Inigo wrote a poem this evening.
If I could get a harness on him without risking a finger, I would take him outside and let him fly around, as he seems to be dropping a big hint here. Then again, he never gets up much before 10:00 a.m., even though I’m usually up around 8:00-8:30.
And the last line? Well, those never make sense to me, but ’tis not mine to figure the mind of a bird.
(Poem created with the Bird Lover Magnetic Poetry Kit using words Inigo the Nanday picked out. I hold him in front of my refrigerator and he taps or grabs them with his beak.)