Hear ye, hear ye, Invisible Friends!

I, Queen Bitty, ruler of the Pond, proclaim and proudly announce

The Blond Duck is having a book signing this morning from 10:30 to noon

At the Twig Book Shop in San Antonio

at it’s new location at the Full Goods Building, 200 E. Grayson St., Ste. 124.

If you’re in the area, she’d love to meet you!

In addition, the lovely Madison from Making My Mark has graciously featured the Blond Duck at her blog.

Please check it out here!

And now, for our regularly scheduled critter confession…

Hello, Invisible Friends.  I’m Norman the Flying Pig.

And I have a confession.

A awful admission.

A tumultuous, torrid tale.

A scandalous secret.

A mysterious past, shrouded in the shadows of my own mind.

But I’m willing to share my sordid past with you.

If you’re ready to hear it.

You are?  Well, then, I’ll begin…

It all started on my search for tasty grass.

You see, as a Flying Pig, I spend my days flying about the Pond, munching on tasty grass.  Before I came to the Pond, I traveled around the world looking for the best grass.  I had swamp grass in Louisiana, In-N-Out grass in California, moose grass in Alaska, cacti grass in New Mexico, thick mid-west hearty grass, and clam chowder grass in Maryland.  In England, I dined on Queen’s grass, tasted the Serengeti strand of South Africa and flew down the Nile, munching on the finest Egyptian grass known to Flying Pigs anywhere.

As these things go, I got a big head.  I started to think I was a tasty grass connoisseur among my fellow Flying Pigs.  I bragged about my tastings in China, Russia, Peru and Brazil.  My friends began to snort when I came over, ignoring my tales and rolling their eyes.

So I decided to prove it to them.  I decided to fly to Antarctica in search of the legendary frozen grass.

You see, ever since a Flying Pig is small, they are told of the wonders of mysterious grasses all over the world–the tiny grass of Siberia, the thick rolling grass of Ireland, the fields of Iceland.  And the most popular tale is the frozen grass of Antarctica.  According to legend, a flying pig once got carried away on a current that flung him into Antarctica.  Once there, he saved a penguin baby or something, I’m never sure.  Well, the penguins were so grateful they wanted to hold a feast for him.  But as a Flying Pig, he only ate grass.  Starving, he could not stomach the fish the kind penguins offered him.  Once of the penguins kissed the ground, his tears falling on the ice, and a few tufts of grass popped up.  It was the only grass on the entire continent, and guarded by the penguins for their flying friend if he ever came back.  Those who eat the grass are rumored to be given eternal life, a gift from the penguins’ in return from that pig saving their young.

Many had searched, but no one had ever found the tasty grass.  And I was determined to be the first to find it.

And this is my terrible secret.

You see, everyone thinks I went to Antartica, but I didn’t.

I got lost and wound up in Bermuda with the pink penguins, who offered me beach grass with pina colada seaweed cocktails.

And I meant to go to Antartica, but the beach was so warm…

And the grass was so tasty….

And the frozen grass ice cream was so delightful…

And I never realized how much fun swimming was…

I never made it to Antarctica, as you’ve guessed.

But until now, I never told anyone that.  I let everyone think I had traveled to the land of the mysterious frozen grass, never answering whether or not I had found it.  I played coy, just smiled.

And now my secret is out.  I feel so much better.

And I did see penguins.  And eat frozen grass.

Just not Antarctica frozen grass.   And these penguins were pink.

In fact, I owe my penguin friends a visit.  I’m thinking a Thanksgiving on the beach with tasty island grass sounds wonderful…

Excuse me.  I have another adventure to go on.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Next week, we’ve got all sorts of Thanksgiving fun!  New stories, a Thanksgiving feast and tasty recipes!!!!  Stay tuned!