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Titus always wanted to be more than just a collection of old attic clothes stuffed with straw. Though his creators were kind enough to supply him with a wide-brimmed hat, a pair of worn-out garden gloves and two mismatched work boots, it still wasn"t enough.
From the first day of planting, all day, all night, all season long, Titus sat perched upon his stake—which was more like a cross—sunlight baking his dried husk of a head, rain pelting his back and shoulders, soaking his out-stretched arms; wind stealing his loose ends with ragged gusts that left his neck, wrists and ankles always thinner. After all these years of service, he looked almost skeletal. But he served his purpose, and served it well. The sparrows and blue jays bypassed this particular field. The crows were merely
