I guess we all have our shellfish moments.

The otter stood still for a moment, as if pondering the mysteries of the clam it held. Its tiny paw rested on the shell with an air of quiet determination. I couldn’t help but admire its focus; even amidst the artificial grass and zoo visitors murmuring nearby, this small creature seemed entirely absorbed in its task. The rock beside it bore faint scratches, perhaps marks of past meals or attempts at cracking open stubborn shells. There was something timeless about watching it—an ancient rhythm of survival playing out in miniature. I found myself wondering if it felt satisfaction when the shell finally gave way or if instinct simply carried it forward to the next challenge. Around me, life at the zoo moved on—children tugging at their parents’ hands and cameras clicking—but for a few moments, I stayed rooted there, caught in the otter’s deliberate world.