Chapter 6: Extinction Cometh

                                             Chapter 6: Extinction Cometh

“He’s here! He’s here! He’s 23 years, 6 months, and 2 days early, but he’s here!  George, we’re so glad that you’ve come back to join us in our adventure to save the world.  Not everyone thought you’d come back, but we knew you wouldn’t let us down. We just knew it!” Martha exclaimed.

“It’s nice to see you too Martha.  So now that I’ve made my decision to join you, where is this meeting place you told me about last night?” I asked Martha who was already taking flight.

Overhead Martha was circling, beckoning me to follow her up the hill, past the golden tree of life, and across the crystal clear brook, I drank from the night before.  I again snuck a cool, refreshing drink on my way across the brook.  I squeezed my shell between some trees, enjoying how much more nimble I was here.  As I cleared the row of trees I came out to a clearing near a white sandy beach. There I saw an amazing menagerie of animals.

All eyes were on me as I ventured toward the semi-circle of creatures.  Many animals looked familiar from books about extinction that I had seen at the research station.  At the thought of the CDRS, I felt a sense of great loss, knowing that I could never go back; never again hear Fausto sing to me at night.  At the same time, I was flooded with a great sense of pride that all of these animals were awaiting my arrival, George, the Pinta Island tortoise, to save the world.

“George, I am so glad you have decided to return and help us with our rescue mission,” Eldey said, coming around an enormous barnacle-covered log protruding into the sea.  “I think the best way to go about this is to introduce you to everyone.”

“I’m really excited to meet some of the animals that I’ve heard and read so much about at the research station,” I said eagerly looking around the group to see who I could identify even before introductions were given.  “I can’t wait to hear from all of you, and I am honored to be amongst you all.  You have no idea how at home I feel amidst all of you who can relate in so many ways to what I’ve been feeling for so long.”  

I realized two things while introducing myself to the group.  One; I was rambling like a passenger pigeon hyped up on too much coffee, and secondly, I felt more at peace and confident in taking on this mission to save the world.  For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.

“Tortoise, we are really limited to how much time we have.  We should start the mission immediately,” Astuto said, raining on my parade.

“Okay, but I’d love to… to meet everyone first,” I stammered, still amazed by these creatures; my personal heroes, I was about to meet.

Eldey tried to appease both Astuto’s desire to get started and my desire to meet the members of this world-saving group.  “Let us go around quickly and say our species, our chosen name, where we are from, since that is important to our mission, one interesting thing about you, and wrap things up by stating your extinction date.  Does that work for everyone?” Eldey asked looking over at the dodo who was obviously annoyed. 

“I guess it makes sense to do introductions now so that the plan might make more sense to everyone,” Astuto grumbled under his breath.  “We’ve waited this long, what’s a few more minutes.”

“Okay.  I am glad to have your support Astuto.  We are going to need to work together if we want to have any chance of pulling this off,” Eldey emphasized for Astuto and the rest of the crew to hear.

“Let us start in order of our extinction dates.  That might help this run a little smoother.  We will start with Moana over there, and we will end with you George over here,” Eldey said, directing everyone to regroup around him.

There was a lot of moving around as we all sought our extinctional order.  Like I said, I had never been a fan of cheesy ice breakers.  I had seen enough absurd introductory activities with volunteers at the CDRS, but in this case, I was excited to hear from everyone in this group.  Just looking around gave me goosebumps.  There before me were some of the greatest most iconic examples of extinction that I recognized right away like the Tasmanian tiger and giant moa.  Many others looked vaguely familiar.  There were a few animals missing which I had hoped to see, like the quagga, the brownish half horse, half zebra looking creature.  I didn’t think now was the time to ask whether the quagga might be joining us. I also didn’t want anyone to feel disrespected.  I quickly reeled in my thoughts, knowing that animals here, well at least Astuto, could hear my thoughts.

Now that we were in order, all of us turned our attention to Moana, a giant bird that towered above everyone.  She looked like a twelve-foot tall ostrich/kiwi mix with no visible wings.  Her feathers resembled shaggy brown hair and her head was proportionally smaller than the rest of her gargantuan body.  There was a deep blue color lining the bottom portion of her head that ran partway down her throat. Moana turned toward Eldey who encouraged her to share.  I wondered why such a large creature would be so reserved. 

