it's a fugly day here in our ruined snactuary, i mean sanctuary, ha, that was a typo, but it's still a snactuary for copp, here in the grim heart of obombaland in trumpworld. mister was frisky half the way. we passed the murder memorial on copp's block. the teddy bear was tipped on his brow, all the candles were blown or burnt out, and apollo the chihuahua anointed the bear's frontal lobe in the dirt and ate the snack offering left for his soul journey. 
the birders were way ahead, blown by the wind and hastened by the absence of bird life. we found one lone christian birder actually a birder named christian who's an occasional birder and he was wondering what this sanctuary was like before the destruction. i told him he could go back on this weblog and see and then he remembered copp from the birdlog and i remembered him. he was ready for dog love being housed in a non-dog friendly building and mister obliged. he said this place used to be one of the top three sites for bird density and variety but has dropped to 25th or so. there ain't much habitat in the former sanctuary. then he had to turn back to work at the museum. i said i would pass his birdy regards to the flock. we saw the head birder known as pat talking to the security man and we walked the meadow with her, lamenting all the way, about how sad it is to see the present state of this once beautiful place. now it's a lamentable place we go to lament. we agreed obomba is simply not local fauna, he's just an ex-president land grabber, the brand face of empire retired from white house war room to take over the old hood he once passed through on his way to quasi-godlike power and fame. 

idle know if this hangs together, but i mo leave it be.