A Chicken Story

My dear friends,

Please accept my deepest apologies for disappearing from view. The weather has been terrible and Bathos hid the car keys. I am determined to continue my quest this weekend, but in the meantime, please enjoy this other avian adventure. Bathos takes great comfort in knowing that she is not the only bird brained woman on this planet.


http://stampeaz.blogspot.com/2009/02/overdue-chicken-update.html

Day 23

President Obama and I parted ways this morning after a very fruitful conference. I'm thrilled to report that after careful consideration of my opinion, President Obama reversed the United States' policy on limiting mercury pollution worldwide. As the Environment News Service reported (http://www.ens-newswire.com/), "Before astonished environment ministers attending the United Nations Environment Programme Governing Council opening session in Nairobi today, the U.S. delegation endorsed negotiations for a new global treaty to control mercury pollution, to begin this year." I am honored to have played such a key role as the lead presidential advisor on this issue.




I had the President's limousine take me to a location where I believed I had seen a flock of flamingos. Alas, they were merely Canadian geese, but as they are known for their lovely cocktail parties, I decided to follow a few to attempt to procure an invitation.


Incredibly, the geese rejected my attempts to join them. Each time I took a step closer, they retreated twice as fast. As I am a gentle and graceful stroller, I was never able to reach them, as seemed to be their intent. My what a snooty lot! And although I am not one to gossip, these were certainly the messiest birds I have ever encountered. Their trail of fecal matter gave new meaning to the phrase "loosey goosey."

I am starting to despair of ever finding my flock! Moreover, as spring is nearly upon us, I feel my need to breed growing stronger each day. Where, oh where is my beloved Nancy? Perhaps the fates will smile kindly upon me tomorrow.

Until then, I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo

Day 22

My quest has been briefly put on hold. I met up with President Obama as he was in Chicago for a brief respite from politics. Upon seeing me, he requested my assistance with developing his avian relations. He was concerned that his focus has been too much on green policy, and not enough on pink. I will be in private meetings with him today, and so,

Until tomorrow,
I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo

Day 21

I hope you can forgive me for not writing sooner. My adventure was so utterly exhausting that I required time to refortify. Fear not, I am back, ready to share my tale.

Befriending the Dog was one of my more brilliant strategic moves, if I don't say so myself. I pray that by impersonating me she did nothing to besmirch my good name but that was a risk I was ready to take in order to make my escape. So great was my desire to find my flock that I was even willing to risk humiliation. And so I departed for the highest location I could fathom: the Sears Tower. At one time this monolith was the tallest building in the world, so I was sure that I would be able to spot my flock from its majestic height.

Perhaps the best way to relate this adventure is pictorially. I will try not to be too verbose (although I do not believe verbosity is a negative trait; words are, after all, the bedrock of true expression), and let the pictures tell the story.





And so here I am on the train heading into the city. I was fortunate to procure a window seat.










I used my superior navigational skills to find the Tower and followed the signs to the observatory.








Although impressed by the security required to enter the building, I became distraught once I learned that I would not be allowed to hop through the metal detector like other monopeds. Instead, I was forced to lie on the conveyor belt to be x-rayed.

You can be certain that my solicitor will be informed of this disgraceful treatment, and legal action will surely ensue.





The observation deck afforded me an excellent view of the city from all directions. However, even though I can proclaim my eyesight to be perfect (this be not a rotomontade; it's a fact), I was unable to spot individuals from such a great distance.




Fortunately, I could avail myself of the telescope.









Eureka! I believe I have found them! Now if I can only figure out exactly where they are!






But first things first. I took advantage of my proximity to the Four Seasons to procure a civilized meal. On the menu today: east Indian shrimp curry with peas, accompanied by a lovely Montrachet.





I do hope to report on my adventures anon. However, as Bathos' step-daughter is currently in labor, my access to the computer might be limited temporarily. Do not fear as I will definitely return just as soon as flamingoly possible.

Until then, I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo

Day 20

Um... Hi. I'm Ramon the Flamingo. Pip pip cheerio and all that. Umm... I like to each shrimp. Where's my tea? Don't I have nice pink feathers....

