An hour later, the nets were rolled out and Yerian gave the group last-minute instructions. Everyone else gets behind the row of Australian pine and ficus. The sun, rising from the east, beats down on their backs, flies dance on their skin. The only sounds are the distant noise from the street and a tractor slowly grading the track. A white pickup drives up.
Workers carrying large bags of dog food, corn and poultry feed walk toward the troughs.
The flamingoes, hundreds of them, are 30 yards to the right, standing like teenagers waiting to get into a rock concert. The workers leave. The birds lurch forward but not much. The next 12 minutes seem like 12 hours. Yerian decides to walk around the track, in the hope of coaxing the birds toward the nets.