Lupo the Butcherby ZobeidChaptersSummer JobPlucking TurkeyBite My ButtSummer JobGilda glided down to the street and landed easily, yet slightly unevenly, favoring her right arm. The toes and blunt talons of her right forefoot (or hand, as it were) curled into a fist, clutching a scrap of paper, which prevented her from putting much weight on the limb. She sat back on her haunches and unconsciously swished her leonine tail as she looked around. Denizens of all species moved about the streets of Manehattan: ponies (of course!), donkeys, zebras, deer and antelope, griffins, and even some of the smaller and more civilized breeds of dragons. Here, though, on this particular street, the great majority were griffins and ponies — and many of those ponies were toting cameras, looking at pamphlets, or otherwise revealing themselves as tourists. They rubbernecked, gawking at the catnip parlors, the Fire Wings Temple, the theater, and the many shops with facades of exaggerated old griffin-ish architecture. Awkwardly tourists dodged the native griffins, who moved with speed and certainty, pushing carts or balancing bundles on their backs as they hurried about their business. Gilda nodded. Griffintown, check! Where to now? She uncurled her talons and looked at the scrap of paper she’d been given. Then, getting her bearings, she sauntered down the street, still treading lightly upon her closed fist. Aromas of wood smoke and cooking food — including meat — wafted through the street, romancing her nares. The instructions led her down a side street with less ostentatious buildings. After a short while she stopped, took one more look at the instructions she’d been given, then to the very plain white structure in front of her with a sign that read: LUPO’S MEATS. A few pieces of paper taped up in the window advertised prices of different cuts. She pushed her way in through the door; a cowbell clanked overhead. The inside of the shop was no more fancy than the outside: a counter, a scale and cash register, a display case, and a sign written in large block letters: THIS NO LIBARY BUY OR GET OUT “Friendly place…” Gilda muttered to herself. There was nobody at the counter, though. A noise from the back of the building sounded like a door slamming. She moved closer to the open doorway marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and listened. A strained grunt prompted her to peek, carefully, around the corner. There she saw a stocky male griffin, with predominantly gray coloration, standing upright on his leonine hind legs and staggering while he lifted a large rack of ribs that completely obscured his face. He groaned as he staggered, wobbling to one side and then the other. Then he lurched forward and slammed the ribs down onto a butcher block, and Gilda got her first glimpse of his face: a chunky black beak and beady black eyes framed with salt-and-pepper patterned feathers. Before she could say anything, he shook his head, fluffing out his feathers, and exclaimed loudly, “Sunnama-BEECH! Piece of scat job. I QUIT!” He belched, then grabbed a meat cleaver and waved it menacingly at the ribs. “Pluckin’ I dunno…” he muttered. Then Lupo (or so Gilda assumed) placed his scaly hand on the meat to steady it, raised his cleaver, and chopped free a rib — which then bounced off the top of the butcher block and tumbled to the floor. He stared for a moment, beak hanging open, then leaned over and shouted at the rib that had dared defy his will: “PLUCK OFF YOU BUM I KILL YOU!” Gilda sniggered, but she stayed back and watched while Lupo, still grumbling incoherently, picked up the rib and put it aside, then lifted his cleaver to cut again. Chop! Lupo’s eyes followed as the rib bounced off the block and onto the floor. “I don’t belieeeve…” Dropping the cleaver, he jumped back and jabbered at the rib, “Buncha the nerve… the caca…” He clutched at his apron with his talons and ripped it. He then made a rude gesture at the rib with a talon and tried to kick it with a hind foot. “Get outta… WAAAH!” His feline paw slipped and he tumbled backward onto the floor and landed with a whomp. Gilda finally cracked up, laughing out loud. Lupo bounced back to his feet and his rage-filled eyes locked onto Gilda. “Hey! Watsa matta you? What you laughin’ at, chick?” “Mmmmmph… Nothing!” She