Fat raven

I saw the fattest crow on Aukland Street. It could barely fly. My bicycle was zipping down the street's center whisper-quiet and I must have startled it. It was snacking on a dropped pizza crust (from Venice Pizza?) between two parked cars as I passed. The crow sure startled me. I slammed on the brakes at the commotion to my right.

The crow let out a squawk and flapped its wings frantically, trying to get aloft for an escape. It flapped and flapped to no avail until, finally, it got some space between its feet and the asphalt. It hovered a moment and then slowly drifted upward, flapping mightily all the while, to the gutter over the porch at #72.

Exhausted, but feeling it was a safe distance from me, it panted and wheezed, catching its breath. It had a pot belly and bags under its eyes. I swear it sported jowls and love handles under its feathers. Not attempting to fly again, it walked along the porch roof and stepped onto an overhanging maple branch. Then it walked from branch to branch, huffing and puffing like an asthmatic until it was out of sight.