In Response to Your Discriminatory Frisbees

It was a discriminatory sign.

Wanted: You
Required: Semi-permanent opposable thumbs!

The Dewgong snorted at the poster, then nosed the refrigerator door open. Short work was made of tomorrow’s salmon supper. It flip(per)ed the door shut again, and gave another snort, this time with fish breath.

Really, what else should he expect from a team coached by an Adapted? He'd expected better from Katrina, though. His trainer was going to get an earful about this. Just as soon as he could talk.

It scooted its way back up the Mansion’s central staircase, one carefully planned plop of its body at a time.

“...Is that normal?” Asked a new resident, in the harp seal’s ponderous wake.

“That’s Calley. Oh! Hey, did you hear about the ultimate frisbee team? Kat’s starting it.”

“Really? Sweet! It's about time we got a sports team.”