More, Even Stranger Winged Dinners Overrun My Library!

Around lunchtime at my Library today, I happened to pass the office that Payor Pal and CircMaster share.  When I passed there earlier this morning, the lights were off, and I didn't notice anything unusual.  This time around, the lights were on.  You can imagine my shock, surprise, and confusion when I gazed upon these bizarre winged dinners.

Above Payor Pal's Desk Was a Flock of Flying Ocean Winged Dinners (FOWDs)

These flying ocean winged dinners (FOWDs) were pure white and had no differentiated feathering.  Most peculiar was the apparent lack of eyes and feet.  They were the thinnest winged dinners I have ever seen.  Each FOWD had a wire or string connected to its spine.  Oddly, each seemed to be flying with wings in the downstroke position.  They were strangely silent; FOWDs, in my experience, are terribly noisy and often circle, land, eat something (anything!), and take off again, squawking all the while.  These FOWDs were utterly silent.  Plus they hovered in exactly the same spot for minutes on end!  It was an amazing aviatorial display.

How Do These FOWDs See Where They're Going?  Organic Radar?

Amidst the FOWDs was a single talking winged dinner (TWD).  The emphasis should be on talking, since TWDs simply will NOT shut up once they get started.  In short, a talking winged dinner is the Scowl-Face of the aviary kingdom.  That is why the TWD hovering above Payor Pal's desk is singularly weird:  It is speechless!  Like the FOWDs, it said nothing during my lengthy observation.

This Talking Winged Dinner (TWD) Was a Silent Sentinel, For Sure

Although this TWD had eyes and feet, it, too, was uncannily flat and hovered nearly motionlessly.   It, too, had a wire or string attached to its back.  It is utterly unlike anything in my previous experience!  This is pure speculation, but I'll wager that these winged dinners were quiet primarily because they were flying about in a public library, where you're supposed to be silent.  But the near perfect stillness in their hovering--now that's just plain creepy.

Things are less bizarre back in my Indiana Roving Reporter Room, particularly if Scowl-Face is roaming elsewhere.  So I'm off to my snoozing quarters until I figure this thing out.  I'd invite you to come along, but two's a crowd, frankly.

Fairly Confused Now, and Not Liking It One Bit,

Cauli Le Chat

MPL Roving Reporter

Aviary News Beat

P.S.  We leave you with Prologue and Be, by Neil Diamond (from Jonathan Livingston Seagull, his soundtrack album to the motion picture of the same name) (1973).