struggled to stifle her mirth, but the flexible corners of her beak remained locked into a grin. Scowling, Lupo grabbed a rag and wiped his talons. “So… You wanna buy something or not?” “What? No way, dude! I’m just lookin’ for a job.” Now it was Lupo’s turn to laugh. “Ha! You kidding me? I got no job for you. Get outta here, you bum!” Gilda glared back at him. “Oh yeah? Uncle Guido said you need an assistant. He said you’d hire me.” “Guido’s your uncle? So, scat-for-brain thinks I can pay some chick to sit on her tail. Why not just cut open my veins and let the blood flow? Huh? Why didn’t Guido just come here and suck the marrow out of my bones while he’s at it, if that’s what he thinks?” Gilda then opened up the scrap of paper and glanced at it. “He said… That I should remind you of that time in Las Pegasus. He said you’d know what that means.” Lupo ground his beak, then muttered, “I don’t belieeve…” With talons clenched like a fist, he glanced around the room for a moment as if looking for an escape. Then he sighed and said, “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? What’s your name, chick?” “Gilda.” “Okay, okay… Gilda. You can work for me, but you see Guido you tell him we’re even. And if you mess up, you get outta here!” Plucking TurkeyFor the remainder of the day Lupo kept Gilda busy running simple errands while he stayed in the shop. When she actually showed up for work again the next morning — and nearly on time — he decided maybe she was serious about the job, and he started training her to work in front and wait on customers. First he showed Gilda how to weigh and wrap meat, write a sales ticket and count out change. When he thought she was ready, he turned over the front of the store to her and retreated to his office in back. Most of the customers who came in were surprised to see Gilda behind the counter instead of Lupo, but they soon learned she could be just as surly as her boss. As the day wore on, Gilda slumped lower and lower on the stool behind the counter. “So bored…” she moaned to the empty shop. Shortly an older griffiness came into the shop, with a fur wrapped around her shoulders and her beak tilted upward. She glanced about, then approached the counter and began ringing the bell for service — even though Gilda was already Right There. Gilda popped her chewing gum and asked, in zombie-like tones, “Can I help you?” “Young lady! Young lady!” the hen huffed. “I require a large turkey. Fetch one at once!” “I’ll see what we’ve got in back,” Gilda answered in the same bored monotone as before. She shuffled back to the store room and opened the ice box. There was exactly one turkey left. She grabbed it and brought it up front to weigh. “Eight and a quarter pounds,” she read from the scale. “Oh no, that won’t do at all! It’s too small. I require a large turkey.” “This is what we got, toots. Do you want it or not?” “Now see here! I am a regular customer, and I always get a bigger turkey than this. I demand that you fetch me a big turkey!” Gilda narrowed her eyes, took a deep breath, and answered, “I’ll go get my boss.” She found him in the office with a newspaper draped across his face while a light sound of snoring emanated. She grabbed his shoulder and dug the blunt tips of her talons into it. “Hey, Lupo!” He snerked awake, flailed for a moment and snatched the newspaper from his face. “Waah! What happen?” She explained, “There’s a prissy old hen up front that wants a bigger turkey, and we ain’t got one.” He grunted, “Huh… That must be Brunonia. Artsy fartsy old harrower! PTAH!” he spat. “You let me deal with this. You watch, maybe you learn something.” Gilda followed him to the front of the store. Lupo forced a smile as he saw the customer. “Brunonia! What can I do for you today?” “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! This new girl just doesn’t know anything. Look at the tiny turkey she brought out to me!” Lupo made a show of examining the turkey, concern written on his face. He tsked and said, “I see, I see what you mean. