The First Dodo
“Thanks, Pat. And yes we are live today at London Zoo in a rather drizzly Regent’s Park as you say and we are here because we are hoping to get our first glimpse of a very special new resident. It’s a world first in fact, and we will have more details and hopefully that very first look in the next few minutes…”
Max Gregory, turned to look behind him at the space where something interesting should be, but instead got a faceful of icy rain. He instinctively grimaced before immediately composing himself, turning back to the camera and laughingly saying “And hopefully some better weather too! Back to you, Pat. Nice and warm there in the studio, I bet?”
He thought he’d get a little dig in then, while he could. Pat held his smile.
In his ear, Pat replied with one of his trademark pithy responses. He could hear the booth snickering too. The bastards.
He feigned a laugh and then returned to holding his fixed grin.
And he was off air.
15 minutes until he’d be back on.
The smile slid off Max’s face, returning it to its default position of ‘scowl’.
“Bloody Pat, at it again,” he fumed to Kev and Al, his cameraman and sound guy, but especially to himself.
Max considered it one of this century’s biggest injustices when Pat had been chosen over him as the new anchor for Breakfast UK.
On paper it was a fairly even competition - both had 25 years experience, both were in their mid fifties, both were free of even the faintest rumbling of controversy or scandal.
But, for some reason, the powers-that-be decided not to go with Max.
Max, who was there when presidents were toppled and missiles were flying down busy streets and the burning oilfields made the air sticky and bitter and black.
And where was Pat then, while Max was comforting the nation? Where was he when Max led the world in mourning?
More than likely, he was doing a puff piece about line dancing cats or whatever gimmick the braying idiots liked that week.
’The housewife’s choice’.
Ugh, that is how the tabloids had described Pat after his stellar promotion. Nevermind journalistic skills or good old-fashioned integrity - everyone loves a doe-eyed sap, apparently.
And to top it all off, management had made him such a stinkingly good offer he could have never refused - a king’s ransom to suppress all his journalistic instincts and play the fool as Breakfast UK’s roving reporter. Not so much a sideways move as it was a kick in the balls, just you got paid a bit more for it.
It was in this quiet moment of seething when Liz, the director from Max’s crew, and a member of zoo staff came bustling over to him.
Liz put her hand on Max’s shoulder.
“Max, sweetheart, this is Helen from the zoo, one of their lovely in-house PR folk, and she’s got an update on the running order this morning and our special guest and…”
She tailed off and gestured for Helen to continue.
“Oh, yes, umm, lovely to meet you Max, Mister Gregory, and yes - ooh, so we are nearly there, we are all ready, we are just waiting for the all clear on a security check we had with the Met, so we just need to delay for a few more minutes and…”
Max sighed theatrically, making Helen stop in her tracks.
“OK, OK, OK. Do they know back at the studio?” he asked, witheringly.
Helen looked at Liz.
“Yes, it’s all in hand,” she nodded, hand to ear, “We go live about five minutes later, you give a little filler, a little colour and then we come back again at the end of the show for the big reveal - da da-da-dah! - quick chat, blah-blah-blah and then you’ll do the outro for today’s show, Max… if that’s OK with you?”
To be fair, Max was only half listening by this point, but as those last few words hung in the air, his interest was suddenly piqued and he snapped back into the conversation.
“Mm-hmm, yep of course, Liz. Let me just check on my notes and piece something together and then I will be good to go.”
Today’s hoopla was at least something of historic note rather than the cotton candy dross he was usually given.
A team of London geneticists had managed to map and reproduce the genome of the dodo. In fact, they had last week revealed that they had successfully extracted DNA from a single feather held at the Natural History Museum and had used turkey eggs as a surrogate to produce half a dozen viable embryos.
Of those, only one had hatched, but it had responded well and, following a few final tests, would now be going on display as a modern marvel at London’s world famous zoo in only a few moments.
Relatively speaking - for Max’s current output at least - the news was big.
Already, there here had been calls for repeals on the hunting bans for exotic and rare creatures.
There had been protests from religious groups, calling this kind of science ‘an affront to God’.
And somewhere, lost in amongst all that, were calls for moderation, peer review and sensible practical applications.
All things considered, it was a dream report.
Science, religion, politics - even the cute animal angle was bearable to Max when it was wrapped up in something a bit more newsworthy.
Even if it did mean standing in the pissing drizzle on a miserable Tuesday morning.
