Mabel glared at him. Or rather, the lumpy outline of him- it was all she could see. Wilbur had done it again. Sandwiched himself between the tablecloth and the cold hard surface of the dining room table. Oh, it really didn't bother her all that much, and she knew how to cope.
"Rammstein! Give me Rammstein!" Wilbur bellowed from beneath his domestic cocoon. Mabel obliged. As the hypnotic and dangerous soundwaves permeated the air, a faint movement could be seen, and slowly, a hand emerged.
"These things take time", she said silently to herself, and to her Budgie, who gave an all-knowing nod of understanding.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, several cockeyed
Depression
