I wonder if she knew she was dying. Did she understand her short life would most certainly come to an end? Or was she so hungry, tired, and alone that death seemed like a welcome respite?

I had been surfing with friends that morning and as I paddled for a wave I saw a tiny brown head pop up just in front of me on the inside. I quickly deduced it was a sea-lion and watched as she swam toward shore. My friends and I realized she was a baby . . . alone. Our heart’s sank. We knew she was in trouble. My friend’s niece, Star, who was surfing with us that day, immediately wanted to go help her.

The baby sea-lion had made it to shore and was walking up the sand toward the parking lot. Star had reached the pup and looked to be deciding how to best help her.

I took my last wave and followed.

As I walked toward them, Star had briefly walked away and was in the distance.

I reached the pup, small and meek. She didn’t move as I approached her. She looked up at me with deep, sad eyes. We shared a fateful glance.

As I stared into her dark eyes, I felt our connection. The connection between two living beings sharing the same planet. And in this instant, we exchanged a nonverbal understanding that I would try to get help for her. But, with that one long, lingering glance; our eyes meeting, each holding the gaze, I sensed she knew the situation was almost certainly futile.

Again, I wondered if she realized she was dying. I tried to imagine the journey that had brought her to this moment. How long had she been alone? When was the last time she had something to eat? Was she scared?

The animal lover in me, and more fiercely the mother in me, was aching inside. I knew she probably wouldn’t make it. She would end up like so many of her sea-lion brothers and sisters. Abandoned by their mothers who, out of necessity, have gone to deeper waters to search for food, leaving their babies to traverse the seas alone. Leaving them to fend for themselves, scared, looking for food and for love. Forcing them to inevitably strand themselves on shore, disoriented, as they search for relief from starvation and exhaustion.

It pained me to think of the decision her mother had to make to leave her. I imagined the final moments they were together as the mother knew what needed to be done. Did she swim away quickly, getting further and further out to sea? Or did she go slowly, so as to capture every last moment of her baby’s image. I am grief-stricken as I think of the confusion her baby must have felt as she watched her mother’s silhouette shrink in the distance. Left alone, swimming by herself through the ocean waters.

As she and I shared that look, in that moment, I spoke gently to her. I told her it would be ok. I validated her fear and looked at her with love.

I told this sweet baby I would try to help.

She is an animal. I don’t truly know her capacity to understand. To understand her situation or to understand what I was saying to her. But being to being, I wanted to look at her with love. I wanted her to feel love. I wanted her to look into my eyes and see someone who cares. I didn’t want this sweet baby to feel so alone.

Star returned to where the pup was beached and I told her I was going to find the lifeguard. So I threw my sandy board into the car, jumped into the driver’s seat in my soggy, sandy wetsuit and raced to lifeguard headquarters.

This isn’t the first sea-lion pup to come ashore sickly and malnourished. In fact, there have been almost 2,000 since January. Five times higher than the historical average. Living in a beach community and being a surfer, marine life and environmental factors are very important to me.

In California, because of the weather patterns, the ocean has been warmer than normal which has sent sea-lion prey into deeper waters. This forces sea-lion mothers to make the most painstaking decision . . . find food or protect their babies.  I am overwhelmed with sadness for the mothers as they are compelled to make this choice.

In my heart, I knew what the lifeguard was going to tell me. But, I had to try. At the very least I needed the lifeguard to protect her so she could die in peace. It was a weekend and the beach was sure to be filled with tourists by noon.

I sped into the closest lot when I saw the lifeguard’s truck slowly combing the beach. I parked my car and started running across the sand to him. When I reached him, I told him the situation. He looked at me with helplessness. He, as I expected, told me of the overwhelm the lifeguards and marine rescuers have felt because of the mass influx of these stranded, sea-lion babies. He said there was another pup that, at that moment, needed help at the opposite end of the beach. I pleaded with him, surely we could call someone!?!  He told me the rescue groups are maxed out and have no room. I then begged that he keep her safe so she can die with dignity. Not with people bothering her and scaring her further; increasing her agony.

He said he had barricades for just that purpose. He drove down to where I explained the sea-lion pup was, and found Star, lovingly watching over her.

I don’t know what ended up happening to that sweet baby. What I do know is that she, and hundreds like her need help.

It is important, no imperative, that we take care of the humans and animals that share this earth with us.

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Yes it is overwhelming.

Yes we feel helpless.

Yes we feel powerless; like we can’t possibly make a difference.

But I’d like to think we can. We can make a difference.

Whether it’s through financial donations, volunteer hours, or merely looking into another living being’s eyes and communicating deep love.

We can make a difference.

How we treat all living things on this planet says a lot about our character. We need to decide, are we a person who would rather put our head in the sand and pretend it’s not happening? Are we the type of person that recognizes help is needed but looks the other way? Or are we the type of person to show compassion and do something about it?

The choice is ours.

I don’t always act. There have been times, regrettably, when I have chosen to put my head in the sand. I have chosen to do nothing out of fear or inconvenience.

And I have ALWAYS regretted it.

What I know to be true is I might not be able to do much, but I can always do something.

What did Mother Teresa say??

“Not all of us can do great things, but we can all do small things with great love.”

This is how I will choose to live my life. Doing small things with great love.

Salty Kisses,

Karen

To learn more about the sea-lion crisis in California or to find ways to help, contact the Pacific Marine Mammal Center for Southern California coastal communities.