Agnes rummaged around in her scarf and produced Finder, who was half asleep and clearly indignant at being awoken. “You need to train him to sit somewhere else,” said the dust-wife disapprovingly. “Otherwise you’ll have a rooster who thinks he should dive headfirst into your cleavage when he wants to roost.” “It’s been a while since any man wanted to dive into my cleavage,” said Agnes. “It might be a nice change.” “Not when the spurs grow in.” “Oh, well, probably not.”
