Oystercatcher Tide Pools small fish circling

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Blackbird had marched doggedly along the coast for days, even though it was spring and she was freezing and her fur smelled of salt and seaweed. Even though there was too much sand now caked on her paws and ankles and in between her toes. Even though she knew there was no good hunting here. Occasionally, she would come across a seagull tearing into a fish on the sand and she would charge for it. She almost never made it in time, but sometimes she did, and she would gulp the fish down as quickly as she could without choking on the tiny bones, and before the gulls could peck at her too much for stealing their food.

Still, these small meals had not been enough and her senses had become dulled from hunger. There was a near-constant sting in her eyes from the salt spray. The nights were cold and there was nowhere to protect herself from the elements, no rocks to shelter behind, nothing. So she stubbornly dug in the sand, slept in the tiny indents she’d made, and continued at dawn. She didn’t know what she was looking for. She didn’t think she was looking for anything. Except food. She knew she should turn inland where it was warmer and there were rabbits or other smaller mammals to hunt, but something kept her along the coastline.

Today, her stubbornness rewarded her. It was low tide and there were tide pools stretched out before her. She came forward and a few seagulls who had been pecking at the water flew off, screeching at her angrily. She sat down and looked into the water. There were small fish swimming around, and she dropped her head, focusing on them, wondering if there was any chance of catching one…