Um, Pussywillow, Jagoffs.

Something occured to me this afternoon: the idea that every man (and some women, but mostly not) must leave something on this earth after they are gone - a mark, if you will, a legacy, a permanent scar, a song to be sung by the bards and folk singers of the future.

Actually, hopefully not folk singers, in my case. Folk singers are hippies, and I would sooner burn my fingernails off than have my name pass through the lips of a hippie.

Anyhow, the first step in creating my legacy to be the naming of a baby falcon. The falcon will be my helper and spiritual companion (after, of course, clever Fox). If you haven't read the bulletin post I recently made, go do that. If you have, well, just think of this as an excamation point.
Help me name this child falcon, this raptorling. Go to this link: http://www.smm.org/buzz/poll
and pick the name you know to be the falcon's true title (Pussywillow).

Now, I will almost certainly outlive this falcon (and if it isn't named Pussywillow, I will definitely outlive it, because, well, I know where the nest is),  but falcon magic is an enduring magic, and I want some of it for my own.
And, should this dream come to pass, you will al be able to look into the Minnesota sky at the noble "Skree skree skree!" of a falcon, and think "Pussywillow!"

Oh, also, get your moms to vote too, if you can. I think I play well with the "mom" demographic.

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