The next year the whooping cranes didn’t return.

An out of season hurricane smashed into the beaches where they nested, scattering the flock across the marshes. Seven feet of wingspan stood starkly against the murky water, but the wings no longer flapped—an image splashed across the internet in the days that followed.

No more do their red crests dot the Texas shores, and the sand looks like a desert for it.

I understand they’ve moved to a fountain in front of a Vegas casino, the few who survived. Urban adaption by wildlife is fine, but…

I sure do miss those whoopers.