Unserious postmodern paintings.

The horse had been told, once, that oats were a form of currency. It believed this for three winters, refusing hay and…

The kudu had spent three days practicing stillness, convinced that mediocrity required effort. It had watched the others — the bold ones…

The woodlark had sworn, upon finding the lost button beneath the sofa, to never again conceal its intentions. It now stood before…

The turaco had been promised a mango. Not just any mango — the one from the top shelf, the one that smelled…

The seedeater had eaten everything else in the house — the cereal, the birdseed, the neighbor’s offering left on the porch —…

The troupial had been promised a gala, but arrived three hours early and no one else came. It waited, adjusting its bowtie…

The armadillo had arrived at 3:00 p.m., as it always did, and had waited seven minutes already—no more, no less—because the receptionist’s…

The worm had been delivered via certified mail, labeled ‘Not a Biological Entity, For Legal Purposes Only,’ and placed on the floor…

Every morning at precisely 5:03 a.m., the porpoise arrived at the dock, adjusted its watch, and waited for the tide to turn—though…

The skipjack had been officially decommissioned in 1987, but no one told it. It kept showing up at dawn, waiting for a…

He had caught the fish not for food, nor sport, but because it looked at him with what he interpreted as quiet…

The dab had been told it was important, that it would be seen and understood, but no one came to look, and…