Punkinhead
Gooseberry

I was born on a day when the sun didn’t shine. Left out to die in the brutal cold Missouri winters, I survived, only to see my best friend killed in a car accident. It’s no wonder I’m bipolar. I’ve managed, against all odds, to claw my way into a position at Gooseberry Farm. I scare up mice—they feed me. It’s redundant but it works. For a treat I’ll take the odd bird now and then. Who can blame me?