October 2025 - Long List

On Isla Lobos, it was a tradition —maybe evolution — for blue-footed boobies to slurp a jar of jelly each day starting April 1st in preparation for the mating season. 

And, Ernie Fuego figured, if his hundreds of cousins weren’t proof enough, the Fuego name unabashedly scratched with

flowery details on every rock in the archipelago, was.

So, for thirty days Ernie slurped jelly and learned the dances that had attracted girls for generations.

On May 1st, Ernie eagerly met the other boys on the beach, and he danced. He strutted andraised his head to the sky. He offered sticks and pebbles for a nest. But the girls flying overhead ignored him. 

They ignored all the young male boobies.

The watching families flapped their wings astonished and confused.

The boys danced harder, lifting their feet higher in the air.

A collective hiss. “Their feet are white!”

Ernie looked down.

His stomach flipped.

His feet — a pale, unremarkable white.

What the heck?

Mama Fuego pulled a jar of jelly and spoons from her purse.

She tasted.

Others tasted.

“No anchovies!”

“No flying fish!”

“No sardines!”

“No fish at all”

As word was relayed across the island, flocks of blue-footed boobies descended on the Isla Lobos Jelly Factory.

Tortoise, who had just turned one hundred, met them there wearing his sheriff’s badge with pride.

Mama Fuego landed on Tortoise’s back — none too gently.

“Jelly’s been tampered with. No fish — artificial flavor and corn syrup. Our boys’ feet are white. Nobody will mate!”

Tortoise stepped on the emergency intercom button.

“Factory employees report immediately!”

It was a small island, and Tortoise knew them all as they filed in:

● The iguana twins - culinary operations.

● The penguin triplets - marketing and distribution.

● The frigate - factory maintenance.

“It’s a catastrophe,” Tortoise declared “The jelly’s missing vital nutrients. No blue feet… no mating. No mating… no babies. No babies… no tourists.”

He squinted. “Until I say otherwise, you’re all suspects.”

The iguana twins whipped their tails.

“Too many boobies already. Galapagos visitors step on iguanas just to see those blue-footed squawkers.

Ignoring assembled boobies’ hissing, Tortoise turned to the penguin triplets.

“Agreed. And new booby construction is encroaching on penguin protected coastlines.”

More hissing.

Tortoise addressed Frigate.

“Frigate - you’re looking thicker.”

Frigate belched, then shifted causing two buttons to pop off his jumpsuit.

“Sardines.” Tortoise sniffed the air. “Flying fish… anchovies?”

Frigate spread his wide wings, jabbing the air, unthinkingly exposing his gular sac.

“Your red throat pouch turned purple… and… red plus blue make...” Tortoise smiled. “You, pirate, are the whodunnit… but why?”

Frigate blushed, shifting from foot to foot. 

“It was the jelly… couldn’t help it. Sardines, anchovies, flying fish… delicious.”

He touched his throat. “But girl frigates want red not purple. I’ll stop. I promise.”

Mama Fuego nodded.

Tortoise exhaled. “Case closed.”

The Isla Lobos blue-footed boobies met later that day agreeing to delay the start of mating season until June 1st.