While Sandra recuperates here at O’Day Camp I’ve been trying to help some geese with broken wings. At first I thought there was only one, and I named her Debra Winger. Then, the next day she swam over with a friend whose wing is so horribly broken that it sticks up. I named it Left Winger.
Then today I saw Debra and Lefty swimming down river with some ducks, which is a good sign, but there was a goose across the river, on the inlet, that is clearly dying. It just lays on the ice, and sometimes its mate sits next to it.
It was so sad I was crying. Sandra was in the corner in her wheelchair where I had put her with a spoon taped to her hand so she could feed herself jell-o. Well, I look over at her, and she’s gesturing with her spoon at the goose, then at her mouth. Basically saying the goose is cooked and she’s ready to eat it.
Then she started laughing. And drooling.
I’d like to switch her out for that poor goose. See how funny it is then.
-Sandra’s Assistant
1 comment:
Dear Sandra's Ass.,
I think you are a good writer. Does Sandra even know what you are writing about her? Does Sandra use the interweb when she is laid up in her wheelie? Maybe you should write Sandra's memoirs!
xo PMM
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