September 23: Dave the Dodo

They used to call me names and tease me for my unique fear of the two-legged, smooth apes. It was my brothers and sisters, however, that were afraid. They were afraid of me. They couldn't understand how I could be so antisocial with man. They were embarrassed to be associated with me. Even my own mother, Deb, barely paid any attention to me. How could a respected bird give birth to such a freak? When I was young, Deb provided food for me, but I wasn't allowed to eat the delicious tambalacoque seeds that she gathered. Those were for my brothers and sisters. I had to eat worms and insects. Only on my birthday each year was I allowed the delicacy.

My only friend, Delmon, from three tambalacoque trees south tried convincing me on more than one occasion that the "human" was a friend. The animals the humans brought with them to our island of Mauritius were friends. When the dogs plundered our nests, they weren't being malicious; they were "playing." I didn't subscribe to Delmon's theory. There was something mysteriously vindictive about the way my neighbors would leave nothing but human footprints with their disappearances.

Hello. My name is Dave and this is my story. I am the last remaining dodo bird on the planet. You may have heard of my kind before, but I doubt it was in a positive context. "Dead as a dodo? To go the way of the dodo?" My species was one of the first to go the way of the dodo. The irony of it all is that we are a species of natural immortality. Unless killed, we were the only living organism designed to live forever. Unfortunately, as far as researchers are concerned, we were among the first species to be extinct during human history. Sure, the dinosaur gets all the attention (especially with the recent discovery of the Kosmoceratops), but unlike the giant reptiles, humans were directly responsible for my family's demise.

We were a peaceful bird. In comparison to your blue jays, robins, and even penguins, we were an ugly group. Standing at about three feet with gray feathers and long, bulky beaks we weren't your typical bird of beauty, but we had class. We stood tall and proud. We couldn't fly, but we loved to spread our wings and pretend. We chirped politely and eloquently over morning dew drops and we never treated each other with disrespect.

We were a major part of the ecosystem too. Those tambalacoque seeds I mentioned above? One of the only known ways they could germinate was by passing through our digestive tracts. I'm no scientist, but even I have to admit that's pretty cool. Do you know what happens to a tree when you take away its source of germination? It ceases to exist. Thanks to the extinction of my kind, the tambalacoque is about to go the way of the dodo. Our one major societal flaw was the fact that we were so peaceful. With the exception of myself, we welcomed the arrival of the human and everything he stood for.

I spent my youth in ridicule for being such a "chicken" with human interaction. To communicate with them, however, just felt wrong. When I saw one approaching, I ran the other way. I didn't trust the males, females, or their domestic pets. I went through this routine for years as I watched my population dwindle until there wasn't another dodo to come home to. After every escape, I would return to a flock of one less. No one ever asked questions about where Darren went or why Dimitri left with the two-legged hunters. No one seemed to care that they hadn't seen Daria for weeks or that Diana's chicks were left without a mother. All they wanted was to get to know the next human to enter our village.

So here I am: the last of my kind. Alone and more different than I ever was when I was being made fun of. I've seen wars and natural disasters. I've overheard of scientific discoveries and I stood outside a home as its occupants watched a man walk on the moon. I miss my mother. I miss Delmon. I even miss my brothers Doug, Dre, and Darnell. I miss the way my sisters Denise and Danika would tease me for being different. My only joy in the world lies in finding a rare tambalacoque seed, passing it through my digestive system and in turn keeping the species alive.