life imitating blog? or something even more disturbing?

So this morning, we were puttering around the house to the tune of a cranky and possibly inebriated infant (staggering, crashing around), when the doorbell rang. Fili lunged out the miniscule crack of daylight, as usual, as I tried to spy who it was without releasing the hellhound. It was the Wondertwins from the apartment in back. They're lovely nine year-olds who dress identically everyday. "There's a dead bird on the sidewalk outside," they chorused. "We can't get our car out. Can you come move it?" Um, sure. I walked down the stairs with P & A giggling and twittering behind me. Out on the sidewalk, in front of their garage door, there was indeed a bird. Very clearly dead. It was a pheasant. And, it seems to me, not shot down over the city, as it's feet were stretched out neatly behind as if once bound together with twine. It also had an odd plastic cone afixed somehow over its beak. I picked it up by the feet with a plastic bag and stuffed it into another before tossing it into the dumpster. Done. The girls were shrieking with horror and delight. I turned around to see their mother, J, standing on the steps with her hand over her eyes. "I owe you one," she says, "I couldn't face that before coffee." "No worries," I said, "I love creepy shit like that." All right, I kept that last part to myself.

So there's my "pheasant" revision. Perhaps I should revisit "suede" as well. I saw the cutest jacket in a catalog the other day....