Speedy came already named from the Isle of Wight RSPCA. She was the runt; she looked like a white-and-brown goose. She tucked her beak into the crook of my arm as we drove home.
Mine.
The first time she caught a squirrel in the park, decapitated it, swallowed the thick middle, crunched the legs, all that was left was the tail and head, like a key ring.
The hive of baby rabbits she dug up – she consumed the lot, blind squeaking babies, as simply as I ate peanuts.
The worst, her cannibal heart, she killed a fox cub, snapped its neck and ploughed into its belly like watermelon.
Speedy wanted to swallow the world.
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