It's No Fluke

The caller was succinct enough. He was of the opinion that all the attention being paid the pair of whales that found themselves headed up the Sacramento River this past week was out of place. Why, he wondered, did we care so very much about a pair of sea mammals that had missed their turn on their way North? My wife, upon waking mumbled something about "think of the putrification," and slipped back into sleep, relieved from the moment of conscience.
Of course we care. We're the ones with opposable thumbs and all. We can get baby Jessica out of the well, and we can certainly save two whales (now branded with the somewhat absurd nicknames "Delta" and "Dawn"). They made it as far as Sacramento, perhaps with a hope of gaining an audience with our Governator. The question the caller raised hung in the air, with the threads of time, effort and money dangling from it. If evolution saw fit not to bless these two humpbacks with a serviceable sense of direction, who are we to interfere? We have the legend of Humphrey to spur us on, from 1985. Scientists used recordings of whale songs to lure him back to the Pacific, and eventually made a number of fine children's books.

Finally, it brought me back to an old and very fond memory of my college years, listening late one night to the campus radio station, as the DJ came on to back-announce "We Are The World": "Yeah, right. Feed the world. All I know is somebody's gettin' rich." I know that all those egos were checked at the door, but it was still about selling records. And now, God help me, I can't get that Helen Reddy song out of my head. Stupid whales.