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this!” He turned to Gilda and scolded her, “Don’t you know this is my most important customer? You only bring out the best for her from now on.” Then he grabbed the turkey and said to Brunonia, “I’ll get you a good bird, just a moment!”, and he disappeared into the back room. The sound of the icebox door slamming was clearly heard, and in a few moments Lupo returned with another turkey clutched in his talons. To Gilda it didn’t look any bigger than the one before. In fact… She squinted. It looked like the same bird. Lupo put it on the scale. “Now let’s see how this one weighs out, eh?” As the needle swung, he let his talon slip over onto the scale platform and press down upon it. “Twelve pounds!” he announced. “Oh, yes! That’s much better,” the griffoness said. “I knew you’d come through for me, Lupo.” “I always aim to please my best customer,” he replied, puffing up his feathers a bit. “Ooh, here’s an idea! Why don’t I buy both of those turkeys?” Lupo’s eyebrows raised, and Gilda stifled a snicker. Lupo just shook his head and said, “Limited supply! One per customer.” Brunonia’s smile turned to a pout. “Surely you can make an exception for me?” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It wouldn’t be fair to my other customers.” Gilda chimed in, “Hey lady, you already got your big plucking turkey. Just take it already!” Brunonia gasped! “Such language! How dare you speak to me that way? Don’t you realize who I am? My husband is chairman of Sternmetal Horizons. I myself have a chair on the Midtown Arts Nobbling Council. To be accosted by such a fowl-mouthed guttersnipe is simply beyond the pale…” “Please, please!” Lupo interrupted. “Calm yourself; she meant no offense. That’s just the name of the turkey.” She blinked. “The name?” “Sure, sure! Is special breed of turkey. Very rare! They’re called plucking turkey because of the way they molt and pull out their own feathers. Is new import from Lopanga. Hard to get them.” “Ohh… How exotic! In that case, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.” “Is OK. Here, let me ring you up!” Soon… A posh dining room was the scene of a fancy feast: a griffin family gathered around the table, enjoying their turkey dinner. Brunonia was speaking to her husband, “…and they’re quite difficult to get. I must procure another for when the Fitzfeathers come over, don’t you think?” “Mmm-hmm,” he grunted and nodded, then wiped his beak and added, “Not bad, not bad at all.” Brunonia turned to her son. “How did you like your plucking turkey, Junior?” Bouncing slightly in his seat, he grinned and replied, “That was plucking good, Mom! Could you pass the plucking potatoes?” Bite My ButtAfter making Gilda tend the front counter for a couple of days, Lupo eventually decided she could be trusted to do some simple meat processing. “Let’s start with the grinder,” he said. “Even you can’t mess that up.” He led her to the machine and took the canvas cover off it, while explaining, “Always keep the cover on the machine when you aren’t using it. This machine cost me a ton of bits. You break it, I kill you! Is powered by unicorn magic, with crystal here — see? You stick something in the funnel here, it starts up automagically.” He picked up a cut of meat and fed it into the funnel, and the grinder instantly began whirring and pulling it in. “Just like that! But mind your claws, unless you want to be called Lefty from now on.” Gilda shrugged. “Looks easy. Meat goes in here, poops out over there.” “Yeah, and it’ll grind anything. Steak, trimmings, shank, tripe, gristle… We make into cat food, maybe. Is great way to get rid of scraps we can’t sell. You wrap in paper over here, see? And keep everything clean!” “Sure thing, Boss.” Gilda popped her chewing gum. “OK, now you take scraps from the ice box over there and start grinding and wrapping them. I got things to do, I check on you later.” He departed and left her to the task. Gilda went to work. She got a bucket of scraps from the ice box and started to feed them into the grinder — cautiously, at first. She watched intently as the machine came to life, whirring and chopping the stuff into mincemeat. That was kind of cool. This was better than working the front counter. She wrapped the pink mass in white butcher paper and taped it closed, just as Lupo had showed her. When the bucket was empty, she went back to the ice box for another. And another. And another. Pretty soon the scraps in the ice box had dwindled, and only a bucket with some bones remained. Surely he