Sorry, he WHAT? Imagine being this man’s boss and having to sit him down like. Listen. Brian. We need you to fuck the bird. You have to act like you’re excited about it.
crane husband…..
this is the diametric opposite of all those awful swan wife stories and i love it.
(WalWaPo makes you jump through like three separate hoops before you can read the article, so I will share some of the highlights:
Walnut was born in a species-recovery breeding program in the 1980′s. The program had crane chicks hand-raised by human volunteers, and at that time they did not fully understand the measures necessary make sure that the chicks do not imprint on humans and retain their identity as cranes.
As a result, her keepers believe, Walnut does not recognize other cranes as members of her own species.
It has not been proven that Walnut killed her previous suitors; however, there is a persistent rumor in the white-naped-crane-conservation community that she did.
Because this species is highly endangered, and the gene pool of the captive population is small, it’s pretty important for the survival of her species that Walnut A) mate, and B) not kill a bunch of other cranes.
The actual name of the keeper is Chris Crowe.
They both arrived at the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute in 2004.
Walnut immediately began paying special attention to Chris–and ignoring the eligible male crane in a nearby enclosure.
Walnut initiated their courtship, performing the opening moves of a mating dance.
Chris realized that if he reciprocated the mating dance, it might be possible to artificially inseminate Walnut with her participation and consent. (The process normally involves restraining the bird.)
It worked!
Chris and Walnut have had five children, who were raised by other crane couples at the facility–sometimes the biological dad and his mate–both because it’s unclear whether Walnut would accept the chicks as her own, and because Chris is not equipped to be a Crane Dad.
However, the Institute provides her with artificial eggs to sit on, and Chris takes his turn looking after them. (This would not work with real eggs because he can’t sit on them properly, but Walnut seems to feel that he is on the job if he just stands over them.)
Chris accepts that he is pretty much married to this bird. White-naped cranes live to be about 60, and they mate for life, so he knows he can’t retire while Walnut is alive. (At the time of the article, Walnut was 36, and Chris 42.)
Legit cannot pick the funniest part of this
she has not been PROVEN to have killed her exes, but there is a PERSISTENT RUMOR (really officers she’s simply DEVASTATED, she sobs, wearing a new feather boa unfortunately resembling her most recent deceased husband)
His name is Chris CROWE. (Mrs. Walnut Crane-Crowe?)
the mental images of a whole human man learning and performing the crane mating dance, and “sitting” on artificial eggs so she thinks he’s performing his duties as a husband and father (and apparently OBJECTS if he does not?)
“chris, buddy, you gotta marry the possibly-murderous crane lady for the GOOD OF THE SPECIES.” (alternately: “chris, my man! good news! we found you a very interested lady! She’s 36, she’s very spirited and independent, she holds a very important and rare status in her society! …Is there a downside? WELL…”)
chris sits any potential human partners down, like “my love, you must understand before we wed,,, i am already… Attached” (camera drifts wistfully to the above photo) “Lady Walnut and I have an,, Understanding… the relationship is open, but very committed”
Here at Time, we made several major changes in 2020. Now that 2021 is here, we’re rolling out a brand new set of regulations.
A Minute
A minute used to be sixty seconds long. Then in 2020, we made a minute take either one hour or 3.5 seconds. Well, we’re pleased to announce that in 2021, a minute simply no longer exists. Like pennies, minutes are now totally useless. Enjoy!
A Day
You may remember last year we adjusted a day so that instead of taking 24 hours, it would be over the moment you first ask yourself, “What time is it?”
We thought this could use improvement. This year, a day is over the moment you think about a recent activity you did, and you ask yourself, “Wait, that was yesterday?” That’s the moment a day ends.
Speaking of which…
Yesterday
From here on out, yesterday will always feel like it was about one to two weeks ago.
A Week
Last year, we changed a work-week so that it lasted an entire year. Everyone really hated this, so we did a little recalibration.
This year, a work-week lasts ten and a half days. This might sound random and hard to keep track of, but it’s the number that tested the best. And it will make total sense once you read about…
A Weekend
In 2020, we announced that we got rid of weekends. To make up for that, in 2021, you will always think it’s the weekend, even if it’s the middle of the week.
It will be Wednesday afternoon and your boss will email asking if you’re sick and that’s why you didn’t work today. And you’ll realize that it’s not Sunday like you thought it was, because it’s tough to keep track of ten and a half day work-weeks.
And you don’t want to tell your boss you thought today was Sunday, so instead you lie and say that you are sick, but you make it clear that it’s not COVID.
But then your boss will think you do have COVID, because that’s just what someone who doesn’t want their boss to know they have COVID would say.
And that will all happen every single week.
A Month
Months used to be pretty inconsistent: some were 30 days, some were 31, and one was 28 or 29. We made this easier last year and said that months would all last exactly four days.
This ended up feeling way too short. So now every month is two months long. This might seem like a paradox, and that’s because it is. Good luck!
Tomorrow
Tomorrow will never come.
A Year
Last year, we didn’t have an exact estimate for how long a year was, because the year hadn’t ended yet. Now that 2020 is over, we have clear evidence that one year lasts approximately forty-two months.
Now: we are expecting 2021 to feel a little shorter—perhaps thirty-five or thirty-six months. But who knows? We’ve been wrong before, and you can bet we’ll be wrong again.
That’s all for our updates. See you in thirty-five to forty-two months!