 I didn’t think she was going to speak, but then she cleared her throat and began in a voice that was oddly tiny in comparison to her great size.  “Giant Moa. Moana.  New Zealand. Pacific. Don’t like holes. June 6, 1492.” Her voice trailed off, and I waited for more from this giant bird, but it was obvious she wouldn’t be speaking anymore.  

But a tiny voice near Moana from somewhere above me began speaking, “Moana is a giant moa from New Zealand in the Pacific Ocean southeast of Australia.”

I wondered if Moana talked in the third person or was bipolar or something, similar to how Martha spoke in plurals, but I didn’t want to interrupt while she was speaking to ask her.  I also thought it awkward that Moana, a girl, had such a manly voice representing a possibly different personality, but I kept that thought to myself too.  I even thought to apologize for that thought in case she heard my internal dialogue.

The lofty tiny male voice continued, “Her chosen name in Moana because she feels it represents her species, the giant moa well.  Honestly, she also isn’t known for her creativity.  Moana is very loyal and honest and went extinct on June 6, 1492, when her kind was finally eliminated by the Maori people who had arrived in New Zealand years before.  Even though she is huge, she is relatively shy and scared of enclosed places.  Moana is very claustrophobic due to the fact that the Maori people would herd giant moas into large pits to capture them, sometimes leaving them in those deep pits for days at a time.” 

Moana bowed her head and took a step back into line.

“Thank you, Stephen, for helping Moana with that.  You can stay right there until it is your turn to share,” Eldey said appreciatively. 

I strained to see this Stephen character, but I couldn’t locate him.  Maybe he was some extinct insect or something.  Either way, I’d be hearing from him again soon.

Eldey motioned to the dodo.  Astuto still looked annoyed by these proceedings, especially since he had already told me about some of his extinction stories, but to appease Eldey and the group he informed us, “I am the dodo bird.  My chosen name is Astuto because I think it better represents me than my species’ name.  I’m from Mauritius, a small island in the Indian Ocean east of Africa.  Dodos are curious and of course, we couldn’t fly, so when sailors came to Mauritius life became difficult.  Those of us who weren’t eaten outright lost our battle for survival to rats and dare I say… snakes that stowed away on the ships the people sailed to my homeland.  I’m not a big fan of rats, and I know none of us are fans of serpents. The dodo’s extinction date was February 3, 1681.”  He bowed and returned to his spot, giving the floor to the next in line, which appeared to be Eldey who had joined the ranks of our little squadron next to that barnacle-covered log oddly protruding into our semi-circle.  

As much as Eldey was encouraging us to share, he remained silent staring at the log.  About that time, the log began to twist around and I could see that it wasn’t a log at all.  It was a large whale-like creature with the face of a manatee.  I had seen plenty of manatees in books about endangered animals around CDRS, but this creature was different and much, much larger.

The behemoth creature cleared her throat and began speaking in a deep, earthy voice, “I am the Steller’s sea cow, and the name I have chosen to take for myself is, Stella.  Like Moana, I am not very creative at all, but it is a name that represents how the world came to know about me, all 27 years of my known existence at least.  Georg Steller was a naturalist who studied wildlife on a Russian exploration in the Bering Sea region.  He and the rest of Captain Bering’s crew were stranded on the Commander Islands and had to partake of some of my kind in order to survive.  They even said we were yummy, better than beef, which I personally consider a compliment.”  

I thought it was wrong to be flattered by what people thought of your flavor.  Being tasty is not a good thing.  I never considered people eating a nice bowl of me an honor.

Stella continued her story, “Even though this was not a pleasant time for my kind, it was understandable given their circumstances…”

Understandable?  How can being eaten be something that is okay with you?  

“Stella, remember we are trying to keep our introductions concise,” Eldey said motioning toward Astuto who was pacing now obviously growing even more impatient.

“Oh yes.  I do apologize Eldey.  So my chosen name is Stella after Georg Steller who sketched and described my kind in his journals.  Unfortunately, his journals led other Russian explorers to our island and ultimately to our demise.  My extinction date was July 15, 1768.  I’m not really fearful of much other than maybe a pod of killer whales, but I’m really good at being ‘stealthy’,” she laughed, emphasizing the ‘stell’ part of the word.  

She was also air quoting with proportionally tiny flippers. I really wondered why everyone here did so much air quoting, but that was one of my least pressing questions at the moment.

Next, it was Eldey who gave his concise introduction, “As you all know, I am the great auk, a flightless bird found on islands in the northern Atlantic Ocean.  My chosen name is Eldey after the island where I last went extinct.”  

