I ignored him until he throttled down. That was not normal. It was a pleasant night, but an hour after curfew. City lights from Saigon to the east turned the dark a velvety purple, and the sweet smell ... [+]
Writer, actor, singer, yacht broker, presently living in Boston where he publishes 'About a Thousand Words' his weekly blog on Substack writing about whatever grabs his attention from Aardvarks to Xylophones. You can find his work on, www.FCPierce.com. "Mister Peepers" is in Short Circuit #11, Short Édition's quarterly review.
It wasn't fair. EJ had found him, brought him home, set up a comfy, warm bed of hay in the basement; she'd even named him. But from our first encounter on that cold January night, Mister Peepers only had eyes for me. I should explain that Mister Peepers was a baby chick—a rooster—though at the tender age of a day or so, you couldn't tell by looking at him. And even though my partner had done all the heavy ‘maternal' lifting, as far as Mister Peepers was concerned, I was his mother. He ran to me, peeping joyfully, like a child calling his parent, "I'm so glad you're home." I gently picked up th