zimatravels

This is the conclusion of the previous post, The Pinniped Affair.

The very first release I saw was the incarnation of pure joy.  Three sea lions that had been together for a few months were brought “home” together.  When their kennel doors  were opened, they literally raced for the sea and kept going and going and going — out and out and out — and, most amazingly, porpoising in absolute synchrony all the way.

On reflection, our joy at seeing them reunited with their wild home was tempered by the thought of the dangers we had sent them out into.  Not only could they be killed by storms, sharks, toothed whales, and El Nino changes in the sea, but also by the intentional and unintentional  cruelty of humans.  Humans have been known to club, gaff, or shoot sea lions that are competing for the same fish.  Such was the fate of two magnificent adult male sea lions that were shot in the shoulder, rendering them unable to swim.  I watched helplessly as they died from man’s inhumanity to animals.

Unintentionally, fishing nets and plastics have become a significant killer of pinnipeds.  While fishing nets are spread out over miles and inadvertently drown pinnipeds that get caught in them, tons of plastics drift in our oceans innocently looking like food to the pinnipeds.  When enough sandwich bags, trash bags, and balloons are ingested, the stomach can no longer function properly and these pinnipeds starve to death.

It is not only Walt Disney who anthropomorphizes animals into characters we can understand.  And yet, watching the seals and sea lions, I can really see many of the same characteristics of humans.  Some adjust easily to the unfamiliar surroundings and human caretakers.  Some are playful, curious, and cute.  Others behave much like brats and bullies who gang up on weaker members of their own species.

Is it only my imagination when I see dignity and stoicism in the face of a dying animal?  Their pain and suffering is universal.  Do some know they are dying?  Ask the caretaker who had a young sea lion crawl into her lap, put its head on her shoulder, sigh, and die.  One might expect this of a trained animal that had bonded to a human trainer, but our animals are wild and unbonded.  We are brought together by their medical needs.  While there is no encouragement of bonding, there is definitely communication.

Humans agonize endlessly, politically and morally, about euthanasia, but there is no need for Kevorkians to champion the cause in the veterinary world.  It has long been believed that putting animals to “sleep” is humane.  At our center, after a sedative is administered, I have watched our staff of caretakers stand protectively around the animal, much like a deathbed vigil, while the solution that will stop its heart is given.

Death is an inescapable consequence of life, whether for a plant, an animal, or a human.  This is a reality no one can change.  When an animal dies in our care, either naturally or by euthanasia, our veterinarian performs a necropsy.  I find it interesting that some of the animal care workers will do anything to keep an animal alive, but once it’s dead, they don’t watch the necropsy.  I feel sad the animal has died, but I am keenly interested in watching the necropsy and learning how much our bodies have in common.

“Just like us,” the vet often comments as he cuts, slices, and probes.  It is during a necropsy that we can see all too clearly the cancer, the stomachs and intestines clogged with indigestible plastic bags and balloons, fishhooks and lines, and other indications of how humans are destructively changing the environment for all living creatures.

Getting to know the animals and their caretakers has enriched my life in many ways.  The pinnipeds led me to study oceanography at our community college.  During the oceanography course, I heard some enticing information about nature in Iceland.  I chose going to Iceland as my celebration for my 60th birthday.  My desire to see whales in the wild strengthened and, in February of 2005, I spent an absolutely incredible afternoon surrounded by gray whales in Baja California, Mexico.

Now that I have mentally entered a watery world more complex than I ever imagined, I envy my pinniped friends who can close their nostrils, hold their breath and dive deep for long periods of time.  I envy their grace in the water and their comfort in a world that is so foreign, fascinating, and frightening to me.