Um, hi. Um, hi. Um, well, uh, sorry, everyone, Brother Reed here. And Pastor Andrew is supposed to lead this week's service, but, uh, I mean, after an hour and a half, well, I think it's time we got started. Yeah, yeah, he told me last night he was waking up at dawn to gather the story like sap from the girthy trunk of our congregation.

He said it was Vic this time of year that the story was like to choke us with its incredible, starchy commodity.

But I guess he isn't back yet.

Ahem.

Well, I have the psalm.

I suppose I can read that while we wait.

The story hasn't betrayed us so far, so I trust it won't today.

Patience, patience, as you enjoy this song.

Four half bird half pigs love four half pig half dogs and squat a steaming birth of 18 dogbird

hogs. Dogbird hogs don't bark or squawk or oink with soul or wine.

They don't fly or run or dig or sun in mud divine. They just sit there. They don't breathe.

They don't move. And so we grieve. 18 bird dog hogs cast so brief alight.

For post-zygotic barriers cast all in quiet night.

Goodbye. We'll miss you all, bird dog hogs.

And so we say your names.

Jojo bird crime. Sewer Gary.

Little Petit Smalls.

Proudly rubbing tum-tum.

Wagle kitty.

Wiggle Kate.

Dog bird thaw.

Summer chunk.

...