hadn’t meant for her to grind up those. Or had he? She pulled a bone from the bucket and hefted it. “Will it grind? Let’s find out!” She fed the end of the bone into the grinder. GRAAAAAHHHH it sounded, much louder than the whirring noise it made when grinding meat, but it slowly pulled in the bone while clumps of moist, white meal tumbled out from the other side. “Woohoo!” Gilda hooted, as she hopped and flicked her wings. “You go!” She ground up a couple more bones, then started looking around for anything else to try it on. Her eyes settled on a dirty shop rag. She glanced toward the front of the store. Nobody was around. She giggled and pushed a corner of the rag into the machine. “Will it grind? Let’s find out!” The grinder whirred and pulled in the cloth, and white fuzz began spilling out the other end. The next victim was a broken off piece of broom handle fished out of the wastebasket. “Will it grind? Let’s find out!” GRAAAAHHHH!! “Sawdust, yeah!” Gilda next tried looking into the cabinets for more fodder. Tools… supplies… Gilda caught a glimpse of some black rubber hose and started to reach for it. Then the hose shifted, hissed and struck at her hand. Gilda squawked and jumped back from the cabinet. Her claws scrabbled for purchase on the smooth, hard floor, and her rump scooted back against the meat grinder. It whirred to life. The screams were incredible. Soon… Lupo sat in his office, at his desk. Across the desk from him was Gilda. Upon her rump was taped a white bandage. Upon her face she wore an aggrieved look as she explained, “So then the unicorn at the clinic charged me twenty bits for patching me up. And that’s why you should pay me compensation for my workplace injury. That machine is dangerous! And why do you even keep a snake in the shop anyhow?” Lupo shook with rage, having barely managed to hold his tongue this long. Now the floodgates opened. “Sunnama-BEECH! I don’t believe… You stupid chick! What did you think you were doing? You think this is a game? You’re supposed to be working here, not horsing around! I’m not paying you compensation! Not a penny! You should pay me, you plucking bum! You pull this kind of scat again, you’re outta here! I kill you!” Gilda just winced and waited for him to get the rant out of his system. Eventually he ran out of steam. As he panted, she asked, “So do I still have a job or not?” He sighed and sat back, his ruffled feathers starting to settle down. “Well, at least you didn’t break anything. Maybe you learn something.” Then he glared at her and added, “But you got some kinda nerve wanting me to pay you extra, when you already got a little behind in your work!” The next day Gilda came to work and found Lupo already setting up a hot serving counter and a huge container of chopped meat, along with buns and sauce. “This is pork butt day!” he explained. “Is house specialty, and we got a ton of pork butt sandwiches to sell.” Gilda eyed the counter. “You want me to make sandwiches?” “No, I make the sandwiches. You are gonna drum up business and bring in the customers.” “Uhh… How am I gonna do that?” Soon… If looks could kill, Gilda’s searing glare could have devastated the neighborhood, although the effect was moderated somewhat by the pink foam-rubber pig’s snout she had strapped over her beak, and the pig ears flapping at the sides of her head. Sitting on her still-bandaged hindquarters, she clutched a sign bearing the cute drawing of a pig and the words, in large, friendly letters: BITE MY BUTT! A couple of young ponies crowded on either side of her while a stallion wearing a bright tropical shirt directed a camera at them. “Smile, kids!” *FLASH* Watching nearby, a couple of young dragons jostled one another and laughed. The red one called out, “Hey, Gilda! You look like you’re coming down with the swine flu. Want me to get you some oinkment for that?” The green one added, “You ought to try out for the ballet. They’re gonna do Swine Lake!” The red dragon nudged him. “No way… She’d ham it up and hog the spotlight!” Gilda growled and partially opened her wings, feathers ruffled. The dragons laughed, and then the green one clutched at the red dragon’s wing and warned, “You better be careful what you say, Cletus. Gilda knows karate. She’ll give you a pork chop!” Gilda ground her beak and muttered, “Lupo… I. KILL. YOUUUUUU!”
