Interesting. The 6th picture on my phone takes us back to July of 2013 when the husband rescued a baby robin from the middle of our road.
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He lived with us for almost a month and we named him Little Cheeper. As you can see he was also a little pooper.
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He was a sweet little guy and I fattened him up with worms, canned dogged food and fruit. I hand trained him, and before long he was flying all over the house.
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It was tempting to keep him as a pet…
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But in the end I couldn’t, and we let him fly free in our backyard.
My only weapon is the tiny water pistol I use on his Lordship when he scratches the furniture. So unless zombies melt like the Wicked Witch of the West?
I know it’s a staple of childhood sandwiches and a good source of protein as an adult, but I completely despise the stuff. The mere smell of it makes me nauseated. I don’t care if you cover it in chocolate… I’m not eating it.
Nope.
Uh uh.
Never.
And if my husband comes at me with that nasty nut breath? I’m not kissing him either.