"Want to eat?" she asked me.
Did I look like I needed to eat? I may live longer.
"It's better to be a bird. Believe me," she said.
Did I hear her right?
"Do you speak?" she finally asked.
It was my turn to talk.
"I speak chicken scratch and turkish," I said.
She had no hair on her head, so I wondered if this signified at attempt to "drop out" of society...thus, her appraisal of birds.
"You know, you can be one yourself," I said.
"A bird. You can be a bald eagle. You can be a turkey vulture too."
"I thought you liked birds..."
"I do like birds. I have one in my house, and one in my skillet right now."
"I eat in front of my parakeet; he doesn't mind."
Traitor, I thought.
"The last chicken I ate had no name. I named my parakeet, though. His name is Spot."
"Even thawed birds deserve names," I reminded her.
"Spot is named after my last pet, a dog." She wasn't really listening.
"Wild," I thought.
"Spot ran away shortly after I got my parakeet. So I just started calling my parakeet Spot."
"Uhhhhh" I said.
...to be continued