Day 9

My dear friends, I do apologize for my absence yesterday. Sometimes stealth demands silence, and this time my secrecy paid off.

When last I wrote, I vowed to escape from Bathos' shackles, and escape I did. Early that morning, I deduced from the myriad bins lining the street that it was time to collect the neighborhood refuse. My initial plan was wait for the lorry to pass, jump onto its shaft and let it whisk me away from my nightmarish prison. Instead, an even better opportunity presented itself.

While I was hiding unseen behind the refuse bin, two gentlemen on their morning constitution passed by. Although I certainly did not mean to eavesdrop (as that would have been terribly gauche), I did distinctly hear their entire conversation. They were discussing which train they would ride to the penguin ball that they would attend later that evening.

Penguins! Oh joy! Penguins are the most garrulous gossips on this earth! Certainly one of them would know the location of my flock and my beloved Nancy! In that instant, I decided to join them on the 5:17 train to the City.

I must admit that it took me the better part of the day to find the train depot. This town is replete with ornery curmudgeons, none of whom would give me a lift or even directions. As I was afraid that flying might call attention to myself, I slowly perambulated to the center of town where I discovered the station. Thankfully, I found a spot in the warm, albeit barren, depot, and there I defrosted my feathers.

The train arrived on schedule and I was fortunate to find a spot next to an elderly gentleman in a tuxedo who, as it turned out, would also be attending the ball. We struck up an easy conversation: I told him about my quest to find Nancy and my flock, and he showed me pictures of his wife Marge and their brood, a homely lot I must admit, but decorum prevented me from saying anything other than, "How proud you must be." Louis (for that was his name) beamed accordingly, and invited me to share his transportation to the ballroom.

We arrived at the ball shortly after 7:00 and were ushered in by the hostess. At this point, I became utterly and completely baffled. There was not a penguin to be found, only emaciated women in ball gowns and portly men in tuxedos. What is wrong with this society, I pondered. Do they not feed their females? And where, pray tell, were the penguins? I sought out Louis who kindly explained to me that "penguin" is a euphemism for "tuxedo" because of their similar appearance.


Dear Reader, I have never been more despondant than I was at that moment. Not only was I miles away from the only place I now called home, but I was no further in my quest to find Nancy. To make matters worse, I seemed to resemble the ornate feathered centerpieces on the dining tables, and several times miscellaneous waiters picked me up and placed me among the flowers and candles.

Sad and dejected, I made my way to the drinkery where I met the sole bright spot of the evening. Marcelline the Barkeep poured me a spot of a lovely Cotes du Rhone and listened to my plight. She then most kindly offered to take me home after her shift and allow me to rest on her davenport. She even offered to loan me Binky, her childhood lovey, to keep me company throughout the night.


And so I spent the evening at the home of the kind and generous Marcelline, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Marcelline mentioned something about a super bowl. I can only hope that it will be filled with shrimp.

As always, I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo

Day 8

Day 7

Oh dear reader, I do not think it possible for me to be any more humiliated than I am at this moment. Tethered to a post like an animal! Horrors! To make matters worse, Bathos has endeavored to provide me with nourishment, but where, I ask, is the china service? The Wedgwood plate? The linen serviette? I frequently serve my guests shrimp on ice, but never on the ground. This woman is a barbarian. And to add insult to injury, there is not a drop of cocktail sauce to be found.

Thankfully I have a plan to extricate myself from this embarrassing predicament. Evidently Bathos is unaware that the Greater Caribbean Flamingo, of which species I am a member, possesses nineteen elongated cervical vertebrae. This particular trait accounts not only for my delicate long and sinuous neck, but will allow for my twisting out of this binding shackle. By tomorrow, I will be gone once again. I trust you will keep my secret.

And so, I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo

Day 6

I'm afraid that I must admit to a minor indiscretion. Yesterday before leaving the diner, I accidentally overheard a conversation being held by three ladies of, shall we say, a certain age. (Alright, alright...I may have actually eavesdropped upon them.) These ladies were lamenting the illness of their friend Beatrice. Evidently Bea would be unable to be their fourth in their upcoming Mah Jongg game.

Mah Jongg! What incredible good luck! Several years ago, while visiting my dear Uncle Frederich in Hong Kong, I learned the rules and nuances of this ancient game. In fact, I became quite the expert in bams and cracks, if I may say so myself. Hoping that a good game might relieve my mind of my present predicament, and boldly ignoring the rules of propriety, I approached the trio and offered my services as their fourth player. They were overjoyed to accept my gracious offer and gave me directions to the home at which we would play the following day.

At noon today I arrived at Beverly's lovely and quaint home. She ushered me into the parlor where I met Vivian and Roz, and we sat down together at the Mah Jongg table. At first I was mildly taken aback by the local table rules. These ladies played the American version of Mah Jongg, an admittedly bastardized version of the lovely Chinese game I remembered. The rules were simple, though, and soon I was lulled into a state of calm by the gentle clacking of the tiles.