Summer JobGilda glided down to the street and landed easily, yet slightly unevenly, favoring her right arm. The toes and blunt talons of her right forefoot (or hand, as it were) curled into a fist, clutching a scrap of paper, which prevented her from putting much weight on the limb. She sat back on her haunches and unconsciously swished her leonine tail as she looked around. Denizens of all species moved about the streets of Manehattan: ponies (of course!), donkeys, zebras, deer and antelope, griffins, and even some of the smaller and more civilized breeds of dragons. Here, though, on this particular street, the great majority were griffins and ponies — and many of those ponies were toting cameras, looking at pamphlets, or otherwise revealing themselves as tourists. They rubbernecked, gawking at the catnip parlors, the Fire Wings Temple, the theater, and the many shops with facades of exaggerated old griffin-ish architecture. Awkwardly tourists dodged the native griffins, who moved with speed and certainty, pushing carts or balancing bundles on their backs as they hurried about their business. Gilda nodded. Griffintown, check! Where to now? She uncurled her talons and looked at the scrap of paper she’d been given. Then, getting her bearings, she sauntered down the street, still treading lightly upon her closed fist. Aromas of wood smoke and cooking food — including meat — wafted through the street, romancing her nares. The instructions led her down a side street with less ostentatious buildings. After a short while she stopped, took one more look at the instructions she’d been given, then to the very plain white structure in front of her with a sign that read: LUPO’S MEATS. A few pieces of paper taped up in the window advertised prices of different cuts. She pushed her way in through the door; a cowbell clanked overhead. The inside of the shop was no more fancy than the outside: a counter, a scale and cash register, a display case, and a sign written in large block letters: THIS NO LIBARY BUY OR GET OUT “Friendly place…” Gilda muttered to herself. There was nobody at the counter, though. A noise from the back of the building sounded like a door slamming. She moved closer to the open doorway marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and listened. A strained grunt prompted her to peek, carefully, around the corner. There she saw a stocky male griffin, with predominantly gray coloration, standing upright on his leonine hind legs and staggering while he lifted a large rack of ribs that completely obscured his face. He groaned as he staggered, wobbling to one side and then the other. Then he lurched forward and slammed the ribs down onto a butcher block, and Gilda got her first glimpse of his face: a chunky black beak and beady black eyes framed with salt-and-pepper patterned feathers. Before she could say anything, he shook his head, fluffing out his feathers, and exclaimed loudly, “Sunnama-BEECH! Piece of scat job. I QUIT!” He belched, then grabbed a meat cleaver and waved it menacingly at the ribs. “Pluckin’ I dunno…” he muttered. Then Lupo (or so Gilda assumed) placed his scaly hand on the meat to steady it, raised his cleaver, and chopped free a rib — which then bounced off the top of the butcher block and tumbled to the floor. He stared for a moment, beak hanging open, then leaned over and shouted at the rib that had dared defy his will: “PLUCK OFF YOU BUM I KILL YOU!” Gilda sniggered, but she stayed back and watched while Lupo, still grumbling incoherently, picked up the rib and put it aside, then lifted his cleaver to cut again. Chop! Lupo’s eyes followed as the rib bounced off the block and onto the floor. “I don’t belieeeve…” Dropping the cleaver, he jumped back and jabbered at the rib, “Buncha the nerve… the caca…” He clutched at his apron with his talons and ripped it. He then made a rude gesture at the rib with a talon and tried to kick it with a hind foot. “Get outta… WAAAH!” His feline paw slipped and he tumbled backward onto the floor and landed with a whomp. Gilda finally cracked up, laughing out loud. Lupo bounced back to his feet and his rage-filled eyes locked onto Gilda. “Hey! Watsa matta you? What you laughin’ at, chick?” “Mmmmmph… Nothing!” She struggled to stifle her