While Max read though his notes, the crowd began to grow around the enclosure, with people jostling for the best positions to see the dodo when it arrived.
The zoo had invited a number of conservationists and celebrities to the big reveal of course, as well as some of its patrons and supporters. The excitement in the air was palpable, with a frisson that only comes when an event truly is ‘once in a lifetime’.
With the anticipation growing, Max made his final preparations and positioned himself in front of the camera. He knew he’d only be onscreen for a few moments before it would switch to a shot of the dodo emerging for the first time, but he would make it work.
He’d play the game again.
The director signalled. They would be going live shortly.
A countdown.
The buzz of excitement grew in his ear until he heard: “Cue Max…”
“Thanks Pat, yes we are here today for an incredible new arrival at London Zoo, as some of you may have heard already. A British led team from King’s College have successfully raised a dodo and it will be going on display here at the world-famous Regent’s Park so the world can see for itself what some people are already calling ‘the modern miracle…’
It was now that the camera panned round to the enclosure. Now knowing he was offscreen, Max visibly deflated. He knew his time on camera had ended and he would just be another disembodied RP voice, delivering platitudes while world history unfurled in front of him.
“And now looking into this specially designed space for the dodo here, we should see our first glimpse very soon. The team of keepers are just undertaking the last couple of checks…”
There was a pause.
Then a panel on the back wall of the enclosure slid open, revealing a sliver of the more clinical quarters behind.
Still nothing.
All the while, Max continued narrating, filling the dead air:
“And now we are just waiting for the guest of honour to make his appearance…”
A keeper banged a food bowl, before tipping in a scoop of pellets.
“Tchk tchk tchk tchk,” they encouraged.
Then, suddenly, a small bundle of feathers - about the size of a chicken - waddled out through the hatch and onto the patch of dirt and grass at the centre of the enclosure.
Max continued: “And here he is - the first dodo to walk the Earth since the 17th century…”
The bird was short and squat. Its skinny yellow legs held up a puffball of downy feathers, which in turn supported a gawkily oversized head with hooked beak and twitching, beady eyes.
“Roger, meet the world. This incredible feat of science and nature was named after the late actor Roger Moore, famous for his memorable eyebrow…”
Even from a distance, you could make out the little arch of miscoloured feathers on the avian Roger’s brow, which gave the already comedically ill-proportioned bird more character than it could ever possibly hope to use.
The dodo clucked excitedly, snapping and clacking its beak at nothing in particular, constantly surveying his surroundings, cocking its head and blinking at the crowd assembled to welcome it into its new home.
“Roger will be studied extensively during his time here at London Zoo, with a dedicated team of keepers who’ll be learning all about dodos for the first time, and I’ll be joined by the head keeper in a moment who will be able to tell us a little bit more about this incredible project…”
Roger took a few steps out into the enclosure, hesitantly trotting forward, head bobbing back and forth as he did so.
Oohs and ahhs erupted from the crowd, with claps and cheers filling the air as the small grey bird bumbled its way forwards. It pecked and scratched at the ground, edging slowly towards the food bowl that had been shaken in the corner closest to where Max was standing.
“And as you can hear from this crowd braving the weather on this truly horrible morning, Roger is already a huge hit with the fans here in London and the team here at the zoo expect him to become a new mascot for the modern age of zoos, just like Guy the Gorilla did back in 194….”
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the crowd. A shout. A shove. You could see security, on the peripheries until now, move decisively in towards the disturbance.
A cry went out: “FAITH NOT SCIENCE!”
A single hand rose above the heads and tossed something into the enclosure.
A trail of smoke.
The projectile bounced gently on the soft grass next to Roger, who looked down at it with an empty-headed curiosity. The bird picked it up in its beak, threw its head back and swallowed the object.
“Ack! Ack! Ack!”
There was a beat.
And then a cushioned THUD as Roger exploded, a billow of downy grey feathers filling the enclosure, leaving two little yellow legs stood, utterly disconnected, in the middle of the chaos.
Then silence.
Then screaming.
Then someone was being pulled to the ground and security were barking orders to each other.
And then Max’s instincts kicked in.
He frantically gestured to his slack-jawed cameraman, who swung back around and refocused on Max once again.
“Apologies for the disturbing images there. Tragedy has struck in London this morning as a protestor exploded a device inside the world’s first dodo…”
Roger was gone, but Max was back.
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