And then, the unthinkable happened: I had just exposed a brilliant kong of six cracks when I heard the doorbell ring. Beverly excused herself to answer the call, and before I realized who was there I saw the evil Bathos sweep into the room. More exasperated than furious, she rolled her eyes like a teenager, scooped me up into her arms and whisked me out the front door. I tried to explain that at two o'clock we would be having tea and cake, perhaps even a shrimp toast, but she was not swayed from her mission.

And so, I sit once again in the freezing cold, flakes of snow dropping on my feathered head, wondering once again how I will extricate myself from this unbearable situation.

And as always, I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 5

For the past several hours, I have been riding a virtual roller coaster of emotions. Cruising in the automobile immediately sent me into a state of euphoria. I had long forgotten the bliss that accompanies unadulterated freedom. If only it were warm enough to open the roof and let the wind ruffle my feathers.

But then, quite unexpectedly, panic gripped my chest like a boa constrictor preparing to devour me: I had no idea where to look for Nancy. I started driving helter skelter through the streets of this dismal town, looking for the shock of pink that would be my flock. After passing several constables who eyed me warily, I realized that driving aimlessly in a borrowed vehicle might be calling dangerous attention upon myself. I decided that, if I am to find my flock and my beloved, I must hatch a plan.

So with a calm resolve, I asked myself: Who would best know the quiet comings and goings in a small town? Whose omnipresent ears heard the townfolks' whispered secrets? Why of course! Who but the proprietor of the local eating establishment! Immediately I knew I had to make his acquaintance. And so, with new determination, I sought out the town diner.

Tucked into a storefront on a busy thoroughfare, the delicious aromas wafting from the door beckoned me in to Kevin's Place. Kevin, the proprietor, kindly listened to my dilemma as I perched upon his counter stool. Alas, he knew of no forthcoming town celebrations that might have need for my flock. He did, however, offer me kind words of encouragement and a plate of delectable Mexican eggs.

And so, my friends, I am continuing my quest.

Until tomorrow, I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 4

At last I've had a spot of good luck. The icy temperature has actually worked to my benefit. Here is what happened:

I finally spotted the lady who resides in the home in front of which I stand. (She sports a disgusting green jumper, so henceforth she shall be referred to as BATHOS: BAbe, That's a Horrible Olive-green Sweater.)

At any rate, it appears that BATHOS is in the habit of allowing her frigid vehicle to warm in the drive while she waits inside the home. Eureka! As she turned her back to enter her garage, I managed to extricate myself from the snow heap and hobble into her auto. Imagine my pleasant surprise when I discovered that the chaise could warm my tail feathers! And now, this is the moment for which I have been waiting: I can leave this God forsaken land. At best, I will reunite with my flock and my beloved Nancy. At worst, I will find limitless opportunity for adventure.

And so, it's metal to the pedal as I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo

Day 3

Another frigid day in this arctic savanna. I still have yet to see another live being, and yet I now have concrete evidence that at least one other exists. Earlier today I heard a crunching sound behind me, and suddenly a piece of fur was flung around my neck. What is the purpose of this ornament? Am I disguised as a bear to camouflage me from predators? Is it meant to shield me from the freezing wind? Or is it merely a cruel prank: let's cover Ramon with another animal because we know he can't fly away...

Well, I'll show whomever is toying with me that I will not take such ridicule in stride. Tomorrow I will attempt to flee this icy prison. I will need all of my mental acumen to forge this escape plan, and so I must leave you now. A warmer world is beckoning, and I will heed its call.

Until tomorrow, I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo

Day 2

Day Two finds me in a state of near hypothermia. I am not glued to this spot; I am frozen to it. My legs feel like metal spikes, to the extent I bear any feeling at all. This foresaken tundra, this wasteland, is fighting to harden my resolve, but I am determined not to give in to its icy grip on my soul. My spirit shall prevail.

Thus far on my journey I have yet to see another living creature. Am I alone in this frigid world? And yet ... I have the strangest feeling that I am being observed. It is as if pairs of eyes are gazing at me from behind, and if I only I could spin around fast enough I would meet these treasured companions. Sadly, I am a but a forward looking bird, and so I will have to wait until these shy beings are ready to brave the cold and meet me face to face. Pray that they be not carnivorous.

Until tomorrow, I remain,

Ramon The Flamingo

Day 1

Something strange has happened to me. I remember sitting in front of a house with my flock of 49 brethren, celebrating the annual marking of its resident's birth. I remember the skies opening, sending forth a spate of white sleet and snow. I remember a gargantuan behemoth roaring by, burying me in a mound of snow. Hours later, I remember hearing the distant cheers of my flock as they were plucked from the icy depths by our protector, leaving me behind.

"Wait," I screamed, "I'm here. Take me with you." Alas, my cackling was to no avail. Our protector, deaf to my muffled cries, muttered something to himself about freezing his butt off, and sped away without counting the flock members.

And now, somehow, I stand alone in front of this house. Where am I? I do not know. What lies ahead for me? I know not that either. But of this I am sure: my forthcoming days will require keen intellect, shrewd intuition and an iron constitution. Most importantly, I will not shrink from adventure, whatever comes my way.

Until tomorrow, I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo