Where eagles date

There's this little cottage up in the moundains (forty or fifty kilometers past Erupciones Inn). Like so :

Besides the tiny kitchen it also has a little veranda at the other end -- just enough to protect one car from the elements -- and then in between a large room with a domed roof drawn over a pair of king size beds with a smaller one to the side -- just the perfect little place to take a whoremaster with her hussy spawn. For the weekend, like, except eagles make their own weekends. Speaking of which,

That came with the place, believe it or not : six lengths of chord for... um...resolving recalcitrance and.. other purposes.

So there we were, in bed, as peacefully as you'd like, when suddenly... wham! And there was a little dove on the tile floor, spasming its last, the coupla dozen last berries its mortal coil ever ingested in this wordly life scattered all over an' about, still luscious with its gullet juice.

Ooh! Aah! Poor little innocent creature! How cruel the glass and how unforgiving the bang, and how singular these proceedings altogher! Seriously now, how often did you see a dove trying to fly through your glass doors and break its neck in the process ?

But presently the proximate cause for the dove's headlong suicide presented itself. Like so :

Indeed.

Isn't he something ?

Let's delve minutiously!

And spare me with bs about the dove, where is the dove, bla bla. I fucking told you, it lost at life and the eagle ate it. Fuck the stupid dove, nobody cares about it. We're worshipping the eagle, get with the programme.

Truly it has been a feat of biodiversidad in other ways as well! We've seen, besides the five toed bedsloth, that somehow managed a fourteen hour uninterrupted snooze after waking up at two in the morning and hiking to save her skin most of the day, the above depicted red highlighted featherbunch, a purple-tailed but otherwise yellow headed little lizzard that swam around like a frog in the pond by the waterfallⁱ not to mention the below depicted set of Uncle Al monstrosity lilies.

There's also a lake. You know... for the kids.

PS. To clarify any possible misclarity for the benefit of the good folk keeping track of the epileptic trees back at home, this wasn't a date in the meaning contemplated by eu nu. It was a date in the meaning contemplated by violul nostru cel de toate zilele. Also -- a wizard did it.

1. I foolishly left my camera behind at some point, judging the environment entirely too dangerous for a DSLR however compact. This costs you not merely pictures of said hydrofeature and the fauna inhabiting its skirts, but also other items, such as a superbly magnificent burnt grey Great Curassow -- which apparently is a kind of bird. I'd never seen one before, and I reckon it never saw one of me before either, because its chirpy little song came out of its stubbly little beak as unconcerned as you'd like a coupla meters away. I could have got great shots -- but... I didn't.

   There was also a somewhat shier (but not by very much) agouti, and an enchanted damselfly that actually followed us around a good distance, no doubt fascinated by these inconceivable bipedal worms with leaves sewed on. It was humongous, twenty centimeter long at the least, with iridiscently transparent wings terminated in gloriously purplish-blue spots, giving the general impression that a quarter of the horizon's moving whenever it took off. He had this velvety, languid flight, lilting here and there, barely touching on the occasional sprig with all the grace of a competent ballerina doing the Swan Lake upside down. It took three seconds to fold its wings whenever it landed, and it was worth watching every time. I suspect it was Megaloprepus caerulatus, though he was very much blue and not at all sienna. [↩]