Monday, Dec. 08, 2003 @ 1:18 am
We stand at the foot of the boat launch dumbfounded by the low tide. Under the light of the full moon the ocean floor moves and seeps water - it's alive and restless without the deep water to protect it. Great rocks that are normally submerged cast shadows in the bright moonlight.
We stand there and beside us is a carrier containing four hundered pounds of steaming sea lion. He barks auwr aurw and we laugh because it sounds exactly like it's supposed to. But he's sick, terribly sick, and we cannot help him. Not four hundered pounds of animal. It's too much.
What to do? I don't agree, but then I don't make the decisions. So we end up at the point in the moonlight, and the carrier shakes as the sea lion thrashes within. The door is opened and he emerges and unfolds his entire length and rears up with a mighty auwr! I'm too close to him, my eyes focus in on the muscle of his shoulder. It's the most impressive thing I've ever seen, the bands of muscle so fluid and powerful it's hardly real. A lion, indeed, if I could ever imagine a lion close up.
He lumbers off, walking on his flippers, and it seems strange after being with the belly-flopping seals for so long. So tired, he's going to die, the tide coming in to wash him away.
On the way back up the launch I find a ribcage and spine with flesh still hanging in pieces. It's the seal I found the day before, I'm sure of it.
We get in the car and head for home. In the back seat Jen and I bark auwr auwr and laugh until it hurts because of the sadness and frustration and fear... it's all too much sometimes. Auwr auwr I wish we could have helped you, big guy.