mirth, but the flexible corners of her beak remained locked into a grin. Scowling, Lupo grabbed a rag and wiped his talons. “So… You wanna buy something or not?” “What? No way, dude! I’m just lookin’ for a job.” Now it was Lupo’s turn to laugh. “Ha! You kidding me? I got no job for you. Get outta here, you bum!” Gilda glared back at him. “Oh yeah? Uncle Guido said you need an assistant. He said you’d hire me.” “Guido’s your uncle? So, scat-for-brain thinks I can pay some chick to sit on her tail. Why not just cut open my veins and let the blood flow? Huh? Why didn’t Guido just come here and suck the marrow out of my bones while he’s at it, if that’s what he thinks?” Gilda then opened up the scrap of paper and glanced at it. “He said… That I should remind you of that time in Las Pegasus. He said you’d know what that means.” Lupo ground his beak, then muttered, “I don’t belieeve…” With talons clenched like a fist, he glanced around the room for a moment as if looking for an escape. Then he sighed and said, “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? What’s your name, chick?” “Gilda.” “Okay, okay… Gilda. You can work for me, but you see Guido you tell him we’re even. And if you mess up, you get outta here!”
Plucking TurkeyFor the remainder of the day Lupo kept Gilda busy running simple errands while he stayed in the shop. When she actually showed up for work again the next morning — and nearly on time — he decided maybe she was serious about the job, and he started training her to work in front and wait on customers. First he showed Gilda how to weigh and wrap meat, write a sales ticket and count out change. When he thought she was ready, he turned over the front of the store to her and retreated to his office in back. Most of the customers who came in were surprised to see Gilda behind the counter instead of Lupo, but they soon learned she could be just as surly as her boss. As the day wore on, Gilda slumped lower and lower on the stool behind the counter. “So bored…” she moaned to the empty shop. Shortly an older griffiness came into the shop, with a fur wrapped around her shoulders and her beak tilted upward. She glanced about, then approached the counter and began ringing the bell for service — even though Gilda was already Right There. Gilda popped her chewing gum and asked, in zombie-like tones, “Can I help you?” “Young lady! Young lady!” the hen huffed. “I require a large turkey. Fetch one at once!” “I’ll see what we’ve got in back,” Gilda answered in the same bored monotone as before. She shuffled back to the store room and opened the ice box. There was exactly one turkey left. She grabbed it and brought it up front to weigh. “Eight and a quarter pounds,” she read from the scale. “Oh no, that won’t do at all! It’s too small. I require a large turkey.” “This is what we got, toots. Do you want it or not?” “Now see here! I am a regular customer, and I always get a bigger turkey than this. I demand that you fetch me a big turkey!” Gilda narrowed her eyes, took a deep breath, and answered, “I’ll go get my boss.” She found him in the office with a newspaper draped across his face while a light sound of snoring emanated. She grabbed his shoulder and dug the blunt tips of her talons into it. “Hey, Lupo!” He snerked awake, flailed for a moment and snatched the newspaper from his face. “Waah! What happen?” She explained, “There’s a prissy old hen up front that wants a bigger turkey, and we ain’t got one.” He grunted, “Huh… That must be Brunonia. Artsy fartsy old harrower! PTAH!” he spat. “You let me deal with this. You watch, maybe you learn something.” Gilda followed him to the front of the store. Lupo forced a smile as he saw the customer. “Brunonia! What can I do for you today?” “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! This new girl just doesn’t know anything. Look at the tiny turkey she brought out to me!” Lupo made a show of examining the turkey, concern written on his face. He tsked and said, “I see, I see what you mean. