October 2025 - Long List

There are six thousand stories in this colony. I only hear the worst. Other birds keep to their warm nesting scrapes, but you might say I operate in the guano ring. It’s a living. 

Diego came to see me in the rainy season. The fog outside my scrape was thicker than the down on a new-hatched chick. 

“It’s Valentina,” he said. “My mate. She left me, Darwin.” 

You couldn’t blame the dame. Diego looked as wrecked as a raspberry in a jam factory. 

“They do that,” I said. “What do you want me to do about it?” 

“Find out why.” 

“I don’t work for free.” 

Diego dropped a sardine. I looked down at his sickly feet. Probably the first sardine he’d caught in a week. 

“You keep it, kid. Bring me a pebble next time.” 

She was coming in for a landing when I saw her. Pure white belly, turquoise feet, slightly larger than the average male–she was hotter than the Galapagos Hotspot. A couple of fellows raised their heads and whistled as she passed. 

“Valentina?” I asked. “I have some questions for you.” 

She glanced down at my feet. I could tell she liked what she saw. 

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart. Your ex has some questions.” 

“Diego? He’s old news.” 

Dames like Valentina aren’t cut out for monogamy. They’ll move on as soon as they see a brighter, bluer foot. But then her golden eyes flashed with compassion. 

“Ask him about Francisco,” she said, and took off again. 

“I got what you asked for,” Diego said, dropping a shiny round pebble into my scrape. 

“How did you land a bird like Valentina in the first place?” 

“Back then I was a great dancer. Now I’ve forgotten how.” 

He tried to throw his head back and stomp his feet. He looked like a mother bird regurgitating. 

“Tell me about Francisco, Diego.” 

Diego flapped his wings in agitation and let out a raucous sob. 

“Times were hard when we were chicks. We had fish, but not enough. Francisco was a few days younger than me. He was just a little kid, Darwin.” 

Half the boobies in the colony have practiced siblicide. Too many beaks, not enough fish. Diego was too tender-hearted. 

“I wanted my own family. Valentina and I built a nest. Then the nightmares started. Every night I saw Francisco’s open beak. I couldn’t fish, I couldn’t mate. I guess she couldn’t live with a booby like me.” 

“You did what you had to survive. It’s in our nature. Any chick would do the same.” 

His face brightened like he’d just spotted a school of sardines. 

“You really think?” 

“Go catch yourself some fish, Diego. Turn those gray feet blue.” 

“And then I’ll get Valentina back?” 

You can’t get a dame like Valentina back, but I couldn’t tell him that. Maybe I was too tender-hearted myself. 

“And Diego?” I called as he stepped out of my scrape and into the fog. “Take a dance lesson or two.”