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