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this!” He turned to Gilda and scolded her, “Don’t you know this is my most important customer? You only bring out the best for her from now on.” Then he grabbed the turkey and said to Brunonia, “I’ll get you a good bird, just a moment!”, and he disappeared into the back room. The sound of the icebox door slamming was clearly heard, and in a few moments Lupo returned with another turkey clutched in his talons. To Gilda it didn’t look any bigger than the one before. In fact… She squinted. It looked like the same bird. Lupo put it on the scale. “Now let’s see how this one weighs out, eh?” As the needle swung, he let his talon slip over onto the scale platform and press down upon it. “Twelve pounds!” he announced. “Oh, yes! That’s much better,” the griffoness said. “I knew you’d come through for me, Lupo.” “I always aim to please my best customer,” he replied, puffing up his feathers a bit. “Ooh, here’s an idea! Why don’t I buy both of those turkeys?” Lupo’s eyebrows raised, and Gilda stifled a snicker. Lupo just shook his head and said, “Limited supply! One per customer.” Brunonia’s smile turned to a pout. “Surely you can make an exception for me?” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It wouldn’t be fair to my other customers.” Gilda chimed in, “Hey lady, you already got your big plucking turkey. Just take it already!” Brunonia gasped! “Such language! How dare you speak to me that way? Don’t you realize who I am? My husband is chairman of Sternmetal Horizons. I myself have a chair on the Midtown Arts Nobbling Council. To be accosted by such a fowl-mouthed guttersnipe is simply beyond the pale…” “Please, please!” Lupo interrupted. “Calm yourself; she meant no offense. That’s just the name of the turkey.” She blinked. “The name?” “Sure, sure! Is special breed of turkey. Very rare! They’re called plucking turkey because of the way they molt and pull out their own feathers. Is new import from Lopanga. Hard to get them.” “Ohh… How exotic! In that case, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.” “Is OK. Here, let me ring you up!” Soon… A posh dining room was the scene of a fancy feast: a griffin family gathered around the table, enjoying their turkey dinner. Brunonia was speaking to her husband, “…and they’re quite difficult to get. I must procure another for when the Fitzfeathers come over, don’t you think?” “Mmm-hmm,” he grunted and nodded, then wiped his beak and added, “Not bad, not bad at all.” Brunonia turned to her son. “How did you like your plucking turkey, Junior?” Bouncing slightly in his seat, he grinned and replied, “That was plucking good, Mom! Could you pass the plucking potatoes?”
Bite My ButtAfter making Gilda tend the front counter for a couple of days, Lupo eventually decided she could be trusted to do some simple meat processing. “Let’s start with the grinder,” he said. “Even you can’t mess that up.” He led her to the machine and took the canvas cover off it, while explaining, “Always keep the cover on the machine when you aren’t using it. This machine cost me a ton of bits. You break it, I kill you! Is powered by unicorn magic, with crystal here — see? You stick something in the funnel here, it starts up automagically.” He picked up a cut of meat and fed it into the funnel, and the grinder instantly began whirring and pulling it in. “Just like that! But mind your claws, unless you want to be called Lefty from now on.” Gilda shrugged. “Looks easy. Meat goes in here, poops out over there.” “Yeah, and it’ll grind anything. Steak, trimmings, shank, tripe, gristle… We make into cat food, maybe. Is great way to get rid of scraps we can’t sell. You wrap in paper over here, see? And keep everything clean!” “Sure thing, Boss.” Gilda popped her chewing gum. “OK, now you take scraps from the ice box over there and start grinding and wrapping them. I got things to do, I check on you later.” He departed and left her to the task. Gilda went to work. She got a bucket of scraps from the ice box and started to feed them into the grinder — cautiously, at first. She watched intently as the machine came to life, whirring and chopping the stuff into mincemeat. That was kind of cool. This was better than working the front counter. She wrapped the pink mass in white butcher paper and taped it closed, just as Lupo had showed her. When the bucket was empty, she went back to the ice box for another. And another. And another. Pretty soon the scraps in the ice box had dwindled, and only a bucket with some bones remained. Surely he hadn’t meant for her to grind up