He smelled something burning, tossed back the cozy, warm quilt and winced as his bare feet hit the chilly floor.

“Wally, are you making toast again?”

Taking the stairs two at a time, and then grabbing the handrail to stop his rapid descent, Buddy slid around the corner to land in the kitchen almost before his hollered question got there.

“Makin’ breakfast, Buddy!” said Wally.

The step stool was next to the sink where he’d left it last night. The counter was littered with half a loaf of bread spilling out of its bag, the uncovered butter peppered with toast crumbs, and not surprisingly, Wally.

“Wally! You little stinker! What am I gonna’ do with you?” Buddy chuckled before biting into a gritty slice of charcoal.

“Love you, Buddy!” said Wally.

Buddy smiled, “Love you too, Wally.” He took a big swallow of cold coffee to gag down the burnt toast before continuing, “Even if you ARE a lousy cook, you’re all mine.”

Interrupting, Wally nodded agreeably, “I’m a myna! Awk”

Author's note: Wally, the myna in the story, is a bird who only lives in my imagination. He 'hatched' when I read the CCF first line for this month's writing contest and then evolved into a character as the story unfolded. Wally has a limited vocabulary and can put bread in the toaster with his beak and press the toaster lever with his foot.