While whiling the midnight hours in motels down South on a research trip, I happened upon a nature show about cephalopods in general and squids in particular.

One of the cephalopods that I had thought was a squid, wasn't:

the cuttlefish.

Now the cuttlefish, though closely related to a squid, could be trained to write, no joke. This little chubby, octopus-like cephalopod was a master of disguise, making itself look exactly like whatever coral or sandy bottom by which it was hiding to catch a little fishy swimming by. But the cuttlefish had such a hearty appetite that if the human trainer showed it a surface covered with 'x's' and then gave it a fish...well, after a while that cuttlefish would cover itself with an 'x' so that it would receive a fish. Ha! One of the oldest cuttlefish--a very old man cuttlefish of about a year and a half in age--could form a 'z' on its back to receive a fish.

But most of the show was devoted to the giant squid, the six-foot specimen being the object of all the diving. I won't tell you all the whole show, although I would love to. I just want to mention two things about the squid:

1. It could blink on and off the apparent colors of blue and red--on and off from blue to red (or something like that, factoring in TV distortion), but quite rapidly. It was Las Vegas beneath the waves. Two squids would park right next to each other and just blink on and off--and not for anything sexual.

2. When a squid was hooked by a fisherman, the other squids would immediately surround it and begin to eat it. Quite carnivorous squids.

My theory: I think those squids blink away to let each other know that they are alive, well, and unhooked. I think they blink so they won't be et.

What does this have to do with words? Well, cephalopod means 'head foot,' which you probably already knew, but I had to slide these stories in sideways.

Faldage: You should have seen the beak on the six-foot squid! It was twice as big as the beak on your average Macaw.