I felt pain for him as he recalled the story of Eldey’s tragic return that Astuto had told me earlier.

“The great auks were used as a food source for sailors and our feathers were used to stuff pillows.  People passed laws to end great auk hunts, but the volcanic eruption of 1830 that sunk our nesting island of Geirfulasker did not help my kind’s cause.  My kind went extinct on July 13, 1840, in Scotland when a group of people captured a great auk and kept it in a cage.  I had hoped that these men would help to save my kind, but that night there was a horrible storm.  The people thought the great auk was a witch, so killed it. As many of you know, I have been trying to find a way to help the people and decided to go back and try a second time.  But sadly, my plan failed, leaving the great auks to become re-extinct on June 3, 1844.  I am honored that so many of you turned out tonight eager to help too,” Eldey added before nodding toward the next in line.

I turned to the next in line and saw some sort of small wolf.  His fur was very shaggy and had a brownish, gray hue.  The tip of his long tail was white as snow.  The thing that stuck out most to me about this creature was his deep yellow-orange eyes.  I had been trying to guess each species before they shared their names and backgrounds, but I could only recall one wolf species that had ever gone extinct, the English wolf, but that was supposed to be a very large canine.  

Wolves had been bred to work with the people and now dogs were everywhere.  I had always envied dogs because they had such a close relationship with the people and were known as being ‘man’s best friend’.  Tortoises had never really had that luxury.  Although animals like the red wolf and Ethiopian wolf were endangered, I couldn’t recall any canine species which no longer existed. Maybe this was an English wolf, but I honestly was guessing.  

While I was pondering this, the wolf began to share, “I am known by many names, the Falkland Island Dog, Wolf or Fox, or as the Antarctic Wolf.  Like the dodo, we were also called by a degrading name which I don’t like; the warrah which translates as “foolish dog of the south.”  

I noticed Astuto listening a little more intently to this portion of the wolf’s sharing, shaking his head.  He mumbled, “People can be so unkind with their labels.”

The wolf looked at Astuto and nodded his head in agreement.  He continued, “My chosen name is Strong.  It’s not because I’m proud and have a lot of strength like you might be thinking.  It is to honor Captain John Strong, the English explorer who first discovered the Falkland Islands, where my kind once roamed.  Captain Strong took one of us on board his ship as a pet.  We bonded very quickly, and it is one of my favorite memories with the people.  I was known as being kind to the people, but I’ve always been a little skittish, especially around loud noises,” Strong admitted looking around at the others.

“One day while sailing with Captain Strong, his crew spotted a French ship and fired their cannon.  Having never heard a noise louder than a flock of penguins, it terrified me so much that I jumped overboard and drown.  Sadly that was one of the last good encounters with the people as they continued to visit and eventually settle on the Falkland Islands.  I suppose, like any predator, the people began to see us as a threat, and soon we were hunted for our dense fur.  We were also poisoned into extinction by sheep and cattle farmers who settled on my island.  We were not foolish at all, but being a trusting species became our downfall.  We went extinct on Christmas Eve, December 24, 1876,” Strong explained.

“And where are you from geographically speaking?” Astuto prodded knowing that that information was the most crucial to our mission.

“Oh yes, The Falkland Islands are located in the southern Atlantic Ocean near the tip of what the people refer to as South America,” the Antarctic wolf added.  He too bowed and took a step back into line.  

The tiny voice, referred to earlier as Stephen spoke, not from his extinctional position after Captain Strong, but from somewhere above the giant moa spoke, “I am the Stephens Island Wren and as Eldey stated earlier my chosen name is Stephen.  The Stephens Island wrens once flourished around the island known as Stephens island for a long time before the people came.  Like many others here, our downfall was not being able to fly and living on a small island.  The people built a lighthouse to keep their boats from running ashore. We were excited at first and very curious about the lighthouse which opened on January 29, 1894.  David Lyall was the lighthouse keeper on the island and seemed nice enough, but he was lonely.  He brought a cat which he called Tibbles to keep him company.  Tibbles ran amuck killing my kind indiscriminately.  That is why I have a slight case of ailurophobia, which is a fancy word meaning I have a fear of cats.  I agreed to join this mission as long as no cat species would be joining our quest.” Stephen explained.

A few of the animals looked further down the line at the Tasmanian tiger, but she simply smirked.

Before he could finish sharing I blurted out, “But why are you above Moana during our meeting tonight?  I can’t even see you up there.”

