The following diary - written in cramped handwriting on a cobbled-together sheaf of sharkskin pages - was found on the body of a walrus recently dispatched by blubber harvesters in the Weddell Sea.

February 11, 2001

Caught another penguin today. As usual: delicious. Lip-smacking good.

But I am hungry again. Why can't they just go swimming en masse? Why must I subsist off individual straggler penguins? Isn't it more fun to frolic with others?

February 17, 2001

The penguins stand around on the ice floes, mocking me. Always mocking. They think they're so witty.

I think they're hateful.

February 19, 2001

Caught another penguin. Again, he was alone in the water, and my belly is not quite full. Damn the tuxedoed birds. They're up to no good.

February 20, 2001

The penguins have taken to throwing small, pointy rocks at me when I surface to sun myself. I think they may be experimenting with fire, as well. This is getting serious.

February 22, 2001

Mated. Caught another lone penguin. I'm thinking more about the issue in terms of what the system dynamic is: I eat one. The others must spot me. Because I am in the water, it is likely they choose to avoid swimming for a while. But what solution does this suggest?

It's maddening.

February 25, 2001

Lacking other outlets of study or speculation, I have decided to apply the scientific method to solving the frustrating penguin problem.

March 11, 2001

I have devised two experiments to attempt to acquire additional penguins. The first is exceedingly promising: I will clamber onto the ice, and wallow after them, eating as I go. I think this has enormous potential. The second is considerably more unorthodox: I will wait for a while after a penguin enters the water, and see what happens. Perhaps more penguins will appear.

March 14, 2001

The first experiment is a colossal failure. I failed to take the speed of penguins into account. While I thundered across the ice at a majestic 6 inches per second, my rolly-polly enemies waddled with lightening grace, reaching speeds approaching 12 inches per second.

Catching the damned birds on their home turf seems to be impossible.

March 19, 2001

I have decided to try waiting for a full minute after the first penguin hits the water. I'm waiting. Oh, God. He looks delicious. I'm waiting more. He's swimming around a bit, the naughty little morsel. I'm waiting more. Hell-o! What have we here? He's being joined by other penguins! Dozens of them are sliding merrily into the water on their bellies. This is the breakthrough I've been waiting for.

This... is... SUCCESS! I'm brilliant! Armed with my new method, walruses will make a quantum leap into the future of penguin harvesting. From here, I need only -

[diary ends]

The hunters who dispatched the walrus reported the animal gesticulating with a great deal of frustration and annoyance before finally keeling over. "He looked like he'd just figured out the secret to nuclear fusion," said Erik Halfensen, First Mate of the fishing ship Flössensënn. "But it's unlikely he actually worked that out, as he clearly hadn't filed for any patents, or even contacted a patent attorney."

Hadn't even contacted a patent attorney. While we can only shake our heads with sad sympathy at the naïveté of the oceangoing blimp walrus, we must also wonder: What of the future of the walrus-penguin struggle? Man can only watch — and place bets.