She Put A Bet On My Buddies

On magnificent ebony wings, I descended to land amongst a glistening, writhing swarm of banana slugs. My human servant plucked them one at a time to and shoved them into a satchel from which they eagerly squirmed back out. She looked to me beseechingly.

"About time you showed up, Old Crow."

I tolerate the fledgling witch due to her excellent hunter-gatherer skills.

"I swear, after half a century, you'd think I'd pick a more competent familiar."

"Croak," I croaked, roughly translated to, I am no familiar, inferior human. She grunted, obviously in agreement.

"Don't eat them." She brushed me aside.

"Caw," I cawed, approximately interpreted as, My little buddy here slipped from the rock. I caught it as it fell and therefore cannot be held accountable if it accidentally slipped down my crop. She cackled, presumably embarrassed at her impulsive behavior. But then she had the nerve to put a bet on my buddies.

"I wager you a kettle full of corn there won't be a single slug left at this rate." She snatched a plump, juicy slug from my beak, even though I'd obviously picked it out specifically for her. The very tiny chink from its tail must have been there before I arrived.

I fluffed my wings to express my opinion of her rude insinuation.

She scratched the feathers at my crown to demonstrate her subservience. "Come along. I have berries and nuts if you're not already stuffed like a turkey," she said in contrition.

"Squawk." You're forgiven.

Composite Image: photos used Kasturi Roy, Sean Bennick, Wren Meinberg & Max Gotts