Unserious postmodern paintings.

The treecreeper had spent three mornings waiting for the tree to whisper its name. It had practiced the tilt of its head,…

The gadwall had been waiting for the rain to stop since Tuesday. It remembered the exact shade of the sky the day…

The owl had waited three hours for the toast. Not burnt, not underdone—just right. When it arrived, smeared with marmalade instead of…

The lyrebird had learned to mimic the sound of a teacup rattling just before the butler entered with the afternoon sherry. It…

The gibbon had been told, quite firmly, that style was not optional in the East Wing after the incident with the lava…

The bison had been told, by a very earnest squirrel with a clipboard, that heroism required stillness, not speed. So it stood.…

The bushbuck had been sold for three dollars and seventy-five cents at a roadside auction labeled 'Miscellaneous Livestock & Sentimental Junk.' No…

The beetle had rolled the ball for three days and three nights, not out of pride, but because it had been told,…

The wattlebird had stopped being ironic three Tuesdays ago, though no one noticed until it refused to mimic the kettle’s whistle and…

The rabbit had been promoted after three weeks of flawless burrow audits and impeccable carrot inventory logs. It did not enjoy the…

The courser had been promised a sky full of constellations to guide its gallop, but upon arrival found only a room and…

The otter had promised to water the fern every Tuesday. It did, for three weeks. Then it forgot. On the fourth Tuesday,…