by Claire Flynn
Sally stood in the garden putting the washing on the line. It made her feel at ease. She looked up at the pale blue sky, only to have something warm, wet and sticky land on her face. The forth time this week and she'd be damned if she was going to put up with it any longer. That bloody crow. I'll shoot the arse off it. She marched into the house.
'Where's that bleeding, shotgun?' She asked her husband.
'What you what that thing for?'
'That bugger of a crow's just shat on my face. I'm havin nah mare o' it.'
'You know, it's just a crow, Sally. It can't help where it does the toilet.'
'Well, it better start helping it if it doesn't want a bullet up the arse.'
'Backside, Sally, please don't say arse.'
'Do you want a bullet up your arse too?'
Sally grabbed the shotgun out the cupboard and stomped outside to confront the crow. It was circling the sky squawking, taunting her. With an evil glint in her eye, she thought, you've shat on me for the last time, crow. And took aim. She bloody missed. The crow flew off in search of another unsuspecting victim. Just you run off, bleeding crow. I'll be waiting for ya' next time.