Wringer
“He opened one eye to find an orange button staring back. The pigeon was on his pillow, sounding like someone gargling water. Again it nipped his earlobe.
“Ow!”
Palmer swiped, and the bird flew to the foot of the bed. “I’m awake, okay?” Palmer wondered if his old pair of earmuffs was still around.
A knock at the door. His mother!
“Palmer.”
“Yeah?” He threw his blanket over the pigeon.
“Time to get up.”
True to her word, she did not come in.
“Okay. I’m up.”
She went away.
The blanket moved like a ghost over his bed. He pulled it back. With a gobble the pigeon flew off to the comic book stack. Like the day before, it skidded off the top comic and onto the floor. This bird, thought Palmer, is either dumb, clumsy or a comedian. Palmer dressed and went down for breakfast. This time he returned not only with FrankenPuffs but Grape Nuts as well. He spread the cereal on the snow outside his window. The pigeon did not have to be coaxed. It flew out the window and attacked the food.
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