I Have The Head Of Jerry Garcia.

Thursday night, our Good Neighbor Bobby came over to exchange pleasantries and, as an afterthought, to partake of the bottle of Canadian Mist we keep just for him. While he and Mr. Hawthorne were ajawin' and I was not paying attention and was otherwise pre-occupied, I picked up something on my peripheral radar. My ears perked up and pointed forward, my tail curled up, my pupils dilated, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled, I got chill bumps, and I may have hyperventilated. Somewhere back in my RAM, whilst not listening to and at the same time kinda hearing the two of them, I'd pulled out random words from their conversation. And those words started circling around my brain. Hovering. Circling. Aiming. Did I hear what I thought I heard? The silence of those random empty words became deafening, stabbing at my brain, until becoming a coherent whole. Frank. (Not F-t-F, but Frank-the-Good) Labor Day Pig Pickin' (annual neighborhood party hosted by F-t-G) Whole pig. (For the pig pickin'.) Gotta CUT OFF THE HEAD since it won't fit in the smoker. (I just foodgasmed.) Wha???? Did I hear correctly? Yes! Then Rosie pee'd her pants. I blurted out to Bob, "Bring me the head of Alfredo Garcia!!!!! I must have it." I demanded he call Frank-the-Good immediately and tell him I wanted the head. And he did. Fast forward to the next day. Friday morning, about 10 AM, I called Bobby to have him call Frank again and remind him about the head. Could it have been a dream???? Bob called me back and said the pig was at their "club," and Frank would bring it back later tonight. "What time," Rosie breathlessly asked. "I'll let you know," a chillin' Bobby replied. At 5 PM, I was getting really antsy. I called Bobby back. "Where's the pig, man?!?" "It's in the back of Frank's truck and he's at the Blue Crab knockin' back a few beers and he'll be home about 7. He said they were gonna wait 'til tomorrow morning to cut off the head, but I told 'em you weren't gettin' up at no stinkin' 6:00 in the morning and they better get their asses home now and cut off the head. I'll call ya." "Bless you, Bobby." I paced the floor. There was much wringing of hands. I wanted a cigarette even though I don't smoke. My tete de porc was a mere 3 miles away. Ahh. It might as well have been in "France, the city of lights." (Sandra Lee reference. And yes. She said that.) At 5:45 I got the phone call. "It's here. Come on down. The owl flies at midnight." Now, here's how excited/stupid I am: Instead of grabbing my car keys and actually driving to Frank's house, about 6 houses down (since I will be hauling back a pig's head for Crikey's Sake), I sprinted out the front door with a large white plastic garbage bag in one hand and my Nikon Cool-Pic 5100 (for its video capabilities) swinging around my neck and my Nikon D80 SLR bouncing against it. And I'm running down the street. To get to Frank's. For my pig head. And there was my pig. In the back of Frank's truck. In all it's glory. I watched as Frank and the boys lovingly lifted the pig onto the driveway, gently propped her head on a 4 x 4, and Frank deftly knifed through her neck, and his son sawed through the bone. The head was mine. MINE ... ALL MINE!!!! Mwahahahahhahah!!! I hefted the pig head and gently dropped le tete de porc into my plastic bag and hauled my treasure/trophy home. "Put it in the bag, man! Quick!" It was like a drug deal going down. Mr. Hawthorne gently placed le tete de porc in the back of his truck. We solemnly drove home and pulled over for Good Neighbor Bobby as he was mowing his lawn. I told Mr. Hawthorne to stop, as I lowered my window, to inform Bobby, atop his riding lawn mower, "I have the head of Alfredo Garcia," as he simultaneously asked me, "Where is the head of Alfredo Garcia?" Brilliant minds and all. My tete-de-porc is now in the fridge downstairs in the utility room. I'll start on it tomorrow. I treated le tete with reverence and respect. I will become intimately associated with this porcine specimen. Because of this relationship, I need to name this pig. Her name is Celine.