Typical Day
"That's one good-looking hunk of poo," says Harry Paws to himself after spotting a clump of polar bear scat clinging to a rock.
He's up in Alaska researching the effects of climate change on the big white bears. Since the globe has turned into one big microwave, the ice has been retreating up in the Arctic. Some predict that in a few years, the Arctic will be entirely ice-free in the summer time. This is making it way harder for polar bears to munch on their favorite dish: baby seal pups.
"I wonder what would happen if the polar bears in the Coke commercials ate a baby seal?" he says, as he carefully scoops the scat into a plastic bag. "It would probably kill my funding for next summer. That's for sure."
Harry peers through the plastic bag at the fecal sample. He won't know exactly what the bears have been eating until he gets it back to his lab in the university where he teaches, but he's sure he won't find too much evidence of seal having been ingested.
"Global warming...bad for bears, great for baby seals."
He spots a feather sticking out of the scat. Harry can't be sure because it's seriously caked in poo, but he's pretty positive it's a snow goose's feather. Since the bears can no longer hang out on the ice waiting for a tasty baby seal pup to come up for a breath, they're having to turn to prey they can catch on land.
"Global warming...bad for bears, also bad for snow geese."
Though he's almost positive that the bears have begun to feed on snow geese instead, the one thing he's lacking to help prove his theory is photographic evidence. He'd been hoping to get some pictures today, but no such luck.
Harry slips the sample into his pack and squints at his watch in the glaring Alaska sun.
"Bright as day at 10:00PM. Gotta love Alaska in the summertime."
Reluctantly, Harry starts trekking back to base camp. He lives for his summer research trips. It took many years of school for him to build up the credentials to be competitive for the type of grants needed to send him out into the field.
"Hello, little poo," says Harry, grinning as he spots another clump of poo. "Whistle while you work, da duh dum dum..." he sings.
Harry couldn't be happier than when he's out in the bush. His first years out of undergrad had been Harry's idea of hell. He'd been cooped up in a sterile lab at a biotech company peering through a microscope all day. A couple years of that and Harry had had his fill. It was off to get his master's and then a PhD.
"I'm going to start insisting that my students address me as Dr. Poo," mutters Harry as he begins to scoop the scat into a bag.
As he gets a good whiff of the scat, Harry's brow furrows in concern, and he feels a tremor of excitement in his chest. This poo is fresh.
"Now that is straight from the sphincter. Let's find a lookout."
There's a bear nearby. Harry spots a boulder on a nearby rise and quietly pads his way toward it. Most people making their way through the backcountry make noise as they hike so that bears will avoid them. They put bells on their packs or sing out loud.
"Should we be offended that they don't like our singing?" Harry's boot digs into the side of a rock as he hauls himself upward. His muscles strain, and he scrapes his knuckles bloody on the rough stone.
"Little old for this," he groans and fumbles for his camera.
And then there's a roar...a very close roar....
Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!
Suddenly, a veritable tornado of snow geese flaps into the sky all around Harry. For a heart-pounding second, Harry can't see anything but a swirl of wings and beaks. He loses his balance amidst the flurry of snow geese and stumbles to his knees, nearly falling off of the rock.
As the cloud of geese clears, Harry sees her.
"Hello, beautiful."
A massive she-bear shakes an unfortunate snow goose back and forth until the bird stops flapping. He raises his camera to get a shot, but sees the lens is smeared with white goose poo.
"It's been a poo-y kind of day."
He quickly wipes the lens and snaps shot after shot.
"That's right, beautiful. Show me your good side. Work it, girl."
Dr. Harry Paws stumbles into base camp that night with his legs and arms aching, his knuckles bleeding, carrying a pack full of bear scat, and smeared from head to toe in white goose poo—and he couldn't be happier.
"How was your day, Harry?" he asks. "Best day ever. Thanks!"
As he eases himself into his sleeping bag that night, he quietly says, "When I get back, I seriously have to remember to stop talking to myself."