Chicken Soup for the Ocean Lover's Soul Read Free

climbing up my legs to escape the horrible wet stuff. My thoughts went instantly from worrying about a premature dash for freedom to what I would do with a seal who hated the sea.
    Twice a day I drove Cecily to the harbor and led her into the ocean, hoping she would eventually acquire a taste for the aquatic life, but she made little progress. At her most daring she would uncurl her flippers from around my achingly cold legs and swim around me in tight circles like a fat little shark. But as soon as I tried to sneak out of the water, she was at my heels.
    It was clear that Cecily was not going to be doing any serious swimming without me at her side, and it was equally clear that with the water temperature at about fifty-two degrees I wasn’t going to be giving any oceanic swimming lessons. I did think I might tolerate the slightly warmer lake water and wondered if fresh water was harmful to seals. Steve Katona assured me she would be fine as long as I dunked her in the ocean afterward.
    The following morning I drove Cecily to a secluded area on a large lake near our home. At first she retreated as she had in the harbor—clinging to me or, at most, making quick shallow dives to investigate my toes. But she stayed by me as I waded deeper and, finally, plunged headfirst into the icy water. When I came up for air I found myself nose-to-nose with a very happy little seal. The expression on her puppylike face—her bead-black eyes and silly grin—said as clearly as words that she was thrilled to have finally coaxed me into the water!
    I watched in admiring wonder as Cecily suddenly came into her own. Her two sets of flippers, which worked so clumsily on dry land, were transformed into wings. She flew through the water, performing belly rolls, nosedives and somersaults. She skimmed along the bottom like a submarine, then soared to the surface with an explosion of fine sparkling spray. After every stunt she’d swim back to me and nudge my cheek or shoulder with her whiskered nose as if to seek my approval.
    Tired from treading water for more than a half-hour, I rolled over and floated on my back for a while. Cecily, too, must have been exhausted after all those athletic shenanigans and seized the opportunity to climb onto my belly, where she lay her head on my chest and fell asleep. In the wild, Cecily and her real mother would have let the ocean rock them like this for hours. As it was, I could only stand the cold lake for a few more minutes. This time when I walked out of the water, Cecily lingered for a while in the shallows, performing a couple more graceful belly rolls before lumbering back onto dry land.
    For the next few weeks, the playful little seal and I led double lives. During the day I joined her in her watery world, either swimming with her in the lake or watching her frolic about in the harbor. She no longer needed my company when she swam and would play alone in the waves, occasionally encouraging me with raucous whoops to come join her.
    In the evening Cecily became part of my dry world. She often draped herself over my lap in the living room, nursing from her bottle and watching late-night TV with me.
    It was an idyllic time. Somehow we had managed to find a happy compromise between her needs as an aquatic mammal and mine as a land mammal. I’m not sure what lasting lessons Cecily learned from The Tonight Show, but the wonders she showed me will stay with me forever.
    While Cecily and I had been enjoying ourselves, a researcher had been observing a wild harbor seal colony off the shores of Mount Desert Island. She was monitoring the activities of the mothers and their pups and passing the information to me so I could base my behavior with Cecily on this model. When the researcher reported the mother seals were leaving their pups for longer and longer intervals, it was time for me to follow their example and start the painful separation of our two worlds.
    Now I began taking Cecily down to the harbor in the