Okay, okay, I'm not really Ramon, and I can't believe I let him talk me into this. What a stupid idea. Anyways, Ramon is gone. I don't know where he went. I think he said something about getting high, but I'm not sure. He hardly ever uses words I understand. So, I'm going now. I have to sit. Or lie down. Maybe shake. Who's got a cookie?

Day 19

Sometimes in these uncertain times, flexibility and adaptability are necessary to cope with unexpected occurrences. Fortunately, I am both flexible and adaptable (not to mention attractive), so I was able to amend my plans without difficulty. Here is what happened:

I woke up this morning to an extraordinary change: warm weather. The sun sparkled in the deep blue sky and the air was a balmy forty five degrees. Dare I say it felt nearly tropical? To celebrate the lovely weather, and to adorn her otherwise drab residence, Bathos moved me back to the front. (I assume she knew that my presence would help abate the recent drop in neighborhood property values.) But precisely because I was back in the front (so to speak), and because the weather was so crisply clear, I would not have been able to make my escape unnoticed. Thus I decided to remain at my post for one more day and hope that an opportunity for my liberation would present itself anon.



As it were, the day turned out to be rather enjoyable. Rosie the Dog (she despises the moniker "Cujo") and I had a rather pleasant conversation, although she did employ an overabundance of monosyllabic words when speaking. Bobo stopped by briefly and chattered on about some nonsense or other. The content of his speech was irrelevant; I was happy just for the companionship.

I did, however, have several disconcerting moments throughout the day when I was sure I was being spied upon. Neither the dog nor the tree rat admitted to seeing anyone, and so I must believe that the tribulations of recent days contributed to my sense of discomfort.

Tomorrow, if the weather should take a turn for the worse, I will once again attempt to find a place of great height from which I might discover my flock. Wishing you all a pleasant evening,

I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 18

My dear Readers, your friend Ramon has made it through the night. I dared not move a feather for fear that Cujo Rose would pounce, and so I slept motionlessly on one leg, waiting for the break of day.

However, with the light of day came an entirely new challenge. When Bathos called the dog in for her breakfast, she spun around with such force that her tail knocked me over. I fell into the cold mud, mired and unable to right myself.

"Help," I croaked, "I've fallen and I can't get up."

As usual, my cries were empty. Nobody came. At four o'clock, which is usually my tea time, I had one more go at a plea for help. This time, I heard some frenzied chattering in response. I tried to look around to see from whence it came, but my poor sinuous neck was unable to move. With my one good eye, I stared up into my neighboring tree, and there I saw him: a tree rat.

"What are you yellin' about?" it called down to me. "You've been whinin' all day."

"You've been watching me?" I asked incredulously.

"Sure," he replied, "you can see everything from up here. Why don't you c'mon up. My name's Bobo, by the way."

Bobo? What an incredibly unfortunate name he had. However, since he was attempting to be friendly and I did not want to appear rude, I decided to make his acquaintance.

"I am Ramon the Flamingo. I dare not move for fear that the beast will eat me."

"Suit yourself," said Bobo, and scampered up the tree, leaving me alone once again. But a solitary mind is far from idle, and I found myself reflecting upon his words. If he could see everything from up high, why couldn't I? Perhaps if I could view the world from the highest available location, I would be able to spot my flock! I do miss my Nancy so much! But how could I escape? Think, Ramon, think! And then, it came to me, a plan so brilliant, it almost took me by surprise.

Tomorrow I will certainly begin my quest anew, provided I can get up from this prone position. And so, adieu my good friends.

Until tomorrow, I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 17

On the last stretch of road to our home, Bathos inserted a compact disc into her dashboard. She queued it to a particular track, clearly selected in advance. Instead of music, I heard the words of the author Stephen King being read aloud:

"Low to the ground it was, with huge shoulders bulking above its cocked head, its eyes amber-glowing pits -- a thing that might have been half man, half wolf. And its eyes rolled to follow him as he sat up, his scrotum crawling, his hair standing on end, his breath a thin winter-whistle in his throat: mad eyes that laughed, eyes that promised horrible death and the music of screams that went unheard...."

Bathos silenced the CD and turned to me. "Did you hear that description of Cujo?" she asked. "Well, Cujo will seem like a stuffed animal compared to your new sentry. Meet Rose."

Bathos then shoved this photograph in front of my beak, pointing directly at the dog's enormous canine teeth.

