When I see the slaughter of a dolphin or whale pod, the word that comes to my brain is "genocide." To my heart and soul they are as sentient as we humans, and this killing must stop. That we need them as part of our ecosystem, that without them the algae that makes 85% of our oxygen will begin to die, is the biological gun to the heads of all who "don't care." Sooner or later, biological science will make you care. Let's hope everyone starts to care in time.
The dolphins have their moral code, their empathy, their well known trait for helping others species who need them. They show a kindness the best of us aspire to and an infectious joy one can't help but fall in love with.
The dolphin is a streak of happy silver amid the blue that is her home.
The dolphin plays as if she is happiness itself, a soulful soul born for pure enjoyment.
Leo swims in the tranquil turquoise, air bubbles rising to the surface in their clustered way. With knife in hand he gouges at the rock face to take a sample, his container ready in his pocket. When he turns to go he gets a pleasant surprise, a dolphin. He smiles and reaches out a hand before noticing that the creature isn't swimming right. Its fins are caught in netting, he's come for help. Leo approaches slowly so as not to scare him and begins to cut the tough nylon. He feels his insides start to boil, this stuff as no business being in the ocean. The dolphin moves away several times and returns again, in a few more moments the net falls away and the dolphin clicks before heading up the surface. Leo wants to laugh, cry and rage at the world all in one moment. It was only by chance he was there this time, what about all the other times a few cents worth of netting is allowed to float away?
In water more blue than any ocean the dolphin leaps high into the sultry air of mid August. From his shiny grey topside and whiter under belly fly water droplets, cascading down, bejewelled in the light. His body arcs and tail flips and down her goes with a splash. The audience claps and the trainer continues her dialogue. Under the water the dolphin turns sharply to avoid the sides of the tank. The below ground watchers gasp and soak in the information about this animal, how he was rescued and restored. They feel good, almost as if they rescued him themselves. He quickly returns to the surface for fish, open mouthed for more "ooohs" and "ahhhs." He clicks in the way dolphins do, but these fish throwing bipeds don't understand. He wants to know where the rest of the ocean went, where his family went, how he can get there. If only one of these nice folks would point the way he'd say a fond farewell and go.
The dolphin makes her way through the waters she has known all her life, swimming with the family she loves so dearly. Today there is a new taste to the water, a pollutant, though they have no vocabulary for such things and so she tells her loved ones that the water tastes like "feels bad." They already know but like her they can't understand why. Their eyes sting and there is no option to escape the toxins. They surface, breaking the top to feel cool air instead of the keen sting. The air helps but they cannot stay above the surface indefinitely. While they are topside a tourist boat passes, children and adults alike point excitedly, snapping photographs they will treasure always. The sight of the dolphin pod brings the watchers a joy they find hard to replicate in other ways and they stand mesmerized until the pod moves on. Back under the brine it is as pleasant as swimming in bleach and the babies are becoming distressed. All they can do is swim and pray that in time they will reach water that tastes like "feels good."
Under the gentle sun of early May the sea is an unbroken calm, speckled by a million fragments of light - each one so tiny but together are intense in a way that is utterly beautiful. Iris lies on her belly, feeling the rough wood of the jetty under her light cotton clothing and dangles a hand into the ocean. The water is soothing, cool. She splashes for a moment and then squeals with surprise. Where moments ago there was just briny water is now a shiny grey head observing her with such intelligent eyes she begins to talk to it. The dolphin starts to nod her head as if she understood every word and looks so much like she's returning the smile that Iris bursts out laughing. Though the day is hot Iris feels more warmed by this mammal of the sea than the brilliant rays above. It is perfection - sweet gentle perfection...
Forty six percent, almost half, of all sea plastics is old fishing gear. This gear is designed to kill marine life. We need to talk about this. There is no safe way to fish and protect dolphins, whales and sharks either. The labels are lies. It's all nuts, but we gotta save them, both because it is the right thing to do and it is the only way to save ourselves. Bottom line, plastic bags are bad, fishing net waste is worse. Vegan, anyone? I haven't been, but I've been heading that way and I think it's time to make that leap.