Many in the group scowled at my rude outburst.  I swallowed realizing I may have inadvertently offended a member of this extinction group.   I saw a flash of movement up on Moana’s back and a scurrying brownish, yellow figure moving along the moa’s back.  Moments later Stephen emerged from behind Moana’s massive leg and stood upon the giant moa’s toe. The wren was brown in color with golden splotches from head to stumpy tail.  

“The Tasmanian ‘tiger’,” Stephen said air quoting, “is more of a dog mixed with a kangaroo, so I don’t count her as a cat. I’m not scared of tiger lillies either in case you’re wondering…” Stephen joked, ignoring my rudeness.

His wings blended in with his speckled body but could be seen only when Stephen fluffed his feathers before continuing, “Being from the New Zealand area myself, I have a regional comradely with Moana.  Plus I feel more comfortable having a big friend to keep me safe from any felines I might come across.  I’m definitely still fearful, but Moana gives me the confidence to try to help out with this mission.  It’s kind of a symbiotic relationship if you will.  I help her communicate more clearly and she ensures my safety.  Although I trust Strong,” Stephen said looking over to the previously introduced Falkland Island wolf, “and Benjamin who you’ll meet soon, I still have trouble trusting predators, especially when we return to our homelands.  Here in the Garden, we’re all vegetarians you know, but back there it’s not that way.  Better safe than sorry when you’re so small. Don’t you think?” Stephen said smiling at me.

“Now if you don’t mind I’ll climb back up there,” the little bird stated, pointing his tiny beak up to the massive bird’s back, “Oh I almost forgot.  My kind went extinct February 5, 1895, just one year after Tibbles arrived on Stephens Island.” 

Stephen disappeared and nestled into the thick fur-like feathers around Moana’s neck. Next in line was Martha, who I had met several times in the short time I had been here in the Garden.

Her olive colored neck let out a slight cooing noise as Martha cleared her throat to speak.  I braced myself for a flurry of details from this fidgety little bird.  Martha ruffled her feathers and began pacing back and forth bobbing her head as she began to speak, her rosy eyes peering around at those gathered, “We are the passenger pigeon and our chosen name is Martha, a name we chose because that was our last name while back there.  We were alone for some time ourselves George,” she said looking at me.  “We were kept in a small enclosure at the Cincinnati Zoo, and we saw firsthand that the people really did care about us.  The people realized they had only themselves to blame for our demise.  The people at the Cincinnati Zoo did their best to help the last few of us survive, but it was fruitless once our numbers were so small.  Being the most numerous bird species to ever roam the earth, we were used to lots of noise and chaos.  The secludedness of the zoo enclosure, as nice as it was with the little trees and birdbath, and that little cup that held our food, was just too lonely even with several of us in there.”  

“Similar to our little friend Stephen, we also have a great fear; monophobia, the fear of being alone.  Sure it wasn’t for nearly as long as you had to be alone George, but when you’re used to being social, silence can be soul-crushing.  Our species once roamed all over the eastern coast of North America and were a food source for many poor people.  We know that the people needed us for food, but the ways that they chose to kill us were very cruel indeed, but that is one thing we don’t want to talk about.”

The pigeon trailed off looking around and bobbing a little less enthusiastically, and I wanted to ask about the cruelty endured by the passenger pigeons at the hands of the people, but I thought better of it after my last outburst.  Sensing this thought, Martha looked at me with a sadness I’ve never seen in her red eyes and turned away to finish her debriefing. “The passenger pigeon went extinct at 1 pm on September 1, 1914, at the Cincinnati Zoo,” Martha stated, strutting slowly back into line.

There were now only two more creatures in line until my turn to share and I had trouble focusing on what was being said. Another bird began to share.  He looked like a small chicken of some kind, like the kind I have sometimes seen around the research station, but he had reddish-brown bands running around his plump little body.  This chicken-like bird had a very stumpy, rounded tail and a set of two longer triangular feathers jutting down from his throat.

“I am the heath hen, and my chosen name was originally Ben, but given the fact that her name is Benjamin,” the heath hen said motioning to the last creature in line, “I’ve decided to take on one of my nicknames from when I was among the people, Boomer.  True they called me “Booming Ben” because of my elaborate dance moves, but I think Boomer has a little more pizzazz,” Boomer said in a rhythmic fashion.  

Then he put his head down dragging his wings along the ground and inflating some sort of small orangish balloons on the side of his throat similar to the frigate birds which flew around the CDRS back on the Galapagos Islands.  He definitely could dance in ways that I could never dream of, but I realized my head, like many of those in line, began involuntarily bopping to Boomer’s rhythmic beat.  

