“My mother always had a problem with flies. All through my life she swallowed spiders to catch the flies inside her, but she never did anything like this before,” Dave says, choking down tears. He stands at the podium in the church he grew up going to. He always wanted to stand up here, but he never thought it would be like this.

“That horrible day last month is seared in my memory forever, when she swallowed the bird. I was surprised, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. It was when she swallowed the neighbor’s dog, Scruffy, that I began to really worry. I shook my Magic Eightball to see if I should seek help; my reply is no was the answer. So I didn’t get involved except to give her water when she needed it, like when she swallowed that goat. After that, things started getting a little sketchy. Somehow, out here in Suburbia, she found a cow. When she swallowed it is when I had to get some air.” Dave is now actively sobbing.

“When I was on her porch that night, the neighbor walked over asking about his dog. I explained everything: ‘My mom swallowed a fly and she hates flies, so she swallowed a spider, but it wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her, so she swallowed a bird to catch the spider, then she swallowed a cat to catch the bird, and then, well, she swallowed Scruffy.’ Needless to say, he didn’t take it very well. He charged into the house and witnessed Mom choking down a horse. He turned to me. Finally he spoke. ‘She’s dead, of course.’ I had to agree.”