The pink flamingo, occupying
yards in the summer in the
upper Midwest, stood proud

and hungry in the shallow
water next to two surf fishers
along the shore in Gulf Shores.

Have you two guys had any
luck?” asked a walker. “Quite
a few Whiting and a Pompano.”

“Pompano? I’ll be over for din-
ner.” Score? Fishers: 10 Flamingo:
0. She’s not having any better

luck than when she adorns the
fishless yard of the family on
James St. back north, but as

the walker glanced back, he
saw the flamingo continuing
to stand motionless and stare

at the fishers with a hungry
look in her eye — the same
look seen up north.