Tuesday, November 9, 2010

A dead bird on the ground

is worth a story to tell.  Today at recess (it was my duty day and it was glorious out, yay!) a few of my friends came running up to me with panic in their eyes.  I couldn't make out what they were shouting at first, but there was a lot of hysteria and pointing going on.  I asked, "Who's hurt?" as I scanned the playground for a fallen friend.  Finally, the spokeswoman for the group said, "There's a dead bird on the playground and I think someone touched it!"  I think maybe I have a problem because I was relieved that it was only a dead bird (sorry animal lovers everywhere).  I made my way over to the scene where indeed, there was a dead bird.  Yuck-o.  I shooed the lookey-loos away after ascertaining that no one had touched it (can't get too close to any non-living creature if you're not sure how it met its demise).  Only one friend stayed and asked me so sweetly to "Please kick it over to the tall grass."  That seemed like as good of a plan as any because I certainly wasn't planning on picking it up with my hands.  So, I spent my recess kicking a dead bird.

At writing time, one of my friends who is a reluctant writer chose to write about the incident.  This student hasn't written very much lately.  I was so very proud of him.  So, I guess if I have to kick a bird to get the job done...I will.

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