Yesterday, my husband and I went to my parents’ house for dinner, so that I could see my parents and my brother The Baby and my grandparents before I leave for Ireland, and so that I could bogart a giant suitcase from my grandfather, in lieu of having to buy one.
Baby Bird was a popular topic of discussion. My dad, who has been prosecutor for his entire career and who has worked in environmental law forever, taking down animal smugglers and oil spillers, had this to say about our nursing Jack Sparrow out of infancy:
“You know, guys, that’s really nice. Did I ever tell you about the baby seal someone shot with a crossbow? They shot it right through the neck with an arrow. It took hours for the rescuers to catch it and take it to a rehab center. The rehab spent six months getting the seal, named Arrow, healthy again. We launched a huge campaign, with a reward, to catch the fisherman who’d shot it. We put out flyers and misinformation and eventually someone gave us what we needed to find the guy. When it was finally time to release Arrow back into the ocean, we loaded up a boat with the rescuers and a newspaper reporter and the guy who’d shot Arrow in the first place. And you know what happened the instant Arrow was released?
“Eaten by a shark. Immediately. A huge Mako shark jumped right out of the water and ate him. God, it was terrible. The newspaper was there.”
That’s such a quaint, uplifting story, isn’t it? Thanks, Dad, for the vote of confidence.