Hot Owl Ice Cream

Believe me when I tell you that you do not want to witness a great horned owl eat ice cream. By 10 am this morning, the heat was already too much for Bubo and she tucked into a hefty tub of our home made pistachio and basil ice cream. I breakfasted on a sasparilla float. I won’t natter on about how hot it is, but suffice it to say that I’m hoping Mordecai went north. Otherwise an unimaginably cranky and cross fellow will inevitably end up on my doorstep and I’m too knackered from the heat to put up with him.

I’m keeping out of the sun reading again today. If I get my wind up, I’ll head to the catacombs and dig through the odd bits of family history in the cool dank of the caves. The specimens have taken to camping out down there and even the wuzzlethumps are sleeping instead of birding. Thankfully.

Found this gem absolutely fascinating. The Tammany Hall years are a period of New York history that have long captivated our attention and imagination. This, then, is a good introduction to the history of it.

I hear a commotion in the freezer. I’m hoping it’s not Bubo making a nest in the ice cubes. Though, quite honestly, I wouldn’t blame her for it one bit.

Except that I find feathers in my ice cream absolutely unacceptable.

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