That’s Just Ducky
I read in the Indy that the Pacific Marine Mammal Center just received a $3 million donation from longtime Laguna Breach resident, Dr. Martonen. It was one of their largest donations ever. Dr. Martonen died in January 2014. Described as a quiet man, he stayed in character after his death and never said a word. However, friends and colleagues spoke up on his behalf, describing him as a gifted scientific researcher, whose works will continue to speak volumes and showcase his keen intellect for years to come.
These kind sentiments will never be made about me. I do not have a keen intellect. This comes as no surprise to readers. It’s shameful to admit, but I’ll never be as smart or as generous, as Dr. Martonen. I’m too dumb to give. I must learn instead on how to receive in time for the next smart and generous donor.
First things first. I qualify because I’m a mammal. Second I can swim. I’m not as good a swimmer as I was in my younger days. But my natural atrophy will help me be swept up on the rocks until the Pacific Marine Mammal Center volunteers come and find me. I’m getting ready for my rescue by studying pictures of Ducky. Ducky is a sea lion pup. He was the picture that accompanied the story about Dr. Martonen. When I look at Ducky’s big soulful eyes, I can’t help but reach for my own wallet, which isn’t there. Eventually I find my wallet. It’s being protected under the big soulful eyes of my wife. She refuses to give it back. “Finders keepers. Losers weepers,” my wife proclaims. And she’s right. I cry myself to sleep for both Ducky and me.
I wake up the next morning reinvigorated and hopeful to find a way to make others want to give me money. The more I look at Ducky’s picture the more I realize that it’s more than the soulful eyes. I need to mimic his bark as well. A sea lion’s bark is a must have. It gets attention. Before Dr. Martonen’s generous gift, Bob Barker, the host of the “Price Is Right,” made a big donation to the Pacific Marine Mammal Center a few years before. Barker was his stage name. Barker’s birth name was Bob Shh-Shout. His mother was a school librarian and his father was a circus ringmaster. Bob grew up conflicted. “Should I say something or not,” was always on his mind. Eventually he went into show business and paid people when the price was right to make sure the studio audience liked it when they heard from him. His mother never said a word about his success. His father shouted it from the circus tent tops. Bob’s memoirs are overdue, according to his mother.
Okay. Soulful eyes, check. Okay, big bark, check. What else can I do, to make people give me money? Got it. I need more blubber. Fat mammals are the rage. It’s working wonders in the movie “Bridesmaids” and the sitcom “Mike and Molly.” Fat is in. I guess I’ll have to drink more beer to look the part. My doctor won’t like it. But I must get into my new role. “Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer. Take one down, don’t pass it around, ninety eight bottles of beer on the wall.”
Mark is a transplant to Laguna from Chicago. He occasionally writes the guest column “Pet Peeves.” His recently deceased Border Collie, Pokey, is his muse and ghostwriter.
