A real-life shmoo

A real-life shmoo

Great auk • John James Audubon

Originally published 16 October 1989

This is the sad sto­ry of the great auk, a 2‑foot high flight­less bird, the orig­i­nal “pen­guin,” now extinct. The events recount­ed here hap­pened hun­dreds of years ago, but the great auk’s fate is a les­son for our time.

Old­er read­ers will recall a beast called the shmoo, invent­ed by Al Capp in the com­ic strip Li’l Abn­er. The shmoo was a sweet, wob­bly crea­ture with the mis­for­tune (or good for­tune) of being almost total­ly con­sum­able. Broiled shmoo tast­ed like steak; fried, like chick­en. Shmoos gave eggs, but­ter, and Grade A milk. Their skin was a ver­sa­tile fab­ric, the eyes made per­fect sus­pender but­tons, and even the whiskers served as tooth­picks. More­over, the cheer­ful, rapid­ly-repro­duc­ing shmoos will­ing­ly deliv­ered them­selves to human appetites; if you looked hun­gri­ly at a shmoo it dropped dead of sheer happiness.

The great auk was a real-life shmoo. Its eggs and flesh were deli­cious. The feath­ers made soft bed­ding. The car­cass was rich with oil. In the sea the great auk was a pow­er­ful swim­mer and div­er, but on land it was as wob­bly and defense­less as a shmoo. If it did not deliv­er itself cheer­ful­ly to the slaugh­ter, it was nev­er­the­less pathet­i­cal­ly inca­pable of escape. An enter­pris­ing hunter with a club could dec­i­mate a colony of great auks in the course of an hour.

Until the 16th cen­tu­ry, great auks pop­u­lat­ed the islands of the North Atlantic by the mil­lions. For thou­sands of years they had been hunt­ed by the native peo­ples of North Amer­i­ca and Europe, but ear­ly pre­da­tions had lit­tle effect on their num­bers. Only when Europe embarked upon the Age of Tech­nol­o­gy was the great auk’s fate sealed.

The first Euro­peans to arrive on our shores found great auk rook­eries from Labrador to Cape Cod crowd­ed with mass­es of nest­ing birds, each pair incu­bat­ing a sin­gle large egg. Jour­nals of ear­ly explor­ers often describe effort­less despo­li­a­tion of great auk colonies. One sea­far­er not­ed the aston­ish­ing ease by which the birds were dri­ven aboard ships, “as if God had made the inno­cen­cy of so poor a crea­ture to become such an admirable instru­ment for the suste­na­tion of man.”

Rounded up by the hundreds

The great auk endured its per­se­cu­tions with shmoo-like inno­cence. Birds were round­ed up by the hun­dreds and skinned or boiled alive, or ren­dered for oil in great ket­tles fired by the car­cass­es of the birds them­selves. The sup­ply of birds seemed inex­haustible, and the plun­der­ers nev­er doubt­ed that God had made the great auk for the increase and sus­te­nance of men.

By the ear­ly 19th cen­tu­ry, great auks were all but gone. John James Audubon pos­sessed only one authen­tic record of a great auk on Amer­i­can shores, a bird caught on a fish­ing line by the broth­er of his engraver. Audubon’s 1834 paint­ing of great auks depicts crea­tures so appar­ent­ly benev­o­lent and gen­tle it is hard to com­pre­hend the mag­ni­tude of the avarice that drove the bird toward extinction.

The final and con­clu­sive depre­da­tions of the bird were com­mis­sioned by “nat­u­ral­ists.” The great auk’s few remain­ing refuges were sought out by paid agents of indi­vid­u­als and insti­tu­tions intent upon expand­ing their col­lec­tions of avian skins and eggs — all, of course, in the name of science.

The last known sur­viv­ing pair of birds were tak­en in June, 1844, on Eldey Rock, a pre­cip­i­tous island near the coast of Ice­land, by agents of a col­lec­tor. In the course of cap­ture the pair’s soli­tary egg was smashed. Thus did great auks pass into extinction.

Ani­mal extinc­tion is not entire­ly a result of human avarice. Per­haps as many as 150,000 species of birds have exist­ed dur­ing the past 140 mil­lion years, and 95 per­cent of those are now extinct. That works out to some­thing like one extinc­tion every 1000 years. As the say­ing goes, nature is red in tooth and claw.

The extinction rate soars

In the Era of Tech­nol­o­gy, nature has become sig­nif­i­cant­ly red­der. Since the year 1600, about 75 known species of birds have been oblit­er­at­ed by human hand, an extinc­tion rate sev­er­al hun­dred times that of nature act­ing alone. Some biol­o­gists believe that in trop­i­cal regions of the world the extinc­tions for all flo­ra and fau­na may soon climb to 1,000 or 10,000 times the nat­ur­al rate. The dimin­ish­ment of bio­log­i­cal diver­si­ty has become a cen­tral issue of our time.

Human domin­ion over the crea­tures of the Earth is absolute, but malev­o­lence and exploita­tion are not the only caus­es of extinc­tion. A more seri­ous threat is habi­tat destruc­tion result­ing from expan­sion of human populations.

How many species will fol­low the great auk into extinc­tion? Har­vard biol­o­gist E. O. Wil­son has writ­ten: “In the end, I sus­pect it will all come down to a deci­sion of ethics — how we val­ue the nat­ur­al worlds in which we evolved and now, increas­ing­ly, how we regard our sta­tus as individuals.

And that’s the les­son of the great auk. Car­toon­ist Al Capp got it exact­ly right. “The shmoo is the great­est men­ace to human­i­ty the world has ever known,” said Old Man Mose of the Val­ley of the Shmoon. “Thass becuz they is so bad, huh?” asked Li’l Abn­er. “No,” replied Old Man Mose. “It’s because they’re so good.”

By extin­guish­ing the great auk — nature’s shmoo — we dimin­ished our­selves. The great auk’s men­ace to human­i­ty was its vulnerability.

Share this Musing: