PPPPick up a penguin...

I found a dead penguin on the beach. It was one of those tiny ones that act the clown behind the glass curtains of the zoo enclosure. Well, this one was waddling no more.
The body was surrounded by penguin sized footprints on the sand, thousands of them. ‘This is strange’, I thought to myself, ‘Penguins don’t usually swim anywhere near the coast up here’. It must have been killed in a storm and then washed up on the beach with the incoming tide. I supposed the footprints must belong to its mates who had come to pay their last penguin respects. Stranger still, there was a penguin sized rock lying next to the corpse. You don’t usually see rocks on the beach, either.
Very peculiar.
I consulted a couple of dog walkers and they agreed that this was indeed an unusual sight. I decided to take the rock and possibly draw an outline of the little bird on its surface. (I know, I’m a crusty hippy) It seemed like a good thing to do and besides, I hadn’t drawn anything for ages. Carrying the rock in one hand and my wet bikini rolled up in a sarong in the other, I climb the coastal path back to the hostel.
I bump into Bob on the way there. I describe the finding of the penguin and show him the rock that is to be painted in its remembrance.
His eyes widen and he looks a bit pale.
“Is that the penguin?”
He is now staring intently at my other hand.
My soggy sarong is suspiciously penguin-sized…
“Erm, no it isn’t, Bob. It’s just a small kitten that I sacrificed to please the Penguin god of the sea…”
He grows even paler…
“Oh come on! I’m not THAT weird! I’m joking!”
It seems, however, that Bob has a different sense of humour. He gives me one last sickened look before running away, never to be seen again…
Joke.
He was fine, just a little confused.