
In loving memory of my grandmother, Alice Gambill.

There was once an old buzzard who was somewhat of a loner. His name was Milo. If he could help it, he rarely had anything to do with other buzzards, let alone other birds.
Yes, Milo was very independent. He didn't like it when other buzzards tried to help him. "I don't need or want your help," Milo often told other buzzards. He was quite the social outcast. And he rarely offered to help cook at church socials.
"You really should make your venison stew," said
Amanda, Milo's niece. "Everybody likes it and I know of a really nice road kill you could use."
Milo gave Amanda a dirty look. "If I made venison stew," Milo began, "it's doubtless that I'd ever share it with you."
Nevertheless, Milo secretly liked Amanda's idea for road kill stew. While he didn't want to arouse suspicion that he liked Amanda's idea, he did tell himself that he needed to find something to eat.
And so Milo went off on a hunt. On this hunt, it was his goal to find some tasty old aged meat. Milo preferred one week old meat, though meat rarely lasted that long on the road. Still, there was a foul stench in the air that he liked. Perhaps it would be some poor animal such as a opossum or squirrel.
Milo circled the area, looking and smelling the air for the source of the stench. And then he saw it. Wasting no time, he swooped down and landed
by the road kill. It was an armadillo, and a terribly smelly one at that.
The only problem was that he wasn't the first buzzard there. "This is our meal old man," said a young buzzard with a holey hat. You'll have to find your own."
"I think not," said Milo. "And since I am the oldest here, this meat should be mine."
"Not a chance," said a wiry looking buzzard with a blue suit and stripped tie. We got here first."
But Milo wouldn't have it. He whipped out his cane and threatened to hit the wiry looking buzzard on the head. The wiry looking buzzard backed away from the armadillo. "That's right," said Milo. Milo pointed his cane at the other birds. "I would advise you to do the same," said Milo. Immediately, the other buzzards quickly backed away as well.
Milo snarled at them like a rabid dog. "Will I have to use this cane on you, or are you going to leave?"
The other buzzards looked at each other irritably and then, one by one, flew away. Milo shook his cane at them nonetheless. "Ha," he said to himself with a victorious frown.
With all the other buzzards gone, Milo turned his attention to the foul smelling armadillo. Sniffing the air triumphantly, Milo began to eat. And he ate and ate.
After Milo feasted for several minutes, he backed away from the armadillo and began to think. "I must take some home for dinner." He stepped up to the smelly food. Next second, Milo bent down and gathered up as much as he could carry in his beak.
Having to leave his cane behind in order to carry the meat home, Milo told himself that he'd come back later for the cane.
Milo arrived at his house after a few minutes flight. Instantly, he set his food down on the table and then stretched, looking up at the pretty blue sky.
When Milo lowered his head, there was Amanda, his niece.
Milo let out an irritated puff of air. "You again. Dear God help me. What do you want now?"
Amanda met Milo with a hard gaze. "Something to eat, if that's not a problem." Milo saw Amanda look at his armadillo steak.
"Surely you're not going to eat all of that," said Amanda.
"I might," said Milo. Then Milo had a thought.
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In loving memory of my grandmother, Alice Gambill.

There was once an old buzzard who was somewhat of a loner. His name was Milo. If he could help it, he rarely had anything to do with other buzzards, let alone other birds.
Yes, Milo was very independent. He didn't like it when other buzzards tried to help him. "I don't need or want your help," Milo often told other buzzards. He was quite the social outcast. And he rarely offered to help cook at church socials.
"You really should make your venison stew," said
Amanda, Milo's niece. "Everybody likes it and I know of a really nice road kill you could use."
Milo gave Amanda a dirty look. "If I made venison stew," Milo began, "it's doubtless that I'd ever share it with you."
Nevertheless, Milo secretly liked Amanda's idea for road kill stew. While he didn't want to arouse suspicion that he liked Amanda's idea, he did tell himself that he needed to find something to eat.
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