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cooperate fully. The zoo will re-open today with normal hours. Again, please refer all questions to me and avoid speaking with the press.” He nodded in farewell, took a step toward the open door, then turned back with an actor’s precision. “Be safe out there, all of you.” Another nod, this one for emphasis, and he walked to the steps that took him down off the Commissary dock and strode with dignity toward the Administration offices.
    He hadn’t promised any more early morning updates. Perhaps he had taken away a new understanding of why Wallace was so often irritable after meeting with keepers. I scuttled out quickly, evading the bull session that was sure to follow. No one knew any more than I did, and reliving my experience trying to shift Damrey was the last thing I needed.
    Sunday was a day off for Calvin. “Real” weekends off were a prize available only to the most senior keepers. Saturday and Sunday, I normally worked Birds all day alone. On the three days a week that Calvin and I overlapped, we undertook the big jobs, such as draining and cleaning the penguin pool, or, if Calvin didn’t need me, I was assigned elsewhere, usually Primates.
    Today I wasn’t at top efficiency, thanks to a lousy night’s sleep, and the extra weight I was packing was starting to slow me down. But without Calvin around, I had nothing to prove and could go at my own pace. I settled into the familiar routine. The kitchen smelled of fish and fishy excrement and the air periodically rang with penguin brays.
    I stepped over the baby gate and handfed penguins while I inspected them for lack of appetite, lameness, or any other sign of decline. I checked out Mrs. Green, so named because she had a green wing band for identification and a well-established gender from years of laying eggs. She had become widowed about the same time I had, but was much farther along the path of grief and acceptance. As Calvin had pointed out, she was undeniably putting the moves on Mr. Brown. Despite Mrs. Green’s age—advanced for an African penguin—Mr. Brown was responding. Mrs. Brown, on the other hand, apparently held to the “mated for life” rule. I hoped nobody lost an eye.
    Zookeeping has its share or more of boring work, and today I was grateful for that. I felt too twitchy and nervous to face any challenges. Wallace and the elephants intruded as I pushed a steel cart loaded with food pans along asphalt paths. He was an experienced elephant person. Damrey had been at the zoo for decades and never hurt anyone. What had gone down? I hoped Sam would figure it out soon. I hoped Wallace was recovering.
    The zoo was open, a sliver of normalcy. Visitors arrived and wandered about. Delivering food to the duck pond set off the usual avian food riot and drew a crowd, almost all moms with strollers or toddlers or both. The older kids were fascinated by the mass of wild, uninvited mallards shoving aside the zoo’s mandarin ducks, pintails, and wood ducks in a grand display of oafishness. The mute swans rose above the fray, literally. Tall and long necked, they outcompeted the free loaders and scarfed their share.
    I checked out the variety of kid carriers, an excellent distraction. Strollers ranged from Porsche to Hummer. How did women get these contraptions in and out of cars? The backpack carriers with sleeping or fussing infants looked good for climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. Did Goodwill have an infant department or did I need to refinance the house to buy this stuff?
    One woman hoisted a toddler, a little boy, up on the guardrail to see the waterfowl better. Her belly bulged even more than mine. The prospect of managing a pregnancy and a kid at the same time made my knees weak. The little boy wiggled and his mother set him down. She missed a grab for his hand and he shot off. She called after him in a voice thick with artificial sweetener, “Cecil, Mommy wants you to stay close. Come back now or Mommy