Now it's my turn to tell the story. I could plead the Fifth instead —I'm aware of my rights— but that won't be necessary. I'm not guilty of anything, unless being a blackbird is a crime. Yes, I'm a bird, and as such, I go out in search of food or water every day. It's not a simple whim or a temporary gig, it's a must. Otherwise, I would die.

So, one morning, not long ago, while I was stretching myself on top of a pine tree, I spotted a few tomato plants full of flashy, orangey tomatoes. They looked so yummy that I didn't think twice and nosedived toward them. As I landed, I noticed an ugly lady staring at me, completely still. She looked like she was bewildered and motionless, so I ate all the tomatoes I could right in front of her face and took a mental note of the place —and the woman.

The tomatoes had such thick peels that it took me three days to digest them, so I kept myself on a liquids-only diet for a few more days. That made it a whole week of me longing to go back to the same spot and grab something with more protein to eat. I noticed my wings felt weaker than usual, so a handful of worms seemed pretty appropriate given my condition. By the way, I'm single, but I admit she was right: I eat like a hawk, so no wonder she thought I had a bunch of chicks to feed somewhere.

(To be continued)