojo!>>
This is not my story, but a friend's story. She just called me up to tell me the ending, since we were all atwitter wondering what would happen.
My friend M looked out her window last week and saw something you really don't see too often out here in the sticks--a pigeon pecking and cooing among the birds at her bird feeder. When she went outside all the wild birds flew away, but not the pigeon. He just stood there as she approached. He wouldn't let her get close enough to grab him or anything, but she saw he had a band on his leg and figured out he was someone's racing pigeon.
And he was apparently lost, for as the days went by the pigeon showed no signs whatsoever of leaving. So she started researching racing pigeons on the internet. Turns out there's this whole protocol to follow when you find a bird so you can reunite said fowl with his or her owner. But first you need to get all the numbers off of the band on his leg. More Mojo!>>
Our poor dawg met Mister Porcupine today for the first time. One of my complaints about Ratty cat is that he is WAY too forgiving with the dog. At times Rosie could really use a good swat on the nose with a couple of claws in the mix, but Ratty just doesn't have it in him. Not even with mice anymore; early on when he still thought he was a stray he was an excellent mouser, but now the ones he brings in the house may be psychologically traumatized, but there is rarely a scratch on them when he lets them go in our beds at two in the morning.
So we had to spend about an hour this morning acquainting Rosie with another new friend, who we call Mister Needle-nosed Pliers. More Mojo!>>