"If you make even the tiniest attempt to move, Ramon, she will not hesitate to use them. Chicken is her favorite meal. Flamingo can't be that far off."

I had thought that Bathos was merely joking, albeit poorly, but now I was not so sure. The dog appeared to be fierce, and canines are nearly as ferocious as cats when hunting avian species.

Once we arrived home, I realized that I was due for some significant lifestyle changes. For one, I was not placed in the welcoming position of honor near the front door. Instead, I was relegated to the back of the house near a bird feeder. (Really, if Bathos expects me to forage for bird seed, she had better reconsider. The only seed I will consume is the sesame seed adorning a delicate water cracker atop of which sits a delectable morsel of smoked salmon.)

For two, Bathos was not joking when she threatened to post Cujo as my guard. The hairy beast has not left my side since I was perched here, probably because she is waiting for the perfect moment to devour me.

On the bright side, the yard is beautifully landscaped, and I can only imagine that, should I survive, my feathers will likely complement the floral garden which will emerge in spring.

Until tomorrow, I will hopefully remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 16

Finally! Bathos arrived! Frankly, I did not know that ladies could spew such impressive epithets, but upon seeing my captor, they erupted from Bathos' mouth like ash from Mount Etna. After explaining to Mr. Kenn how she found me (a tale which went on a tad too long, if truth be told), she plucked me from Lawn Ornament Hell, secured me beneath her arm and took me to her automobile which was idling in the driveway. Mr. Kenn followed her, bellowing that he deserved some type of remuneration for the bird (meaning me). As Bathos put the car into reverse, she answered that if she had eleven fingers, she'd gladly give him one, and with that, she drove off. I'm not sure what she meant, but in my mirror I could see Mr. Kenn shaking his fist at our departure.

We sat together in silence for many, many miles. On several occasions I tried to initiate a discussion of recent events, as I thought the journey might pass more quickly with some diversion, but Bathos simply ignored me. I knew that she was angry with me for attempting to flee, and so I stifled my good natured proclivity to prattle on about, well, anything. At one point we passed Michael Phelps' practice facility, but I dared not ask if we could stop for an autograph. Bathos was in too foul of a mood.

We will arrive home tomorrow. In the only instance on this journey that Bathos has deigned to speak to me, she assured me that she had devised a foolproof method to keep me in front of her home. As she was already perturbed, I thought it best not to point out that I am anything but a fool. Instead, I quietly welcomed her challenge, for my quest to find my flock shall never be thwarted.

Until tomorrow, I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 15

Waiting for Bathos to arrive, if indeed she is coming at all, has been near agony. I have not been fed a morsel. I am cold and dejected and alone, but for that poor excuse for a gnome. Although he has yet to speak, I have seen him roll his eyes back to gaze at me. I assume he is admiring the hue of my lovely plumage, but with gnomes one can never be sure.

And so today my mind is racked with unanswered questions:

Has Bathos discovered my location? Will Miss Kitty attempt to attack me again? Will Mr. Kenn remember my tea? Will I ever reunite with my beloved Nancy? And what about Naomi?

I must believe that the answers to these and other questions will emerge in due course.

Loyally yours, I still remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

MEANWHILE, BACK AT BATHOS' HOUSE, THINGS ARE HEATING UP:

Day 14

Oh, the indignity of it all. Never in my worst nightmares did I imagine that my life would end in Lawn Ornament Hell, yet here I stand flanked by a dead rhododendron and a chipped amphibian. A woefully out-of-date Christmas banner slaps me in the face with each howling wind gust accompanied by the nettlesome whine of a chartreuse whirl-a-gig. (Don't these people know that bearing white snowmen after February first constitutes the most heinous of house fashion faux pas?) But perhaps the greatest insult of all is the pathetic excuse for a garden gnome next to which I am forced to perch. Is it the proud gnome of Amelie fame who carries a French cinema pedigree? No. Is it a frightening garden gnome of Harry Potter fame whose utter ugliness evokes admiration and awe from every onlooker? Again, no. Rather, I have been forced to gaze down upon a poor excuse for an ornament that still bears the name "Wal-mart" upon its tag. Fortunately, he has not yet attempted to initiate conversation with me.

