Unserious postmodern paintings.

The heron had been waiting for the 3:17 p.m. report for seventeen years. It did not know what the report contained, only…

The pitta had been a thrush for seventeen years, according to the ornithological ledger nailed to the wall. Then, at 3:14 PM…

The flowerpecker had been hired Tuesday. Not for its singing, which was mediocre, nor for its pest control, which it neglected in…

The phalarope had been invited to tea by the widow who collected ornithological curiosities, and though it had not spoken a word…

The locust had spent seventeen days polishing its carapace with crushed chalk and the silk of its own molted wings, convinced that…

Every morning at precisely 7:03, the salmon arrived at the kitchen threshold, adjusted its blazer, and waited for the toast to pop.…

The ibex had been reliable for exactly three Tuesdays in a row—delivering mail, holding doors open, and once, famously, refilling the chapel’s…

He had passed the bar with honors, published three papers on rodent tort law, and been offered a clerkship at the Supreme…

The oropendola had earned three degrees in avian economics and was fluent in four dialects of nest-weaving, yet here it sat, stapling…

The munia had been told the room was structurally optimistic, so it stood ready. It had practiced this pose for three days,…

The owl had been waiting for the toast to pop up for seventeen minutes. It had already read the instruction manual twice,…

The kagu had promised itself it would be extraordinary—just once. It had practiced standing on one leg for seventeen minutes, memorized the…