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Less than seventy years after we discovered the dodo, we managed to wipe it off the planet, leaving almost no evidence that it ever existed in first place.In the early 1680s, at just about the time that Emond Halley, Christopher Wren and Robert Hooke were settling down in a London coffee house and embarking on the casual wager that would result eventually in Isaac Newton's Principia, a rather less desirable milestone was being passed on the island of Mauritius.
There, some forgotten sailor or sailor's pet was harrying to death the last of the dodos, the famously flightless bird whose dim but trusting nature and lack of leggy zip made it a rather irresistible target for bored young tars on shore leave. Millions of years of peaceful isolation had not prepared it for the erratic and deeply unnerving behaviour of human beings.
The indignities to the poor dodo didn't end quite there. In 1755, some seventy years after the last dodo's death, the director of the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford decided that the institution's stuffed dodo was becoming unpleasantly musty and ordered it tossed on a bonfire. This was a surprising decision as it was by this time the only dodo in existence, stuffed or otherwise. A passing employee, aghast, tried to rescue the bird but could save only its head and part of one limb.
As a result of this and other departures from common sense, we are now not entirely sure what a living dodo was like. We possess three or four oil paintings and a few scattered osseous fragments. We have more physical evidence of some ancient sea monsters and lumbering sauropods than we do of a bird that lived into modern times. Its weight was never accurately recorded, we know nothing of its reproductive habits and diet, where it ranged, what sounds it made. We only possess a single dodo egg.