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Seven crows pecking spring's backyard botanical garden. I'm leaning against the green metal door frame, looking out. I'm waiting for the family's yellow labrador to burst out and chase them away, but I've resigned to the fact that it probably won't happen. Seven pencil lead beaks picking out spring's seeds, hamstringing its spectacle. The dog was wearing an Elizabethan collar and got hit by a car. It had a broken ankle or something, now its underneath the garden. Greedy spring flowers want our nitrogen liberated.