LOVELY BUTTERY CADAVERS

As it turns out, the way to a Turkey Vulture's heart is a gift of shortbread.
A friend gave me shortbread for old year new year, and Syndey Fylbert (the stuffed critter who entered our lives two weeks ago, a buzzard) just LOVES shortbread. Little buttery cadavers. Being a carrion eater, everything he likes is framed as "dead". Cadavers, corpses, carrion -- it's all delicious. So it stands to reason that delicious things are the three "Cees".

Pizza too. And French Fries.


He's young and innocent, and has simple tastes. And, being an upstanding and likeable fellow, an all-round decent sort, he lives in my apartment mate's room, whereas all the bent stuffed creatures inhabit my side of our living quarters.
That's just the way the cookie crumbles.


Middle-aged Dutch American men, such as, for instance, myself, ALSO like shortbread. It's very good shortbread!


I, however, do not see everything in terms of cadavers, corpses, carrion. Not being a Turkey Vulture, those things are not a fundamental part of my world. When he does it, it's charming (well, in a way; gotta take his natural native environment, diet, and culture into account). If I were to do so, it would take creepy uncle to the nth. degree, and freak people out.

Then I would flap my giant wings and take off, circling the objects of my appetite, carefully ascertaining that there are no remaining signs of life.
No last dying gasps, no convulsive final jerks and tremors.



Sydney Fylbert seems to have adapted quite nicely to a diet of hot chocolate and crinkly-cut potato chips.


And shortbread.




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