The seal pup was nearly as surprised to see us as we were to see her. Michael and I were walking Perry down the beach—we can do that again, now that the mornings are lighter with the lengthening of the day—and then suddenly Perry was barking, and there, racing for the sea, was a tiny seal pup. We yelled and yelled for Perry to come back, to leave this potential playmate alone, and he did, reluctantly heading back to us. The pup, now nearly in the sea, looked at us, eyes wide and alarmed. She stood up on her front and back flippers, lightly balancing, ready to race into the sea and away from us. She seemed so improbable, front flippers so big and unwieldy, back flippers oddly small, the whole body out of balance. I knew that she would be graceful and sleek in the water, but on land she was awkward and misshapen somehow, and undeniably not of my world.
Michael, running late for the train, took Perry home as I stayed and watched the seal on the empty beach. The dog gone, she ventured away from the water, slowly making her way up the narrow, high-tide beach. It felt to me like she was walking right up to me to check me out, and I had this odd burst of wanting to please her, wanting to do something that would make her feel welcome and happy here on the sand. She walked right up to me, and we stood and watched each other. Her fur was damp and matted, her ears looked like they were designed more for style than substance. And her eyes! Her eyes took up most of her head, huge dark orbs. They looked sad or curious or thoughtful or any of a thousand other emotions I might pretend to have seen. Filled with expression, mysterious, impenetrable with no discernable pupils. I was breathless as she started to walk again, nearly brushing against me as she made her way back up to the sea wall to rest her chin on the wall, and close her eyes. Every maternal instinct pulled me to pick her up, cradle her in my arms, dry her fur and feed her some tuna, and at the same time she was so wildly foreign. I remembered the slogan on the back of a DoC truck at the last workshop: “Seals need rest, not rescuing.” And I watched her closer her eyes and sigh against her wooden pillow.
I walked home and googled it to see what I should do, and learnt that I did just what I was supposed to do, that no one needed to be notified, that no intervention needed to be planned. Seals are wild creatures, beautiful, fascinating, the websites said, and this is weaning time when the pups are making it out on their own.
I came home to the first egg from my chickens, a day of writing in my garden, and phone calls with interesting people from around the world. Sometimes I almost feel like I’m living in paradise. And then there are the days when I’m sure of it.
4 comments:
On my walk to school this morning, I saw a plastic bag on the ground next to a garbage can, so I picked it up and threw it in the garbage. I saw a mailman, and he waved at me. I saw an outdoor voting table on the campus for the student election. But no seals.
I know exactly what you mean, Dad. I was trying to remember the most interesting thing I'd seen on a dog walk before coming to NZ. We used to see motorcades in DC, but they were as annoying as they were interesting. Once I saw a man running from a convenience store and figured that was bad news--got my heart racing too. There were ordinary beauties--the times when the crocuses would peek through the snow for the first time, the bright red and yellow leaves on the ground. I don't get any of that now--not the motorcades or the criminals or the snow or the falling leaves. But I get shells and seals. Not a bad trade.
Ah, cute seal pups, fresh eggs from your own hens and spring on the horizon. Sounds fabulous - enjoy, enjoy!
That was a great description of your walk. I found your blog through the Expats yahoo group....love it. I'll be back :)
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