And yet, in the heart of my deepest dark despair, a single ray of hope has managed to shine through. Late last night, I was awakened by a telephone ring. I accidentally heard Mr. Kenn yell, "Don't bother to come here, lady. It's mine now." Could he have been speaking with Bathos? Did she miraculously seek me out? Is she coming to save me so that once again I will be able to continue my quest?

I know not the answers to those questions, but instead will have to wait patiently for events to unfold. In the meantime, I find comfort in the sage and uplifting words of Chumbawamba:

"I get knocked down. But I get up again. You're never going to keep me down."

As always, I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 13

Human Beings are one of the most self-absorbed species on this planet, and I state this with all due respect. They are ignorant of the natural hierarchy of living beings unless, of course, said living being directly affects the human. The explanation for this fact is simple and direct: humans have no predators, and thus are completely oblivious to the dangers that lurk about other living species every single day.

Why am I waxing on about predation? Because in order to understand the utter depth of my worst fears over the past twelve hours, you need to know and accept this one fact: the Felus catus is the mortal enemy of the Phoenicopterus ruber. This relationship has been true since the beginning of time. Ancient ancestors of the Felus were known to hunt my species as evidenced by cave drawings discovered recently in the cave of Lascaux, which drawings are reproduced below:

I tell you this so you can begin to understand the abject fear that gripped my chest when I heard Mr. Kenn utter these words upon entering his home:

"Miss Kitty! Where are you? Come and meet your new friend!"

Slinking out from behind a hideous harvest gold and avocado green plaid chaise that could only have been an Ethan Allen reject from the mid 1970's, Miss Kitty took one look at me and, I swear, she smiled. She licked her lips slowly and languorously, as if mind-torturing her intended prey was part of the fun of the hunt.

Miss Kitty, being a crafty and sly beast, pretended to welcome me to her home. She approached me on little cat paws, gently rubbing my feathers with her fur. She made small growling noises which Mr. Kenn called purring but I knew to be hunger growls.

You may be asking, rightly so, how is it that Ramon is such an expert on the relationship between cats and birds? I'll tell you. When I was researching my post doctoral thesis at the University of Chicago, I was asked by the American Bird Conservancy to consult on the writing of "Domestic Cat Predation On Birds and Other Wildlife," an important, if not earth shattering, oeuvre. Although I reproduce the citation here ( http://www.abcbirds.org/abcprograms/policy/cats/materials/predation.pdf), you need only to understand this immutable fact: Cats Kill Birds.

In the instant that Mr. Kenn turned his back, Miss Kitty took the opportunity to attack. Fortunately, her first strike only grazed my beak, which thankfully is as hard as granite due to my fastidious grooming habits. However, before she could complete her second strike, Mr. Kenn turned back around and said to me, "Well, Mr. Flamingo, would ya like to see your new home?"

(I assumed he was talking to me even though he addressed me improperly.) Without waiting for my response, he picked me up and escorted me out the front door.

My friends, you will have to wait until tomorrow to read the rest of this saga, for after today's travails, I am physically and emotionally spent. I will tell you this, though: Miss Kitty, evidently, is an indoor cat, and so, at least for tonight, I will remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 12

I have never enjoyed a vehicle excursion less than the one that began yesterday. Mr. Kenn took me from the antique store and put me into his automobile. The hideous bus-like vehicle (I believe Americans would call it a "mini-van") was filthy and reeked of wet animals and Canoe aftershave. To add insult to injury, he placed me on the rear seat when I much prefer the front.

We drove for what seemed like hours. When at last we stopped for a respite, Mr. Kenn amused himself by posing me like a mannequin in front of a billboard declaring our location. Reading the signage left me horrified. We had left my flock's home and entered the State of Wisconsin! The State of Disaster would be more accurate. How will anyone find me now?

Rather than return to the vehicle, Mr. Kenn took me inside the visitor center. As we approached the information desk, I realized that this was my opportunity for salvation. Certainly the information officer would see that I was being taken across state lines against my will once he heard me scream out. Unfortunately, I was dumbfounded, indeed rendered completely mute, when I heard the exchange of words between the two men.

"Where," Mr. Kenn asked the officer, "is Mars?" I expected the officer to burst into laughter at the lunacy of the question, but instead, to my utter disbelief, he offered directions. Cretins! I was surrounded by cretins! To his credit, Mr. Kenn politely thanked the officer before taking us back to the vehicle and setting out on the highway.

