The snowbirds flock off for winter months

Don’t let the past few days of warm weather fool you. Drizzle Creek is about to become Snowy River—and we snowbirds are about to make good on our escape for the next four months or so.
We’d leave earlier, but we do need at least a taste of nasty weather to convince us the expense is all worthwhile.
It keeps us grounded in reality.
We plan on leaving Nov. 28. The party at the Bakery will get underway within an hour of our departure.
Pickle has grown reticent the last month or two. He claims he dislikes having his every word and wild escapade reported on.
A rest from the incessant scrutiny would be a salve for his soul. But just so he doesn’t get too relaxed, I’ve asked Dot to keep an eye on him and report in regularly.
The Runt is another concern. I hate to put a crimp in the Bakery’s sales, but I really think ration cards for chocolate-covered long johns might be appropriate.
Moose, on the other hand, will be suffering from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and will be so depressed he will need all the encouragement he can get to keep taking sustenance.
Please encourage him with a cookie or a doughnut at every opportunity.
His Lordship, the Duke of Drizzle Creek, already is suffering the effects of frost-bitten fingers as he puffs away on the windy sidewalk to appease his nicotine cravings.
Keep him in your prayers.
Only Rapid Robert seems to be cheery. His solution to buyer’s remorse—filling a shopping cart and then abandoning it before reaching the checkout—has been working like a charm.
There are, however, rumours he will be banned from several stores in Fat Frantic and may have to spend heavily on gasoline to take him further afield.
?His son, Cousin It, seriously is thinking of disowning him.
I have surreptitiously installed a wireless Internet surveillance focused on the debating table so I can check in occasionally and keep the facts straight for future reports.
On the domestic front, my wife, The Pearl of the Orient, has been busy training me for the drive south by re-telling some of her own driving experiences with yours truly.
When I protested the lurid nature of some of those escapades, she stated flatly she had never wrecked a vehicle unlike her husband or offspring.
“Why, the only accident I’ve had was when that deer ran into me,” she remarked defensively.
“Oh, you mean the one that bounced 50 feet, stone dead, while you were fully stopped?” I quizzed, just wanting to make sure my facts were straight.
“Or do you mean the three times you lied your way out of a ticket for speeding due to an emergency? Or the trucker you flagged down and made him turn around because you ran out of gas? Or the cop who tried to pull you over for a safety inspection and you just waved and kept on driving?
“Or the driving licence inspector that, on your second try, approved your licence because he refused to get in the car with you a second time? Or those trees in the parking lot you kept backing into? Or. . . .”
“Oh shut up!” I was rudely interrupted.
So we’ll be making the drive south in almost total silence. Effective communication does not require the spoken word.

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