#smallrus

Nanodobenus arandai, a pinniped from the mid-to late Miocene (~16-9 mya) of Baja California Sur, Mexico. Although it would have looked very similar to a sea lion, it was actually an early member of the walrus lineage that lacked the specialized long tusks that characterize its modern relatives.

At just 1.65m long (5′5″) it was only about half the size of living walruses, making it the smallest member of the group ever discovered and leading to it being given the nickname “smallrus”.

Smallruses.

“What’s wrong? Oh! You’ve never seen a fresh coconut before have you?”  

“Uhhh, no....no, I thought-“

“You thought? Let me guess, you’ve only seen people crack them open in the movies. Didn’t expect the husk?”

“Well yeah, but I also thought they just had milk and coconut in there. I didn’t expect the…the walrus.”

she laughs and slaps him on the back.

“What? I mean, they’re rare but where do you think coconut trees come from?”

He stood on the edge of the tropical shore, bathed in the light of a beautiful sunset. Her hand was warm on his bare back. The crystal blue waves lapped at his feet. The walrus looked up quizzically from its coconut throne, its impossibly tiny eyes locked onto his.

Where the hell did he think coconut trees came from?

My son is sick. Not badly sick, but sick enough to make him miserable. During the day, he's been friendly and cheerful, but at night, when his sleep is broken, he cries, exhausted but unable to rest.

So I brought him out to sit with me, thinking I'd give him some milk. He can hold his own bottle, but hasn't yet mastered the trick of tilting it all the way up, so I still tend to help. He sat on my lap, but would only take milk in sips; his blocked nose makes it hard to breathe and swallow. My own water bottle has a built in straw, and thinking that it might be easier for him to drink if he didn't also have to tip his head back, I offered it to him.

Instead of sipping, he took the bottle from me and shook it, listening to the water inside. And then, very carefully, he held it out to me, up to my face, with the straw facing out, so that I could drink from it, the way he drinks when I hold the bottle for him. I took a sip. He smiled, pulled the bottle back, and shook it again. When he heard the water slosh, he once more held it out for me to sip. He repeated the pattern over and over, letting me drink, smiling, shaking the bottle, then offering it again, until the whole thing was empty. 

He's back in bed now, and seems to have finally fallen asleep, after a small amount of crying. All evening, I've been trying to settle him - he's had cuddles and a story, milk and medicine, music and extra play time, and while it's kept him occupied, as soon as I've stepped out of the room, he's gotten upset all over again.

But what really seems to have made him happy is helping someone else. He couldn't drink himself, but made sure I had my whole bottle of water before he did the wriggle-dance that means he wants to go back to bed.

And I just.

I don't often feel sentimental about motherhood; not yet, anyway. I had an awful first year, and even now that I've settled into something of a routine, it's still tiring, still difficult, still new and weird. I worry constantly that I'm not doing the right thing, that I'm screwing it up, that I'm bad at all this.

 The smallrus is tiniest of the seal family, not much larger (and rather similiar in shape) to the garden slug. They prefer damp areas with large amounts of water, like well-watered gardens with fish ponds, and can often be seen sporting in puddles and bird baths, making their typical call (a sort of squeaky bellow.*) Any gardener is generally delighted to see the smallrus appear, as the occasional nibble of a leaf is more than made up for by their ability to keep down the number of mosquito larvae and other small aquatic nuisances.

This is so my ex-husband's fault.

One day he was wandering around singing "I am the smallrus!"

"How big is a smallrus?" I asked.

"Very, very tiny."

"Awww."

"They're bred as sock warmers. You can put your socks on the smallri to keep warm."

"AWWWWW!"

"They purr."

"AWWWWWWWWWWW!"

And just when I was thinking that I had misjudged this man for ten whole years, that he was capable of great depths of adorableness, that his capacity for cuteness was far beyond anything I'd guessed, and he'd merely been hiding it behind a facade of mild pervesion and non-sequitor--

"And they're great with honey-mustard sauce!"

*sigh*

As my friend Kathy said, "He is capable of great flights of whimsy, you just can't listen all the way to the end."  -Ursula Vernon

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The Smallrus by `ursulav

"The smallrus is tiniest of the seal family, not much larger (and rather similiar in shape) to the garden slug. They prefer damp areas with large amounts of water, like well-watered gardens with fish ponds, and can often be seen sporting in puddles and bird baths, making their typical call (a sort of squeaky bellow.*) Any gardener is generally delighted to see the smallrus appear, as the occasional nibble of a leaf is more than made up for by their ability to keep down the number of mosquito larvae and other small aquatic nuisances.

Amazing artwork that's a little bit fantasy, a little bit Dr. Seuss, a dash of mind-altering substances, all simmered in genius. Something for everyone to appreciate. Funny, meaningful, even disturbing and frightening. Some nudity, so probably not safe for work.