Night Rider Leaves Empty Handed

How many owls can I hold? I wondered as they appeared. They were perched on each limb as the night rider neared. I cannot handle this volume, the night rider said in a mean way. But we promised them you would, I said. My mood was gray. You should have asked first, the night rider said in a snippy voice. He is the cousin of a neighbor of my sour great great Aunt Joyce. I cannot accommodate them I told him. I was just waiting for you. He threw up his hands and stomped off, his words turned the air blue. “We can stay here,” the head owl told me in a sweet way. You have always been welcoming to us each and every day. The night rider left empty handed, and pouted a bit. I thought it was humorous when he had his little fit.