<b>Daniel and the Pelican</b> So there we stood, on the curb, like a couple of folks waiting at a bus stop. While he nonchalantly preened his feathe… - Jack Canfield

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Daniel and the Pelican

So there we stood, on the curb, like a couple of folks waiting at a bus stop. While he nonchalantly preened his feathers, I prayed for a miracle.
Suddenly a shiny red pickup truck pulled up, and a man hopped out.
“Would you like a hand?”
I’m seldom at a loss for words, but one look at the very tall newcomer rendered me tongue-tied and unable to do anything but nod.
He was the most striking man I’d ever seen — smoky black hair, muscular with tanned skin, and a tender smile flanked by dimples deep enough to drill for oil. His eyes were hypnotic, crystal clear and Caribbean blue. He was almost too beautiful to be real.
The embroidered name on his denim work shirt said “Daniel.”
“I’m on my way out to the Seabird Sanctuary, and I’d be glad to take him with me. I have a big cage in the back of my truck,” the man offered.
Oh my goodness.
“Do you volunteer at the Sanctuary?” I croaked, struggling to regain my powers of speech.
“Yes, every now and then.”
In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect solution to my dilemma. The bird was going to be saved by a knowledgeable expert with movie star looks, who happened to have a pelican-sized cage with him and was on his way to the Seabird Sanctuary.
As I watched Daniel prepare for his passenger, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere.
“Have we ever met before?” I asked.
“No I don’t think so,” was his reply, smiling again with warmth that would melt glaciers.
I held my breath as the man crept toward the pelican. Their eyes met, and the bird meekly allowed Daniel to drape a towel over his face and place him in the cage. There was no struggle, no flapping wings and not one peep of protest — just calm.
“Yes!” I shrieked with excitement when the door was latched. What had seemed a no-win situation was no longer hopeless. The pelican was finally safe.
Before they drove away, I thanked my fellow rescuer for his help.
“It was my pleasure, Michelle.”
And he was gone.
Wai