I'm considering re-naming the main characters of this blog.
Robb will be the Protagonist, and I will be the Unreliable Narrator.
The Protagonist had an amazing time tide pooling. He navigated the slick, irregular terrain like a champion. There's no minimum speed for people walking around looking for interesting marine life, and he could take as many breaks as he liked. I was, not surprisingly, freaking about about the super-slick seaweed that Sheri and I had named the Lettuce of Death. Our hero never once lost his footing.
Now, here's where we get into the part of our story, where the reader begins to doubt the credibility of the narrator, and suspects the writer of a certain laziness. Think back to the last time that our Protagonist and the Narrator went out tide pooling together. Remember that cockamamie tale the Narrator told about spotting a bobcat in the middle of the afternoon? Remember that photo she claimed to have taken, which for all the reader knows, could have been plagiarized from her copy of Mammals of California? Doesn't it seem like artistic over-kill that the two characters interact with so much nature in a single outing.
As we were leaving Fitgerald Marine Reserve, I noticed a small round shape in the road, and pulled off immediately. There was a tiny baby goldfinch sitting in the middle of the road.
I shucked off my long sleeved shirt and used it to catch the wee finch. I set it under some trees, a little ways off the road. And, of course, I had to run back to the car for my camera.
Doesn't it seem a bit suspect that the Narrator always seems to be trying to save the life of some wild bird or another? What's up with that?