I give up. It’s over. I am so done. No more. I’m OOH (Out Of Here). Forget it. Been there, done that. I have picked up my marbles and departed.
Zen—tiny, slender, diminutive, spaced-out Zen—is male. A dude. Guy. Possessor of two z chromosomes, which is apparently how male birds roll. I’ve just gotten used to Ginny, who tips the scale at over 500 grams, being female and now this. Zen turns out to be a 375 gram would-be stud muffin.
I assume Zen’s social circle will react something like this, although any similarity to an actual reaction is completely coincidental:
Snafu: Is he more likely to feed me now?
Gwen: Why should the gender of a peasant crow be of the slightest interest to me?
Stephen: Whatever Gwen said.
Super-Daughter: Maybe this will finally teach you to give up your heteronormative gender stereotypes.
Super-Son: Gotcha. Give me a sec, and I’ll relate this news to military history.
Minion Man: That bird is doing gender wrong.
Super-Friend Gabby: Weird. What does the vet say?
Zen has also acquired a padawan, who is powerful in the ways of the corvid. She has established a strong bond with our Boy and is, unlike the rest of us, is not surprised by the news.
Now that reproductive issues are off the table, avian acupuncture appears to be the therapeutic frontrunner. I can’t wait.