I thought I might have seen an ostrich up close before, but I was wrong. I saw an emu. I stand corrected. Ostriches are way more cool.
Ostriches are taller than Darth Vader, but then their necks and legs are stringy. Most of the ostrich’s bulk is a giant ball somewhere in the middle. A good chunk of it may well be feathers, because the giant ball is covered in large, silky-looking ones. The skinny bits also have tiny feathers, but they are so fine they look like fur. They have dinosauresque feet bigger than mine – they might fit into a woman’s size 10 shoe, if it was designed for a creature with three or so toes.
They’re immensely graceful and balanced, and when they broke into a bit of a jog I could guess what kind of ground they could cover at a run. Thanks to a neck with the length of a giraffe’s and the range of motion of an elephant’s trunk, an ostrich can examine you at angles from waist level to far above your head.
They don’t just stand around, either. The two in the enclosure split up. Each one hung next to a group of visitors, raising and lowering its head like an inquisitive elevator. The one at my end looked into the distance, blinked its inner eyelid sideways (seriously!) and then puffed its neck like it was chewing its cud or planning to expel a fist-sized spit-ball. From time to time they would check in with one another by spreading their giant feather duster wings and dancing around each other. (According to a sign, they’re a couple.)
Go. See. Ostriches. They rock.