By KAREN MADORIN
Nobody told me when I married a game warden that a pelican might take up temporary residence in my children’s wading pool.
Nor did I realize my two tiny daughters and I would spend a couple of days throwing hooks and lines off a bridge over Big Creek catching enough fish to satisfy that visitor’s insatiable appetite. On the other hand, that eating machine never expected to vacation at our house, either.
This event occurred in the late '80s. City workers called to explain an injured pelican was devouring gold fish in the power plant pond as they spoke to me.
Eviction was necessary. Every kid in town, little and big, loved that rock pool where they tossed breadcrumbs and oatmeal to feed surfacing swirls of orange and white. Even nourishing something so exotic as a pelican was no reason to sacrifice the fishpond population.
While my husband already knew about pelican beaks, the girls and I learned swiftly to stay out of range of that weapon/lunch sack. Mr. P wasn’t happy about this forced removal and intimidated us with snapping jaws. It wasn’t worth risking hand or fingers to save frantic gold fish.
I distracted the big bird while my brave partner snuck behind to slide a huge rubber band around that slashing defense mechanism. Once we disabled it, we noticed a broken wing drove the creature to the city water hole to dine. Who knows how far the crippled bird walked to fill its belly. We swaddled it in an old blanket and hauled it home to figure out a plan.
Four decades ago, cell phones and instant communication were a thing of future, and the Wildlife and Parks rehabilitator wasn’t answering the phone. This forced us to brainstorm a strategy for the visitor our daughters named "LA Looks" for the spiky top notch on it crown.
The girls volunteered their little blue wading pool to house our guest and their services as fisherwomen. Each had a Mickey Mouse pole they cast off the nearby wooden bridge. It seemed workable, so their dad left us baiting hooks as he drove off on patrol.
After catching a few palm-size fish, our youngsters released them into Mr. Looks’ temporary abode. My husband had unbound its beak so it snarfed our meager contribution. In disbelief, we marveled at how swiftly he scooped our catch and how his pouch expanded once full of flopping protein. Once our contribution slid down his gullet, it shrank to its previous size.
The hungry critter searched for more food. Those little perch didn’t satisfy his hunger, so girls and I returned to the creek, where we filled a stringer. Once again, his response dazzled us.
It occurred to me there was no way the human part of this equation could match the pelican’s gustatory requirements so I visited the IGA fish department. All the way there, I wondered what it would cost to board this fellow until he went to the rehabilitator. I prayed my budget stretched as big as his pouch if he stayed more than a day.
Along with fish the girls and I caught, we supplemented LA’s diet with frozen whitefish. These codcicles confused him at first, but he eventually swallowed them along with live fish.
While I’d never want to feed a pelican week after week, hosting one temporarily was delightful. We happily learned LA Looks survived surgery and would entertain nearby zoo patrons with how many fish he could stash in his pouch.
Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.