Penguins are wonder creatures, a sheer epitome of serious existential strife. They leave other terrestrial creatures like us awed by their profound affections for their offsprings and their grand struggle for survival on dreary climates. I wonder whether any other animal on earth has ever been able to do that.
Sophisticated media gadgetry has made it possible for us colleague creatures to observe the impressive panorama those antarctic animals create. Impressive is not enough. Tear-jerking is more to the point.
I feel a lump in my throat at the sight of their laryngeal feeding. So will most of electronic watchers. Their discipline is Spartan. The male and female penguins share love, toils and responsibilities. Determinations are fast and firm.
Their mode of life is communal. All the process of upbringing is done in communal settings. In other words, amorous procedures and hatching and feeding are exclusive but training and adaptation activities are done in communal settings with equal division of labor and regular shift of missions.
The rough journey for the search of marine foods is apocalyptic, too. Tripping on slippery ice cliffs, falling and rising, they get to the waters at last and glide on the sea waves. Their dash to the foods is desperate.
Their gatherings are really touching. Their bodies are covered with iced snows. Perseverance is apocalyptic: In the midst of antarctic blizzard they stand piercing cold by forming gargantuan columns of windshield with their youngs in their warm underbellies.
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