As the zoo people and scientists watched on, the big penguin was given a gentle nudge on to the slippery slope and off he went.
Ungracefully into the cold seas where he briefly surfaced, got his bearings, then dived out of sight ... almost certainly heading north instead of south because he's an oddball who prefers the attention of humans over the attention of orcas.
Did you see that glimpse of hesitation?
He looked around, looked back at his minders, glanced at the ice-filled little house he had spent the last three or four days in, recalled all the delicious fish he had had served up to him ... and then he took in the sight of the great and ferocious southern seas.
Happy Feet appeared to have cold feet, and I wasn't surprised.
For he had stumbled into a colourful world of attention and kindness and safety.
He had become a star ... even relegating the Rugby World Cup stuff to second place on the evening news as his most recent forays into surgery were highlighted.
And oh how the people took to him, but in a good way, unlike the way a pod of orcas would have taken to him.
I don't get it. The capital looks certain to lose one turnstile money-spinner in the apparent disintegration of the Phoenix football side (unless owner Terry Serepisos can win Powerball for 11 straight weeks) yet when another turnstile money-spinner literally lands on its doorstep they send it away.
From what I could see, the great emperor penguin voyaged north in search of another life. A better life.
He was effectively seeking asylum.
These shores have taken aboard asylum seekers and refugees from dozens of lands, yet this waddling wonder, who only had to turn its head to attract hundreds to the gates of Wellington Zoo, has been sent packing.
The people went to see him because he was a wondrous rarity in these parts.
Imagine a fine and frozen indoor terrain and pool where you could go and see great emperor penguins for an absolute fraction of the cost of an Antarctic cruise.
Kelly Tarlton's have got about 80 king penguins waddling and splashing about up there in a remarkable snowscape.
Instead of building a big "Wellywood" sign on the side of Miramar mountain why don't they build a great emperor penguin domain.
Be lots of little happy feet walking through those turnstiles ... but of course the namby old Green Party would likely to say it would horrible and cruel or whatever.
The one contact we still have with the wayward penguin is, of course, the tracking device he has attached to him.
But I have this unsettling feeling that the travels and journeys of Happy Feet may produce some unnerving results they may need to get the spin doctors in to massage.
For the great penguin, as he tries to make his way back to the northern beaches of the Wellington district, will again become a potential part of the great food chain.
I have visions of the scientists watching their screens in bewilderment as the ankle-bracelet-equipped penguin apparently begins heading east out across the Pacific, then north toward Hawaii, then south again, then east toward the California coast.
"Why is he heading towards the breeding grounds of the great white?" one asks.
"His directional abilities are limited, we have to consider that," the other replies.
Then the device tells them he is heading west, far west, to the waters of South Africa.
"He appears to be following the paths of the great whites," it is noted.
"It's as if a great white has shot off with his tracking device," the other remarks ... and then they both fall silent and look at each other.
A day later, inexplicably, the signal becomes stationary.
Geographical measurements are taken, mathematical enquiries are carried out, the GPS system is examined and bearings are accurately determined.
For some reason the location of the static signal is confirmed as being on the south trophy shark wall of the Durban Deep Sea and Game Fishing Club.
"Happy Feet on Ross Sea Ice Shelf" is the headline we get to read however.
Forgive my frivolity. Deep down I hope he makes it ... back here in time to keep the Rugby World Cup in its place.
Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre.