diana cowgill

Your Honor,

I am currently on trial for the attempted murder of Sprinkles, the emperor penguin who was my charge at the Long Island Aquarium. I do not deny that I tried to kill her. That in desperation I did attempt to commit acts of violence. 

These facts are indisputable, and well-known to the public and likely yourself.

My argument, however, was that what I did was not a crime but both legal self-defense and, ultimately, a public service. 

Upon first meeting Sprinkles I will admit to feeling charmed. The records show that I speak Penguin English, and she was initially quite forthcoming. She told me of her childhood, of her recently deceased partner (one of three who succumbed to “tragic accidents” while romantically linked to Sprinkles), of her favorite fish. I found her to be, for a penguin, bright and engaging.

It was only after several months that I began to question Sprinkles’ seemingly sweet disposition. After I fed Sprinkles her breakfast the morning of August 3, she told me that she was still hungry. I informed her that I would not be able to provide any more fish for a few hours.

I noticed a quick shift in her expression. Her dark eyes went black. Her brow furrowed. Sprinkles suddenly started acting aggressively toward me. She brayed loudly right into my ears and face, pecked at my legs, and slapped me repeatedly with her flippers. When I asked her to stop, she pretended not to understand me.

This behavior continued through lunch, which she ate very quickly and then vomited onto the back of my neck while I cleaned her enclosure. 

She then started speaking to me again.

After the first incident with Sprinkles, I began watching her very closely. I have been burned by penguins in my past by being too trusting: a mistake I vowed not to make again.

Sprinkles became strangely interested in the cameras in her enclosure. There are at least twenty, which are continuously monitored by aquarium security. Sprinkles became obsessed with figuring out the areas that each camera could capture, and the blind spots where she knew she would not be seen.

Often I found her in these blind spots, speaking quietly to other penguins, burying caches of fish and stones, and projectile vomiting at targets she created from found items. 

If her food was late or her enclosure was not cleaned to her satisfaction, she would berate me and peck at the same small region of my left shin. Always the exact same place. A large bruise developed, and she regularly drew blood.

Sprinkles also projectile vomited in my face nearly every day, which she claimed was simply the result of a sensitive stomach. 

On September 25, Hyacinth, a penguin who advised me on the social dynamics of the colony, told me that Sprinkles’ main reason for vomiting in my face was in order to give me salmonella. When I confronted her about this, Sprinkles projectile vomited into my face, called me names that have no English translations, and reverted back to exclusively speaking Penguin in front of me.

Throughout this period I did my best to maintain a civil, professional relationship with Sprinkles. But for my protection I did come to work armed with a gun. 

The night of September 13, I returned to the penguin enclosure after the aquarium had closed for the evening to retrieve my forgotten cell phone. I was the only penguin keeper there.

Carrying my purse and handgun, I entered the penguin enclosure via the south gate. Not wanting to disturb the sleeping birds, I did not turn the lights on.

I went to the small tide pool, expecting to find my cell phone waiting where I’d left it. It was there, but it had been bashed by a rock and covered in penguin feces.

I turned to leave when I was struck in the head and knocked unconscious by a softball-sized rock.

When I woke up, I found myself buried in the sand. I screamed, and Sprinkles cackled in return. 

She started speaking Penguin English. “Thou art a boil, a plague sore.”

I watched her waddle toward me. “Thou art unfit for any place but hell.” She stood over me. “You beetle-headed, flap-eared knave.” She vomited in my face and slapped me over and over. I believe she was trying to slap me to death, but her flippers are covered with a layer of fat so it was like being pummeled by a thick rug. 

The barrage continued, the silent night broken only by the sounds of flipper on skin and Sprinkles’ voice screaming ever crueler insults.

Throughout the attack I struggled to free myself. The weight of the sand and Sprinkles’ 75-pound body made it difficult to move. But in my desperation I was eventually able to wrench my left arm free and push Sprinkles’ mass as hard as I could, toppling her unwieldy body.

While she was incapacitated, I unburied the rest of myself. I got up and ran to my purse. 

The gun was gone.

