Sanguine wasn’t like the other penguins. He never considered the possibility that he wouldn’t someday learn to fly. Sure, swimming came naturally, as did fishing, and waddling across the Ross Ice Shelf, but there had to be more out there.
He looked up to passing albatrosses, not as albatrosses, but as examples. He admired their flight pattern, their wherewithal, and the verve with which they cut through the briny, icy air. Despite the harsh climate and his limited wardrobe, he remained hopeful. He knew better days were ahead, and that might just be in the air, with other birds.
In the end, he did fly – on a Qantas flight bound for the equator, sipping tropical drinks from comfort of first class. After a lifetime spent digging fish out of his fingernails, a bag of mixed nuts was better than caviar. He always thought his feathers had to be for something better. As it turns out, it was for wiping his beak after a few sips from a complimentary glass of brandy.
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