Mysterious goblins haunt our familiar walks at night. They migrate in scattered patterns with little site fidelity even when they nest as they secretly do so here. When captured for banding they remain curious and docile and surprisingly so, or perhaps they are simply stupefied by giant admirers with headlamp eyes.
One particular female pitched a fit when she found the pre-recorded love song to be a ruse and did not fancy the ornament with which she was fitted, our three-eyed science be damned. Ghostly proclivities have served her species well and our do-good intentions are less honorable to her as rude. Maybe those prone to tantrums are less frequently captured but in any case let each of them be loved and quickly released into night.
— Jack Phillips