those. Or had he? She pulled a bone from the bucket and hefted it. “Will it grind? Let’s find out!” She fed the end of the bone into the grinder. GRAAAAAHHHH it sounded, much louder than the whirring noise it made when grinding meat, but it slowly pulled in the bone while clumps of moist, white meal tumbled out from the other side. “Woohoo!” Gilda hooted, as she hopped and flicked her wings. “You go!” She ground up a couple more bones, then started looking around for anything else to try it on. Her eyes settled on a dirty shop rag. She glanced toward the front of the store. Nobody was around. She giggled and pushed a corner of the rag into the machine. “Will it grind? Let’s find out!” The grinder whirred and pulled in the cloth, and white fuzz began spilling out the other end. The next victim was a broken off piece of broom handle fished out of the wastebasket. “Will it grind? Let’s find out!” GRAAAAHHHH!! “Sawdust, yeah!” Gilda next tried looking into the cabinets for more fodder. Tools… supplies… Gilda caught a glimpse of some black rubber hose and started to reach for it. Then the hose shifted, hissed and struck at her hand. Gilda squawked and jumped back from the cabinet. Her claws scrabbled for purchase on the smooth, hard floor, and her rump scooted back against the meat grinder. It whirred to life. The screams were incredible. Soon… Lupo sat in his office, at his desk. Across the desk from him was Gilda. Upon her rump was taped a white bandage. Upon her face she wore an aggrieved look as she explained, “So then the unicorn at the clinic charged me twenty bits for patching me up. And that’s why you should pay me compensation for my workplace injury. That machine is dangerous! And why do you even keep a snake in the shop anyhow?” Lupo shook with rage, having barely managed to hold his tongue this long. Now the floodgates opened. “Sunnama-BEECH! I don’t believe… You stupid chick! What did you think you were doing? You think this is a game? You’re supposed to be working here, not horsing around! I’m not paying you compensation! Not a penny! You should pay me, you plucking bum! You pull this kind of scat again, you’re outta here! I kill you!” Gilda just winced and waited for him to get the rant out of his system. Eventually he ran out of steam. As he panted, she asked, “So do I still have a job or not?” He sighed and sat back, his ruffled feathers starting to settle down. “Well, at least you didn’t break anything. Maybe you learn something.” Then he glared at her and added, “But you got some kinda nerve wanting me to pay you extra, when you already got a little behind in your work!” The next day Gilda came to work and found Lupo already setting up a hot serving counter and a huge container of chopped meat, along with buns and sauce. “This is pork butt day!” he explained. “Is house specialty, and we got a ton of pork butt sandwiches to sell.” Gilda eyed the counter. “You want me to make sandwiches?” “No, I make the sandwiches. You are gonna drum up business and bring in the customers.” “Uhh… How am I gonna do that?” Soon… If looks could kill, Gilda’s searing glare could have devastated the neighborhood, although the effect was moderated somewhat by the pink foam-rubber pig’s snout she had strapped over her beak, and the pig ears flapping at the sides of her head. Sitting on her still-bandaged hindquarters, she clutched a sign bearing the cute drawing of a pig and the words, in large, friendly letters: BITE MY BUTT! A couple of young ponies crowded on either side of her while a stallion wearing a bright tropical shirt directed a camera at them. “Smile, kids!” *FLASH* Watching nearby, a couple of young dragons jostled one another and laughed. The red one called out, “Hey, Gilda! You look like you’re coming down with the swine flu. Want me to get you some oinkment for that?” The green one added, “You ought to try out for the ballet. They’re gonna do Swine Lake!” The red dragon nudged him. “No way… She’d ham it up and hog the spotlight!” Gilda growled and partially opened her wings, feathers ruffled. The dragons laughed, and then the green one clutched at the red dragon’s wing and warned, “You better be careful what you say, Cletus. Gilda knows karate. She’ll give you a pork chop!” Gilda ground her beak and muttered, “Lupo… I. KILL. YOUUUUUU!”
