Those cold February winter mornings, those June hot summer nights -- whenever the season, even if I had the chance to get that hit thread, even if Kanye dropped his album, I'd stand on my porch and wait for Franklin to come around. I've been doing this since I was 14. I'd stand out, hold my seeds (not bread, pigeons don't like bread y'all!) and little Franklin would peck peck peck at all the seeds. He'd give me a furry rub and then fly off into the sunset. And the next day, the cycle begins. And the next. The next too. Oh, and after that. And then one day -- just one little day -- he was no where to be seen. I assumed Franklin woke up late, or maybe flew away since it's getting rather chilly here. So I went back indoors and went on ATRL.net. Next day, he didn't come.
And the next. And the next. Oh, if you didn't guess he didn't come the next after that. I went out where Franklin and his mother sleep. His mother was seen hawking crazy. Her red eyes full of blood orange. Her peaks flapping rapidly, like a flappy vagina. That's when I knew. Dear old Franklin, please call back.
BTW a cat probably got him. My cat killed a bird once (I was there and it was horrifying) and these other two big birds (presumably the parents) were hawking and flying around my cat for like, a month. They shat on her as well
Losing an animal friend is rough.
RIP Franklin.