I rushed to the south gate and wrenched at it desperately, but it didn’t move. I cried out for help from aquarium security, not knowing that earlier that night Sprinkles had vomited on all of the cameras and microphones to short circuit them.

Alone but for the penguins, and in the pitch dark, my only sense left was my hearing. I flattened myself up against the gate and listened, willing my ears to pick up the sound of Sprinkles, and to figure out where in the massive enclosure she could possibly be. I prayed for her to lose track of where I was.

I heard her right herself, and then climb to the top of the rocky embankment. I next heard the sound of frantic slapping and a jubilant roar from Sprinkles high overhead.

She had taken flight.

It took tremendous effort to stay aloft, but she somehow managed to maintain her altitude for nearly a half lap of the enclosure. Her fat little wings weren’t made to keep her bowling pin body in the air, so the exertion took a toll and I heard her crash land into the tide pool.

As she dragged herself up onto the sand, I groped along the wall toward the east gate. I was unsurprised that it was locked as well.

At this point I knew that I would not be rescued, and that I wouldn’t be able to escape. That I would have to fight Sprinkles for my life.

I turned the lights on, flooding the dark. Sprinkles screamed at me, “Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee,” and waddled to the rocky embankment, where she once again took flight.

She desperately flapped her wings, which somehow turned her fall into more of a jerky, tumbly glide. Like a bat, she had next to no control of where she flew, and crashed face-first into the north wall, careering down the rocks, hitting each one with a bodily splat, into the tide pool below.

She got up again, cursing under her breath. Again she climbed to the top of the rocky embankment, again she flung herself off, again she crashed, this time into the rocky shore. Her blubber protected her, and she merely bounced each time that she hit.

I thought that all I would have to do at this point was wait her out until the morning when my fellow penguin keepers would arrive. But after hours of trying, Sprinkles could finally control her flight enough to hit her target: me.

As always, she started at the top of the rocky embankment. She bellowed, flung herself, and zigzagged toward me. I attempted to move out of the way, but she was too big and hit me squarely in the chest with her bulbous belly. Like a rubber ball, she bounced me into the wall, knocking the wind out of me. I lay on the ground, flat on my back trying to catch my breath while she shambled toward me. 

She stood above me and pulled out my gun. Her eyes were full of hatred. “Thou bolting-hutch of beastliness.”

She pulled the trigger. Miraculously, it jammed. 

This was my chance. 

I rushed her, knocking the revolver out of her hands. The gun skidded away. I ran to it, recocked it, and shot her. Bang bang bang! Three times in the chest. She flew back and landed hard. Her breathing slowed, slowed, slowed… then sped up again.

She opened her black eyes and brayed. I stood above her and emptied the gun into her belly. She kept trumpeting, fish-scented spittle flying from her contorted mouth.

My gun empty, I put it into my back pocket and ran. I found a large piece of driftwood and fled to the top of the rocky outcrop. Slowly, steadily, she got up and followed me. When she was within vomiting distance, she stopped. “I am sick when I do look on thee!” She started retching and I attacked. I stood up and ran at her with the driftwood like a knight at a joust.

My wood was true. I struck her in between the eyes, and sent her careening off the rocky outcrop into the water below. 

I was thrilled that I had beaten her. That I was finally safe. But I was wrong, and like Lazarus, she rose again. 

Slower than ever she swam to the shore and waddled up out of the water. She shook herself and walked toward the rocky outcrop, as if nothing had happened. As if my gun and her falls hadn’t affected her at all. My night of terrors was not over…

Just then, I heard the west gate open. A penguin keeper! I was safe! I ran to the keeper and told her that Sprinkles needed to be taken into custody. That she had become violent and needed to be isolated immediately.

Instead, noticing the gun in my pocket, the penguin keeper called security on me and I was arrested without incident.

Your Honor, as you can see I acted as any rational person would. I behaved violently purely to save my own life. The fake news media has painted me as an abuser, a deranged penguin killer, but I am not those things and I ask for justice and fairness in this matter.

Cordially yours,

Mrs. Cheryl Thomas