Manic Penguin Bodyguards
Cormorant 138 employed a wingman and it was ridiculous


Today I was tasked with catching 138, who, if you've read any previous posts will know, has a frustratingly impressive track record of escapery and mayhem. He wasn't caught yesterday evening and therefore missed his veterinary check-up this morning. The vet, who is as keen as the rest of us to see the back of him, set me on a cormorant quest in the hopes of an afternoon examination. And so there I went, tiptoeing into the sandy shores of the restricted home pen, armed with a soggy fishtail and the feeble hope that I could somehow use it to coax the evil mastermind into my arms. 

He sat on a rock, hiding his tag as usual, looking mildly interested in the fish. We were within a metre of each other. Then he took a passing glance and casually flew off to the other side of home pen. Hanging onto the thread of hope that he might want the fish I strolled toward him when bam, out of the bushes barrels a penguin, circling my feet and biting my overalls like I was the only chew toy in the pound. I walked a bit further away but he charged, running between my leg, biting and slapping my calf with its flipper (which packs a surprisingly painful punch that's left a throbbing bruise).

I heard from a staff member that the manic penguin, a permanent resident of the centre who goes by the name of Stripey or Zippy or something I care not remember, is known for aggressive behaviour. It would be all fine and well, if not for the glint in 138's eye as he watched from across the pool while Crazy's assault forced my retreat, with sandy crocs and fishtail in hand.

I swear I could see him smiling.