Sep 13 2008
They Call Him Ripper
Here in Florida swimming with dolphins has become an increasingly popular form of recreation. And maybe not just recreation. Those who pony up the dough to get into a pool for a “dolphin encounter” claim it is an exciting way to experience wildlife. Others say it is a spiritual experience. There are even those who believe dolphins have healing power.
They call him Flipper! Flipper! / faster than lightning, no one you see, / is smarter than he, / and we know Flipper / lives in a world of wonder, flying there, under the sea. (lyrics by B. Dunham)
Swimming with dolphins? I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t like dolphins. I surf, and when sitting on my board waiting for a wave I’ll regularly see small pods pass nearby. It thrills me. But paying good money so you can get in the face of the animals with expectations of being entertained, enlightened, or healed? What’s next — psychotherapy sessions with a chimp? I hear they don’t say much, but their grunts are very telling.
Maybe if I swam with dolphins I’d know in my heart that our species are spiritual kin. Which makes sardines what? Spiritual hosts?
Maybe not just dolphins are spiritual, maybe it’s ALL spiritual. Maybe all of creation is special. Maybe all the mammals, reptiles, fish, insects, trees, and rocks in our universe are each and every one above-average.
Me, I like alligators. My wife and I have a small boat we navigate around remote sections of the St. John’s river. The river water is the color of coffee and it runs slow and flat. We use an electric trolling motor so the quiet stays quiet and we chase away less wildlife. With binoculars in hand we watch for birds, turtles, snakes, and gators.
On one occasion we startled a huge alligator sunning on the riverbank. We came slipping around a bend, maybe eight feet from shore, and were directly abreast of it before it had time to react. The alligator made a charge for safety, which meant toward the water, which meant it came shooting directly at us in a spray of commotion. It ducked under our boat and disappeared. We were left with thumping hearts and a rocking boat.
Swimming with alligators — now that would be communing with nature! And I’m fairly certain an alligator could cure you of a gangrene foot if you let it.
I’m afraid of alligators, but I like them. Which, according to many people’s way of thinking, doesn’t make sense. Alligators would only like me if I were tossed overboard in bite-sized bits. But I like them just the same. The alligators I see are owned, fed, and trained by no one. They aren’t cute and they refuse to play ball. They don’t exist to put meat on the table, to make boots out of, to be wrestled at roadside attractions, or even for photo opportunities. They exist, period.
Putting bows in your dog’s fur is one thing. As is buying your cat an engraved dinner bowl or spending hours cooing “pretty boy” to your cockatiel. But can’t we draw the line somewhere? Can’t we allow nature to be nature without requiring it to be something more?
Maybe I feel this way about animals because I’m an introvert. I like to watch. On the other extreme you’ve got people who get right in there, rub elbows, and make friends. Yet is it still wildlife if you relate on a first name basis?
They call him Ripper! Ripper! / hunger so frightening, / no one you see,
is toothier than he, / and we know Ripper/ lives in the world by plunder, /
lying there, waiting to eat.
