By FoundWalking

Return to me

The Quaker was squawking from his perch, calling his flock. This is it my friend - just me, the old dog, and a cat. Your mother is off for the week in Portland, shuffling among the wharfs and shops with her sister. He ripped the air with more rasping cries.

I would buy her a dozen tulips everyday if she never leaves me with this bird again.

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