They sent me to Alaska for a walrus.
Not the metaphorical, Beatle kind, but a living, breathing, 50-kg walrus who- I soon realised- despised me. I know it seems unlikely that a six-month old ball of blubber named Martin would have it out for me, but you really have to believe me.
It started with a phone call, as everything from the most mundane to the most life-changing does. On the other end was the strained voice of my former colleague, Michelle, asking if I was gainfully employed. As ill-luck would have it, I’d just lost my job at the city zoo, the marine wildlife section having been downsized due to budget cuts. The formerly impressive array of fish and aquatic mammals was now a 10-metre cement block filled with a dozen turtles and one put-out penguin.
So, when Michelle said that a position had opened up for the specialised care and research of an orphaned walrus, I jumped at the chance.
Fool.
Really, the relief in her voice as I accepted should have been my first clue, but I was eager to prove to my dubious parents that marine biology was still valuable in a world that believed paper straws were too high a price for conserving biodiversity.
Instead, my first clue was the ghost-town of an office I found when I arrived. I turned around to ask Michelle what had become of the previous team, but she’d disappeared out the door so fast I thought she might slip on the wet cement floor.
Feeling rather alone in my new role, I decided to head straight for the viewing platform to get a feel for the task ahead of me. In the wild, mother walruses care for their young for over two years, so I’d have my work cut out for me making sure the little one had plenty of activity and socialisation. As the pool came into view, I patted myself on the back for my contributions to such a helpless animal. An aquatic saint if ever there was one.
But soon, something else patted me on the back, too. Bending over, I picked up the sloppy wet fish which had left a trail of slime and salt-water down the rear of my new uniform. Baffled, I turned in time to see a moustachioed smirk disappearing under the water. Very funny, I thought. But I should have taken his warning. That dead fish was a threat, as I came to realise. I was Martin the baby walrus’s land-lubbing enemy and there was nothing I could do about it.
From then on, I was splashed, sprayed, pulled into the pool, and shouted at incessantly by the grumpiest six-month-old of all time. I even found dead seagull heads under my pillow. Okay, maybe not under my pillow, but there were dead seagulls, and I had no idea where he was getting them from.
Martin was, without a doubt, a psychopath.
It would have been a huge leap for science to study the world’s first satanic walrus, but I was too busy fearing for my life to call the academic journals. And communication with Michelle offered no relief either.
“Martin drew a portrait of me on the wall with seagull excrement today.” I typed, aware of how insane I sounded but desperate for her to send reinforcements.
“Abstract?” She wrote back after a few minutes.
I considered this. “More impressionistic.”
“He’s improving.”
Clearly this had not been Martin’s first foray into fine art.
I tried everything: bartering with treats, new toys, even showing him videos of other walruses acting very un-psychopathic. But nothing worked, and his hatred for me only seemed to grow with each gruelling day.
Eventually, it became too much. I phoned Michelle- who picked up on the seventh ring as if she knew what I was going to say- and quit. Martin was only a year old at this point and would still require specialist care, but I’d be damned if it was going to be from me.
Michelle was disappointed, of course, and I wasn’t massively excited to return to my parents’ house having admitted defeat in the face of a juvenile walrus, but you must understand that I had no choice; he was like a blubber-plated grade school bully with a bottomless grudge.
So, I went home. After a few weeks of listless job applications to the science centre and the pet store, I got another phone call- my old boss at the city zoo. He told me that, thanks to an anonymous benefactor, they’d been able to re-fund their aquatic wildlife section. They wanted me back. I accepted immediately, sticking my tongue out at my smug parents, and promised to be in the very next day.
The next morning, I appeared before my new-old boss, Kev.
“Good to see ya,” he said, handing me the keys and leading the way to the enclosures. He threw a cheeky smile over his shoulder. “Got a special surprise for you, too.”
“Wha-”
My sentence was interrupted as a decaying fish carcass was thrown directly into my mouth.
“Your old friend has been transferred!” Kev said, beaming. “And I’ve made sure to put you specially in charge of him.”
I spit out the fish and sighed. There I was, face-to-face once again with that moustachioed smirk which seemed to gloat, no one will ever believe you.
© Sophie Pell
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