Little Miss Moby......

Let's all sing a song of the sea, a tale that can echo through the generations of humanity. Our human cognition is a work in progress, just like our mankind's pondering in abstract thoughts.

Humans have always wondered about their fascination with the whales of the seven seas, swimming around the globe, singing to their own songs. Whales have the largest mammalian brains. As humans, we shall probably always gaze and wonder about the sheer size of any whale, marveling at what a whale is really thinking, what they perceive through their eyes, about their evolution. Are whales a work in progress too, only in a different format? Maybe it shall always be incomprehensible to our species.

This particular story of the song of the sea was newsworthy for a little while. One fateful day, the good old boys chartered a boat for whale watching, as any grey nomad can. Alf, Johnno and Bob splashed their cash, stocked up on their latest digital photographic equipment, as well as many bevvies for their trip.

Les owned the charter boat. His ancestral fishing livelihood had been marginalized by progress, so he sensibly diverted into fishing charters and whale watching for well-endowed tourists visiting his sleepy town. Les knew where and when the whales swam closer to the shores, in certain seasons. It was all part of local knowledge, a heritage of whaling, now long gone.

So the grey nomads eagerly cruised over the sparkling seas to acknowledged whale territory, sinking a few early openers for drinks. Johnno said with a cheerful smile, "Hope we don't meet Moby Dick!"

"Fat chance!" Les reassured them, "Never heard of any of that here."

"There's one!" Bob yelled, keenly taking some real live whale photos. This particular whale was a genuine leviathan of the deep, spouting and massive.

"What does it think?" One ageing lad wondered aloud. "Must have the largest brain on land or sea."

"Look how light it is!" Bob said, taking very happy snappies.

"It's a whiter shade of whale," Alf was always ready with a quirky quip. They were the good old boys, after all.

Unfortunately for these mere human participants in this song of the sea, still singing, this certain whale was the descendant of many long generations of whales who had survived. She was, indeed, a whopper. Her whale bros and cousins fondly titled her, Little Miss Moby.

Impressively, she breached again, or was it sounding, swimming nearby this fragile charter boat, strangely named,"Song of the Sea." Little Miss Moby stared at the humans aboard, glaring at the whale selfies they were taking. Her cetacean's eye gazed, unreacting. Then she disappeared, undersea.

"That was showtime!" Les called, steering his fiberglass and timber boat. "Calls for a beer!"

Little Miss Moby was a lateral thinker, gigantic. It was her world, after all. She went cruising under this little boat, listening to their cheers for beers. This drama of the high seas continued.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, and unusually, but it does happen, Little Miss Moby breached right under the boat. She vented her wrath at humans in her species' memories. Little Miss Moby, huge, smashed the frail charter whale watching boat to smithereens.

As these equally frail mere mortals tipped into the sparkling sea, still singing, their story on land or sea did not last too long. Little Miss Moby used the full force of her gigantic tail flukes to whop them and their latest expensive digital cameras to the bottom of the ancient briny ocean, somewhen, somewhere.

Les and the grey nomads were to sail no more, stiffs one and all. It was soon too late to take any more selfies. Sharks soon ensued, a feeding frenzy. The charter boat, "Song of the Sea", never made it back to bay. A rescue mission was dispatched, but no mortal remains were ever found, only an oil slick, a fragment of a shark fin spotted, a bit of timber floated there.

Little Miss Moby had swum off, unperturbed. The good old boys were missing, presumed drowned. The human race was still wondering about what any whale was thinking, whether whales have lateral thoughts or not. Some mere frail mortals might believe in eidetic memories, some do not, but all species might be a work in progress, like humanity, or whales.

Little Miss Moby had given the old mariner, Les, and his clients the grey nomads a great send-off. She kept on with her annual migration, swimming her own tale in the song of the seas. Yes, it was newsworthy for a while.

The town and society pondered on this bad news, but only till the next day. A witty journalist wrote sarcastically about how the ghost of that old Captain Ahab had been drowned again.

So what on land or sea had Little Miss Moby been thinking? One more than reasonable interpretation could add a lucid insight, but only from our humanity's perspective.

Little Miss Moby had gazed at these prior specimens of mortality, frail and all, and decided, "Whale selfies give me the blips!" Hardened mariners still ponder as they set off from shore, where did that whale swim now? Would any whale smash their boat, deliberately or not?

Little Miss Moby did continue swimming her songs in this story of the sea. It was her environment, mankind were the intruders. No one knows that whales do not evolve, or think their own abstract thoughts.

Little Miss Moby gazed as humanity';s selfies, the future of extinction of any species, and formulated thoughts, perceived through massive cetacean eyes. Yes, her whale brain had eidetic memories, long preserved in survivor baggage.

Another ship of whale watcher cruised too close to a whale. Little Miss Moby swam and rose again. Spouting, smashing, destructive. The sea smoothed over, the sunset of someone. That was the demise of selfies and men, mere humans after all. Little Miss Moby, still that paler shade of whale, had thoughts and her own perspective.

"Bug off men. Goodbye testicles!" She was the unsung hero of her whale band. Rest in peace, mankind, not to mention all species. The rest of us are all still here, but so is Little Miss Moby, in a story of the song of the sea........