Continued, Carnival Fantástico
Dovie. What do you want to be when you grow up?
Rich. Filthy, stinking, rotting rich. I want to lie on a lounger all day and have people feed me cherries.
I think you mean grapes.
Nope. Grapes are boring. Rich people eat cherries.
I hate cherries.
I’ve never had them, but they look divine.
Remember the dove I told you about a year or so ago? The one that scowled at me, and I said it looked just like you? Anyway, guess what? She’s back. And she isn’t alone. I believe she has a husband.
Can doves marry?
I just returned from the library. Turns out the answer is yes. Well, sort of. Mourning doves often mate for life.
So do pigeons.
But still, that’s rather sweet.
Do you think you’ll ever marry someday?
Of course. You?
I’m not so sure anyone would want to be stuck with me for that long.
I would.
I’ve just realized what your nickname should be!
Pigeon.
But pigeons are like rats with wings.
I know.