The Ginger Tail

It's a drizzly day the sun hasn't been able to break it's way out of the gray felted clouds once this morning. The snow from the last few days has melted into a recent memory, mostly by yesterdays rays and finally by today's drizzle. We are all having an unmotivated day.

Once when asked about her mood, my sister replied, I'm not like this, (she displayed an over smiled smile) and I'm not like this, (furrowing a deep frown) I'm like this.(pulling her mouth into a line showing neither pleasure or displeasure of any remarkable degree) This is my day today drizzly and fairly unremarkable. Since it's that kind of day, I've decided to write about the first thought that turns the edges of my mouth into a smile.

The Ginger tail:

I'm not making this up; I swear an oath, I will eat dead wrapped in rancid drizzled with curd if I'm lying.

Ginger lives in Las Vegas with Gran ma and Gran pa, she's like a showgirl dog; beautiful blond hair that smells like she came straight from a salon where they put bows on her ears and bandannas around her neck. She smells of fancy perfumed soaps and her hair is clipped to give curve to all of her curvy parts.

Ginger was walking with Grandma at the park one sunny Vegas day; the children's joy hung round the air as they swept by on their swings, sneakers plowing rows in the sand, the sun's rays warmed the walk and sucked the moisture from the grass one blade at a time and unsuspicious birds that aught to be suspicious, pecked about looking for grubs, berries and seed; every sight teasing Ginger's eye and every smell tempting her nose. All was mostly right and mostly orderly with Ginger, Gran ma and the pecking bird, when suddenly Ginger sprung herself to just about the end of her slackly leash; like she was partial to and pleased to do, she out stretched her maw and wrapped it's whole tongue filled self around a fairly sizable and unsuspicious bird just as it was given to flight. The bird was pecking grubs, berries and seeds within Ginger's reach and quite simply failed to be given to flight in a timely and orderly fashion thus finding itself looked at, sprung to, and pecked by Ginger before it could know it should be doing something about the looking, the springing and the pecking.

Ginger opened wide her mouth; in such way as to suggest she had the dislocating jaw of a python snake and folded that whole of the bird; beak, feet and asshole included, right in. Gran ma was in a fairly alarmed and agitated state, as one might suspect one to be while watching her pretty little dog with a dislocating jaw eat down an unsuspicious bird not quite given to flight; trying to simultaneously reel Ginger in and search her mind for any and all bird extraction techniques gran ma might have hidden amongst all that alarm and agitation.

Gran ma grabbed and gripped on to the wings, which were trying in earnest to continue the exercise of being given to flight, grabbed and gripped the bird the best she could which was difficult what with all the flapping and grabbing and gripping by both her hands and the unsuspicious bird. Gran ma tried to prise the bird from the confines of Ginger's over filled dislocating jaw; which was all frothy by now with bird stuff and Ginger stuff, trying hard in a throaty gulping kind of way to shove the recently ate bird down to the catcher's mitt that is her belly. The bird, rightly unsuspicious and rightly unexpecting, was in mid grab by gran ma when it's wings popped off and remained popped in gran ma's rightly unsuspicious and unexpecting hands.

Gran ma stood for a moment, looking at the wings disembodied and plucked resting in her hands all popped off, tossed them to the ground and searched deeper among all the mental alarm and all the mental agitation for other and possibly better extraction methods than the grabbing and the plucking and the tossing of the wings which left the whole of the bird fairly well resuspicious and fairly well lodged in ginger's dislocating jaw. I'd think an unsuspicous bird that's being looked at, sprung at and pecked at might want wings not so easily plucked from the sides of it's body so that if by good fortune it found it's self on the outside of Ginger's mouth it could still be given to flight.

There stood Gran ma, plucked wings, loosed feathers all over the ground and her salon dog with it's fancy smells and fancy bows consuming a bird somewhat larger than even her dislocating jaw can comfortably masticate. Ginger gulped the bird with her own brand of alarm and agitation needing to eat it fully before Gran ma could find a way to grab and grip it again and extract the disappearing mass of feathers. The last thing the suspicious bird saw on it's way down her slick and gulping throat was it's own wiggling feet and possibly its given to flight but flightless wings laying on the ground. The bird was gulped, gulped gulped down into the acidic swill of Gingers blond neatly clipped and neatly styled showgirl mitt of a belly.

I've tried to imagine the look of alarm, the look of agitation mixed with shock and maybe some bit of awe as the scene played out on Gran ma's changing features and the look of a satisfied gastric glow playing out on Gingers, the dull realization that there would be no more gulping and there would be no more viewing on either part of Ginger or Grandma and certainly not on the part of the bird which was neither suspicious or unsuspicious by now. Finally the wonder of how exactly what went in would be coming back out; that final thought being of Grandma's alone.

How did it all come out? From what I've been told the ate bird churned around in Ginger's belly for a couple of suspicious hours and rightly found it's way out the proper hole with exception of the beak, feet and asshole which were uncerimoniously regurgitated on the back lawn. The wings? They were found the next day right where they were grabbed, gripped and tossed, then Ginger...
ate those too.