Like baby sloths or Kevin Bacon or actual bacon. They connect us all, like the mycorrhiza, the fungal web through which the trees talk.

Stories suture up our wounds, stitch us back together. I’ve practiced and told this story-my story, our story-a bajillion times, because we need stories to survive. My name is Shit Turd and I’m a Cheeto ®-addicted American crow-not a species known for our literary prowess, but bah stinkbug, we should be. I have a paucity of digits because I am a bird. I use the term “writing” loosely given that I don’t have any fingers (oh, to have the gift of just the middle one). On a whim and a smattering of Scotch, I am writing my story. Okay, I might have borrowed and bastardized that line a little bit, but it’s hard to know where to begin. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single crow in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a Cheeto ®.

Transcribed by a black widow spider named Ra Ra faces many new challenges plus his biggest one yet: parenthood. Why, wing it on another big-hearted, death-defying adventure, that's what! Joined by a fabulous new cast of animal characters, S.T. But in a wild world plagued by prejudiced animals, feather-raising environments, new threats so terrifying they make zombies look like baby bunnies, and a horrendous dearth of cheesy snacks, what's a crow to do? stumbled upon something so rare-and so precious-that he vowed to do everything in his power to safeguard what could, quite literally, be humanity's last hope for survival. S.T., the intrepid crow, alongside his bloodhound-bestie Dennis, had set about saving pets that had become trapped in their homes after humanity went the way of the dodo. When the world last checked-in with its favorite Cheeto addict, the planet had been overrun by flesh-hungry beasts, and nature had started re-claiming her territory from humankind. Once upon an apocalypse, there lived an obscenely handsome American crow named S.T.

Feral creatures kira jane buxton