Cormorant Finishing School

Out for walk, I came upon a sleek, black, long-necked bird that appeared out of sorts.... one step closer and then another and he made no attempt to get away. Worried he was injured I returned with box in hand, on a mission to get him help.

He quietly focused his eyes on me. “I dare you.”

A pause.

A raising of the towel.

The tackle.

Bird and towel were dumped unceremoniously into the box, in a ball of feathers and terrycloth. A sharp beak punctured the box once, then shot up through the box top at my face. Devil bird.

One hour later I handed my ward over the counter to a wildlife hospital reception clerk. “What was this again?” she asked. “ A seabird?” I suggested. “One moment please.” She reappeared wearing construction goggles and carrying a bright yellow CAUTION sign. “They like to spear bright shiny things like your eyes, “ she explained. (--A pause to consider--)

A few days later, a progress call revealed he was a juvenile cormorant, anemic from a lack of food. His treatment? A full scholarship to the Marin-based Finishing School for Seabirds, where he would learn to hunt in style, sit with excellent posture, and learn which wines paired best with bay fish. Fancy.