Dorothy: Well, of course I had a pet. Remember, Ma? I was six years old, and I wanted a pony?
Sophia: Not the pony thing again.
Dorothy: She promised me a pony. She swore I'd get a pony. She brings me a little paper bird on a stick from the circus. The kind you have to twirl around your head to get them to tweet.
Rose: And that was your pet?
Sophia: They're very clean.
Dorothy: Then she tells me if I'm a good girl, a really good girl, God will turn that paper bird into a real one, which I believed, because why would a mother lie? So every day, I'm being very good and praying and looking for any sign of life and becoming very attached to that ridiculous paper bird. So you can imagine my heartbreak when one morning I find it dead.
Rose: How does a paper bird die?
Dorothy: Good question. Someone used it to restart the pilot light.