The Journals of Major Peabody: A Portfolio of Deceptions, Improbable Stories and Commentaries about Upland Game Birds, Waterfowl, Dogs and Popular Delusions. Galen Winter

tweedy birdwatcher approached Peabody and asked him to identify a visitor to her backyard feeder. She described it as having a yellow tail and catching flies. I don’t believe she understood what the Major meant when, after thinking for a moment, with some authority he told her it was a Chinese Outfielder. She said it must be a rare species and she would look it up in her bird book.

      When Peabody tried to enter a discussion about genetic engineering, I tried to save him from embarrassment by saying I, too, knew a Mr. Gene Splicing. However, the Major showed more than a casual interest in the conversation that followed. He became fascinated by the subject of DNA manipulation and genetic engineering.

      Later, as I drove him back to his apartment, Peabody’s enthusiasm was obvious. “We live in an amazing time, my boy,” he bubbled. “For centuries scientists have wasted their time trying to transmute lesser metals into gold, attempting to send a man to Mars and torturing humanity by inventing the computer and the internet with its cookies and pop-ups. Now, for the first time in the memory of man, they appear to be performing a valuable service for the human race.

      “Just think of it. They are able to sneak into the DNA helix, grab the bits that produce undesirable characteristics and then replace them with ones that will correct Mother Nature’s flagrant errors. Do you know what that means?” he asked. “Within our lifetime we will see grains engineered to grow in both the heat of the warmest climates and in the snows of the coldest winters.”

      “Yes, Major,” I agreed. “It is truly amazing. After years of experiment, scientists can create seeds able to resist attacking disease. It is an accomplishment of enormous import not only for those who grow grains but also to those who consume them. Larger harvests and more food can eliminate starvation from the face of the earth.”

      “Yes. Yes, I suppose so,” Peabody said, dismissing my observation. “I hadn’t thought of that modest collateral advantage. I was concentration on the more important benefits.” The Major raised his eyes and looked off into the future. “I see pheasants thriving in fields of corn growing in the hot Arizona desert. I see them surviving and growing fat on corn growing out of the winter snow on the frigid North Dakota/Canada border.

      “I see hearty wild rice quickly reproducing to fill waterways. I see vigorous duck celery and duck potato plants designed to crowd out lily pad congestion and restore lakes and streams to vibrant waterfowl habitat. I see clouds of ducks flying into those excellent re-established feeding grounds, renewing pass shooters’ faith in the existence of a Supreme Being.

      “I see foxes engineered to eschew the eating of pheasants. I see them developing a diet consisting exclusively of rodents. I see future Pine Martens losing their interest in Ruffed Grouse and their eggs. I see them subsisting solely on the meat of dead porcupines.

      “I see flocks of starlings descending upon the springtime fields and forests where they will eat huge volumes of wood ticks. I see wood ticks being listed on the official endangered species lists. I see the Sierra Club disintegrating over the internal struggle of whether or not they will expend their treasury to protect the tick. In short, my young barrister friend, I see a bright and shining future.”

      I’ll admit I was a bit miffed by the Major’s insensitivity to the problem of starvation.

      “I don’t share your confidence in the abilities of the scientific community,” I told him. “A miscalculation in some university laboratory could result in the mutating of a virus, changing it from one that causes nothing more than the common sniffles into one becoming a primary cause of death. Some mad scientists could create a species of huge ravenous mosquito unaffected by Deet laden sprays and able to remove an man’s entire blood supply with a single feeding.”

      “There,” I said to myself, “that ought to give him something to think about.” The Major, however, would not be dissuaded. “Pish and Tosh,” he snorted. “Outdoorsmen have been fighting mosquitoes for centuries. Malaria and Yellow Fever couldn’t stop us from producing the long list of achievements we have given to mankind.”