Oregon Zoo

I’ve done some stupid things in my life for handsome men. I’m a sucker for a pretty face and biceps. (Lordy, there were men with amazing biceps in the Army!) But, last Friday’s harbor seal video reminded me of an adventure in my newspaper days.

While working as a reporter and photographer at the Newport News Times in 1984-85, two of my favorite (very handsome) marine biologists asked me to deliver something to Portland. I was driving to my parents house after work on Friday night. They did not tell me what it was.

I figured papers or something that needed to go to the big city. Showed up at the Hatfield Marine Science Center to find the guys tube-feeding a baby harbor seal who needed a ride to the Oregon Zoo for rehab. Surprise!

“Since the zoo will be closed when you get there, you can keep him overnight in the bathtub and take him up in the morning.”

Right. A quick call to Mom and Dad to see if that was okay. God Bless my suffering parents, they never knew what the next adventure might entail. They said fine.

Baby seal was put in a largo red Igloo cooler with the lid propped open for air and stowed in the front seat of my 1974 maroon Nova. We seat belted the cooler in and I was instructed to drive carefully.

“What if I get stopped by the cops?” I asked. “Don’t I need papers?”  I knew it was a federal offense to handle or transport marine mammals due to the Marine Mammal Protection Act.

“It’ll be fine,” they said. “Just give us a call if you get stopped.”

From my jail cell no doubt.

It’s a two to three-hour trip to Portland from Newport given the weekend traffic. My memories of the trip are fleeting incidents.

The smell of seal poop. Can’t really describe it. Think of eating only fish and then it being poop. Baby poop. Killer light yellow-greenish baby poop.

Baby seal did not like riding in the cooler. He especially did not like railroad crossings and curves in the road. He called for his mother. “Ma, ma!” That is exactly what it sounds like.

It was summer, so luckily I had the windows rolled down. Remember seal poop. This was fine until I stopped at a red light in McMinnville. Folks next to me had their windows down too. “Ma, ma!” kept coming from the cooler. I knew they were looking at me. I stared straight ahead. Ignore the seal in the front seat.

The drive seemed to take forever and I worried about him the entire time. The guys told me he should be okay, but it’s always iffy with stressed marine life. I was now his foster mom.

When I got to my parent’s house, Dad took the cooler into the backyard followed by a  group of neighbor kids. We washed the little guy off with the hose to clean him up; seal poop marinade. Then Dad airlifted him into the bathtub, complete with the non-skid pink shells on the porcelain surface.

By this time, he was hungry. I had nothing to give him or any way to feed him. We opened the bathroom window to the backyard for cool fresh air and in case of incoming or outgoing seal poop. “Ma, ma!”

Nobody slept that night.  The constant “Ma, ma” broke our hearts. The little guy also had a damn good set of lungs. Since the main bathroom was surrounded by the three bedrooms, we all felt his pain.

About 7:30 the next morning the front doorbell rang. I was getting ready to take pup up to the zoo. I answered the door. It was the neighbor who lived behind my parent’s house.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“We heard odd noises during the night.”

We’d never been huge friends with our backyard neighbors. “It’s the seal in the bathtub,” I said.

He looked at me. A confused expression on his face.

“We’re going to the zoo,” I added. It took everything in my soul not to say, and then shopping and a movie. I did not elaborate.

He stared at me a bit longer. “Oh, okay,” he said and then left the front porch, shaking his head.

I delivered my “Ma, ma” package to the zoo staff and took some pictures. I couldn’t bring myself to take his picture while he was in the bathtub. I felt it would be exploiting his situation.

Minor damage to the bathtub included repairing the shell non-skids he had managed to loosen the edges of during the night. Which was then followed by a thorough washing with bleach.

My handsome marine biologists, who got out of driving to Portland that weekend, let me know my foster pup did make it through rehab and was released back into the wild. Think that is one reason I take so many harbor seal pictures. It’s personal. Might be great-grand kids of my overnight guest.

Beware of handsome marine biologists.  Trust me.