While I’m not a zoologist, I’m fascinated by a weird, little ritual some penguins do called pebbling. (It’s a thing — go look it up.)

In the sub-Antarctic, Gentoo penguins will share small pebbles with potential mates they’re trying to court/impress/woo. At its core, it’s a small exchange. Bigger picture; it stems from their desire to share something they think a loved one would enjoy.

Countless articles have been written about penguin pebbling and how humans will mimic those interactions in spades.

I pebble the living bejeezus out of my friends constantly — almost to a fault. To me, pebbling is a teeny-tiny deed between two people to show they care and cherish each other’s friendship.

Case in point, I’ve sent the same text every morning to my best friend Jeff and my galpal Mindy for nearly three years.

The text?

“love. you.”

That’s it. Two simple words to let that person know I’m thinking about them.

Pebbling comes in all shapes and sizes. It’s random and usually unexpected. You probably pebble your friends and don’t even know it, like when you fire off memes, articles, or videos that remind you of them.

It’s a simplistic way to bond — minus rocks and sub-arctic temperatures.

My core group of besties are five girls I went to high school with — Kim, Mindy, Cindy, Katie, and Becky. When you’ve been tight with someone for 30+ years, there’s a level of comfortability that is unspoken.

No jazz hands. No spirit fingers. No pretenses whatsoever.

Collectively, I have shared more laughs and tears with these broads than any other human on earth. They don’t just show up. They will smother me, if needed. Forget pebbles. They hurl boulders of love, adoration, and sentiment.

Cindy is the rule-maker and rule-breaker. When my dad was put in hospice care, Cindy arrived at the facility before I did with enough gourmet charcuterie to feed a small army. She let me eat and cry. And cry. And cry. I will never forget that gesture of love.

My friend Mindy — a hyper-talented photographer — has documented our friendship quintet for three decades. Go into any of our respective houses and you’ll find family photos, senior portraits, and a slew of engagement/wedding photos. She’s captured every Prosecco-laden moment beautifully. In living — and loving — color.

Becky is a renowned pastry chef. I can’t think of a single get-together or wingding where Becky didn’t show up with an abundance of baked goods. It’s not a party unless her champagne cake is somehow involved. My dad requested her famed pineapple upside down cake for his 90^th birthday. She duplicated the cake at his memorial service. People still talk about it.

Kim is our resident activist and politico — and a living, breathing dichotomy. Loving and authoritative. Gracious and bossy. Caring and civic-minded. Nurturing and no-nonsense. We all know someone who has zero filter. Well, Kim is the person who would tell that person off. She’d then politely ask the bartender for another beer. I love Kim. I fear Kim. We all do.

And then there’s Katie, who is our Martha Stewart. Her superpower is bringing us all together. A sort of emotional bailiwick. She ensures we break bread and gossip. She creates dazzling six-course meals and encourages us to bitch about anything and everything. She’s also an OB/GYN nurse practitioner. Over countless dinners, I’ve learned more about STDs, sore nipples, and preeclampsia than any man should ever know. If my uterus ever decides to fall out, I know Katie will be there to pick it up. She’ll then have a flan ready after my surgery. It will be made with goat cheese from an orphaned kid she raised while volunteering on a farm.

This is a friendly reminder to pebble your friends early and often. Text them. Call them. Take them for coffee. Send them an insufferable amount of stupid memes. Order them cheap stuff off Amazon. No matter how small the gesture, your goal is to let them know they are loved.