Fifteen minutes later, we exited the highway again, this time stopping in front of a giant medieval fortress. The enormous sign before it proclaimed we had arrived at "Mars Cheese Castle," and at once I understood my mistake. We were pausing for some nourishment! While cheese is not my first choice of degustation, I have been known on occasion to enjoy a firm slice of Cotswald or a creamy frommage Francaise. As it was nearly time for tea, I found myself actually looking forward to entering the castle.

To my massive disappointment, this establishment resembled no frommagerie I had ever visited before. To begin, this shoppe had only cheeses produced in Wisconsin: Wisconsin cheddar, Wisconsin beer cheese, Wisconsin string cheese... For variety, it offered Wisconsin summer sausages. Perhaps, though, the most disturbing items I discovered were bags of unidentifiable bits called "Cheese Curds." Believe me when I tell you that , although I usually maintain the intellectual inquisitiveness of an Eton scholar, I hope never to discover what actually is a Cheese Curd. In fact I can think of several rude remarks about the similarity between the Cheese Curd and a certain bodily function, but propriety prevents me from doing so. I am fairly certain, though, that a lovely brie will not be in my future.

And so I remain, a very hungry

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 11

Last night, exhausted from the Super Bowl festivities (and, perhaps, from just a small overabundance of a robust local ale), I fell into a deep and peaceful sleep on Marcelline's davenport. I was in the midst of a lovely dream about Nancy and a romantic dinner we shared at The Four Seasons when Marcelline roused me to start the day. She wanted to get an early start searching for my flock.

Marcelline recalled seeing a large flock of flamingos along the shores of Lake Michigan about fifteen kilometers north of the City. Although the day was frigid, I was warmed by the notion of reuniting with my dear friends. As we approached the village along the lake where Marcelline had seen the flock, I spotted a storefront that made my heart flutter! An antique store!

My friends, meandering aimlessly through a fine antique store is one of life's simple pleasures. One never knows what bauble or small treasure one might find. I asked Marcelline if she would mind making a small detour so we could visit the shop, and she kindly acquiesced. In fact, because the air was so terribly chilly, she allowed me to exit her vehicle at the shop entrance while she sought out a suitable parking space.

Marcelline must have had a difficult time finding a parking space because she was gone for a terribly long time. As my leg was weary, I found a cushy chaise upon which to rest close to a charming selection of antique lawn ornaments. Just then, a customer arrived (I'll call him "Mr. Kenn") who was seeking the perfect accoutrement for his summer lake home. Miss Fern, the shop proprietress, directed him toward the section of the shop in which I was resting. Mr. Kenn exclaimed, "A pink flamingo! How perfect!" I looked around hoping to spot another of my species when I realized that he was referring to me. Mr. Kenn then did the unthinkable: he picked me up, took me to the counter, and purchased me! As if I were a common chattel or decoration! And not only did I suffer the humiliation of being bought, but he actually bargained for me. Am I not worth the three dollars that Miss Fern the proprietress requested? Evidently not, for Mr. Kenn paid her two dollars and fifty cents, unceremoniously plopped me into a satchel, and took me away.

My friends, I have no idea to what miserable location I am being taken. I can only be thankful that the salmon colored satchel complements my winter plumage. And if you should see Bathos, please tell her that at this juncture I reluctantly require her assistance. Her haste would be greatly appreciated.

Until tomorrow, I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo

Day 10

My goodness, I am having a lovely day. Marcelline surprised me with a delicious breakfast of tea and scones, followed by Scottish smoked salmon and creme fraiche. Needless to say, I began the day in culinary heaven.

I have spent the past few hours lounging on the davenport, perusing the New York Times and waiting for Marcelline's guests to arrive. Evidently the "Super Bowl" is an American football game, not a meal, and quite the cause for celebration. Marcelline has invited me to stay with her for one more night and to join in the festivities. I happily accepted her kind invitation, as I have never been one to forgo a party.

Tomorrow Marcelline has offered to take me to several locations where I might find my flock. I do look forward to seeing my compadres, and of course, my beloved Nancy, but presently I will attempt to enjoy the moment. After all, I have never been one to wallow in my shrimp dip.

Until tomorrow, I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo