Status Updates From Never Look a Polar Bear in ...

"I don't know why everybody gets so excited about polar bears," she continued. "They're not colorful or fun to draw and they just lie there all the time."
"What would you rather see them doing?" I asked.
"I don't even know. I just like ducks and dolphins better, that's all." With that as her final word on one of the world's most celebrated animals, Percy sucked at her peppermint and turned back to her books.

He had the hunched spine, enormous round glasses, and icy pallor indicative of someone who spends a lot of time online pretending to be a warlock. Everybody on the course had instantly pegged Steve as the guy you didn't want to get stuck sitting next to at lunch. His gaze was just a little too avid, his attempts at conversation and flirtation too aggressive by half. He struck me as a lonely middle-aged guy...

I stepped down off the wall and scooped up little Zeke, who was eating pebbles. His coat was misbuttoned, his hat was askew, and his scarf was tied in a fashion that was more noose-like than warmth giving. A two-year-old California boy has difficulty understanding the direct relationship between how he dresses and how comfortable he will be.

In the dining car, the kids set upon the lunch buffet with murderous intensity. The polar bears could learn a thing ot two from this predatory frenzy.

A Canadian friend of mine once told me that Manitoba is "easily the worst place in the country." When I asked why, she said that "it's got the coldest winters, the hottest summers, and the most mosquitoes." In a country that's world famous for its cold and its bugs, this is a pretty serious charge. (The oppressive summertime heat is just an added bonus.)

I'd come out to this desolate spot to see polar bears, but it was starting to dawn on me that Rockwell was the kind of naturalist that has always filled me with dread: strip away all of his illustrious degrees and well-reviewed publications, and Rockwell was, deep down inside, a birdwatcher.