October 1, 2009

The Nervous Whale

The pod moved along in a lazy sort of a comforting calm, all but Betty and her calf. She raced nervously around the pod, orbiting it, so to speak.

“Slow down, Ma! Slow down!” complained her little white calf, Richard, as he tried to keep pace.

“I can’t! I can’t! I don’t know! There’s just something I can’t put my finger on!” cried giant gray Betty.

“What finger?” called Richard.

Ignoring her offspring, around and around she went until she became exhausted and fell into flow with the rest of the pod. Richard brushed against her right fluke when he caught up to her, causing Betty to thrash in alarm.

“Don’t do that! Don’t sneak up! You could give a person a heart attack!” snapped the skittish whale. “Go play.”

Richard, wounded to the soul, turned away. Go play, he thought. Person? What person? Play. Play, she says. They won’t play with me. I’ll show ’em. I’ll show ’em all one day!

And he did.

Moral: Don’t mess with Moby.

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