Pretty Bird

We were sitting out on the deck today, trying to recover from a little over indulgence last night when Rory came over and said, “I touched a bird.”
No one really reacted, and in typical Rory fashion, he repeated that he touched a bird.  I looked in the direction that he had come from and I could see a bright yellow lump lying under the window. 
All at once we were all shouting for him to wash his hands.  He stood with his right index finger in the air like it was riddled with disease.  I think it’s kind of funny how we’re always so down on birds like they are the reason for all that is wrong in the world.  I used to find feathers on the ground and rub them on my face…
I took Rory in to wash his hands and he told me that the bird wasn’t real.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was real, just dead.
After getting his hands washed we went back outside to watch Ryan try and pick the bird up without touching it.  I made a comment about him not being a pussy, which Rory promptly repeated. 

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