As he stood up again, recovering from his spontaneous dancing, Boomer continued, “Heath hens were never known for being shy.  We really liked to be the center of attention and were even at the first Thanksgiving in the new world.  Like the passenger pigeon over there, we once roamed the eastern portion of the area known as the United States.  Heath hens were once very plentiful and served as a food source for the servant people.  Like many of us here, I have faith in the people to change which is why I have joined this mission.  They tried many times to help my kind.  As early as 1791, some people in the United States passed a law protecting heath hens, but many people misinterpreted this law as protecting “heathens”, which is what they called the native people they were fighting against at the time.  Needless to say, the law didn’t help my kind.  In 1870 the people did notice that heath hens were rapidly disappearing, so they rounded up the remaining 300 or so of us, and put us on Martha’s Vineyard, no relation to the chatty passenger pigeon over there.  The people said we’d be safe there, except the wild cats on the island took their toll on us.  By 1908 people came from all over to see us do our dances and our population was ‘booming’,” he said air quoting and smirking at me.

“The people were confident we’d recover until the untimely fire of 1916.  This decimated our population, and we never really recovered.  The last two females died in 1927.  By December of the next year, I was the only one.  I danced my heart out for the people,” Boomer said proudly.  “I knew they did their best to try to save my kind, but after my grandest dancing ever, I bowed out March 11, 1932.”  Boomer strutted back into his spot and sat down still recovering from his spontaneous dancing.  

My eyes turned to the thylacine, the Tasmanian tiger.  Besides the dodo and perhaps the great auk, the thylacine was probably the most well known extinct animal I had ever heard the people speak of.  I gave my full attention, trying to be attentive, but not ogle at him.  He looked like a midsized dog of sorts with the unmistakable thirteen black stripes running down his back.  His feet were sort of kangarooish, and I wondered if he could hop as well as run.  While these questions were bouncing around in my head, the thylacine began his speech.

To my surprise, he turned out to be a she.  The thylacine began sharing her sad story, “I am the thylacine, better known as the Tasmanian tiger.  Although semi inappropriate, I have chosen to take the last name given to my kind by the people whom Boomer had alluded to earlier, Benjamin.  I also waited out my extinction at a zoo.  The zookeepers at the Hobart Zoo in Tasmania thought I was a male, hence the masculine name. Still, I know they had tried to save my kind after our unfortunate termination,” Benjamin said, shaking her head.

She continued, “Like any predator, the people feared me.  As the people began settling in Tasmania and raising sheep and chickens, we had our run-ins.  Someone took a picture of a thylacine running out of a hen house with a chicken in its jaws.  The people circulated that picture, igniting a hatred for my kind.  The Tasmanian government paid money to any person who brought in a thylacine dead; male, female, or pup.  By the time some people began to care our numbers were down.  The damage was done.  Some people captured us and put us in zoos, but others still tried to eradicate us.  This is when I saw the people’s capability to have compassion for us.  The last of my kind, Benjamin, died of malnourishment and exposure the night of September 7, 1936.” The tiger dropped back into her place.

I felt pity for Benjamin and the rest of the creatures assembled, but I could feel my face begin to flush as it was my turn to speak. I wanted to impress this group that I was supposed to lead.  Okay species, chosen name, location, an interesting fact, extinction date.  I reassured myself that I could do that.

 “George you share as much as you want to.  Most of us here know something about you anyway, and you are the one who this mission centers around.  No pressure,” Eldey said, smiling at me.

 “Oh… I’m a…I’m a Pinta Island Tortoise and I chose the name George after the name I have been given by the people since they found me alone on my island in 1971.  The people used us tortoises for food while they explored the Pacific Ocean or while hunting pods of whales for oil.  Pinta Island is part of the Galapagos Island chain near the country of Ecuador, South America in the Pacific Ocean.  I really hate… I mean I really dislike goats.  The people put them on my island, and we tortoises couldn’t keep up with them.  I have spent the past 40 years, alone at the Charles Darwin Research Station known as the rarest and loneliest animal on earth.”

I saw looks of sympathy and compassion from the group.  I paused, thinking I had said my piece but then remembered to add my final requested piece of information, “Even though I apparently had many years left back there, I have chosen to go extinct … today… June 24, 2012.”  I exhaled a deep breath, bowed like the others before me, and stepped back into line.