Clubbing Baby Seals - Part II

From time to time, you get the sense that divinity is on your side. Like when the universe takes on the form of Catholicism's vengeful god and directs its fury only at those you deem worthy. Shortly after the beached seal sighting, I thought fake catholic god was treating me to one of these occasions:

A few days after the seal-in-river-on-ice discovery, the blubbery attention whore was still lounging on the ice and my chromosomally challenged co-workers were still in the midst of their waddling/shrieking campaign. And each day they came in appearing to have completely forgotten they'd seen the seal the day before. “Look! A seal!” It was like they all had a bad case of retrograde amnesia, except their forgetfulness was not the byproduct of a fiery car accident or unspeakable childhood trauma. It was just another display of stupidity - a display so intimate and raw and exposed, it felt like watching the local shopping cart cat litter plastic bag lady undress. It was the other kind of voyeurism - the kind where arousal is replaced by nausea and where nausea is followed by violent vomiting.

Tectonic plate (who is a born-again Christian) has her vocal chords set to perma-annoy: seal this, seal that. Something about it being stranded and the game warden being called in. Something about a rare species of seal unable to breathe under water. Something about the game warden being called in to shoot it. Wait, what?

Apparently, the Fish and Wildlife Service is so under-funded that the state government responds to stranded animals by killing them and calling it good. Far less expensive (and hokey) that the “let’s save it” approach. Makes sense, non? And in our case, the best past was that the warden was coming as a direct result of screaming tectonic waddler calling to express concern for the seal’s safety. Hahahaha. That’ll teach you to have a social conscience.

Writhing in anticipation, I compulsively consulted the clock and wondered when the blood bath would start. I wondered whether seals could fight back. I sure hoped so, if only for the When Animals Attack novelty factor. So I wait and wait and wait...

And then, the news arrives. The warden and his gun are not coming. Something about the seal not being of the suspected rare breed. (I think that was code for "it's just a fat, lazy seal.") So no warden, no man versus beast soap opera. No dead seals. And much to my chagrin, no new fur coats or PETA activists to give them to.

Thanks a lot, bJesus. Thanks for nothing and everything and for whatever falls between the two. You’ve once again destroyed my feigned faith in your power. I'll never pretend to believe in you again, not even if you promise me three more wishes and to take out the “no wishing for more wishes” clause.