Letter

Dear Mr. Magpie,

I hope this letter finds you well.  You're right; that's a lie.  But, I do hope it finds you reasonable, reasonable enough to honor my requests.

I'm not sure what you think I've done or plan to do to you, but whatever it is, I assure you your attacks are unjustified. Really, I'm just walking to retrieve the car from the train station so I can pick up my beautiful kids.  Surely you can find no harm in that, can you?  Yet, you still find it necessary to dive-bomb me.  While I'm glad you have yet to drop a "bomb", the near misses of your body to my head are getting a bit unsettling.  Please understand, I am far too cool to duck and cover and shout expletives at birds, but that is what you've driven me to do.  Unlike you, I prefer to fly under the radar--you know, go unnoticed, blend in with the scenery.  While we are on the subject.  Your morning serenade is really starting to piss me off as well.  You see, dawn is when I go to bed and that is when you decide to announce your presence to the world--from the tree right outside my f'g bedroom window.  While I absolutely adore my husband, having you screech his name during those delicate first few moments prior to slumber well, it just doesn't endear you to me.  "Maawwwwwwk.. MAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWK"  In fact, it's downright maddening.  Is it necessary to be so loud?  On one of your more vocal days--you know, the one where you started at dawn and were still at it when I left at 3:00 p.m. to pick up the car, I could hear you loud and clear for over four blocks. Other sounds came and went but your incessant screeching remained for FOUR blocks!! 

So, please accept my offer of a truce.  I promise never to write about you on my blog again, if you immediately cease and desist with the terrorism.  Fair?


Sincerely,
Kelly Pellas