Swimming With Dolphins

by Jessie Paddock

  “Forty-eight days,” I answer. “Not that I’m counting …”

  “Thirteenth birthday is big,” Tara confirms. I couldn’t agree more.

  Tara continues to describe the characteristics of each dolphin. Ginger has a nick in her tail, and Luna was injured when they found her, and now has a cross-bite, though she doesn’t seem to be in any pain. I do my best to listen and watch at the same time. Unlike when we first approached, the dolphins are more active now. Some come to us with their mouths open (hoping for food, Tara explains), while others seem to be taking their morning swim around the lagoon. Just when I least expect it, a new dolphin pops up to the surface. Dolphins could make great ninjas; they’re really on point with stealth moves.

  “We’ll be back to play later, cuties,” Tara coos. Then, to me, “We need to go sort and weigh the fish before the first session.”

  “Sounds good,” I respond. I reach down to unlock my wheels when a flash of movement at the far end of the lagoon catches my eye.

  If I were a cartoon character, my jaw would be on the floor. Literally. Tongue out like a red carpet. That’s how incredible it is to see a dolphin jump into the air.

  “Oh, Cola, you’re such a show-off!” Tara exclaims. Cola leaps again, and then again, each time higher than the last.

  “Wow.” I’m surprised I could even get a syllable out. I’m tempted to take a video with my phone. Cady and Kaytee—and, really, anyone with a bit of sense—would lose their minds if they saw this.

  “Cola is our newest. Only been with us for a couple of weeks. He’s a sweetie, but sure has a lot of energy.”

  Cola leaps again, then swims around the perimeter of the lagoon. His dorsal fin slices through the surface of the water. He dips completely under, only to resurface a moment later, cascading through the water. I see you, Cola, I think. I notice that all the other dolphins have retreated to their hiding places beneath the water’s surface.

  “Yep, quite the personality,” Tara reiterates. Then, once more to Cola, “Show-off!”

  Watching Cola, it strikes me: These animals are majestic. And strong. And graceful. And absolutely enormous. I feel like a little ant next to them. Good thing dolphins are also cute.

  After the mini dolphin introduction, Tara takes me back to the trainers’ office, which consists of a room with two computers, a smattering of folding chairs, a long plastic table, and a giant whiteboard. A doorway on the opposite side from where we entered reveals what seems to be a sort of kitchen but without a stove or oven for cooking. Gigantic metal countertops and sinks line the white walls, next to a row of three monstrous refrigerators. The whole room is covered in tile, reminding me of an empty swimming pool. Also, it smells like chlorine and fish. More fish than chlorine.

  Okay, all fish.

  “This is where we have our staff meetings, and where all the schedule and feeding information is kept.” The phone rings. “One sec,” Tara says as she goes to answer. “Trainers’ office, this is Tara,” I hear her say.

  While she chats, I maneuver Sprinkle around the folding chairs to get a better look at the whiteboard. Each of the seven dolphins gets their own column with their picture next to their name like they’re movie stars. Next to each dolphin headshot, in perfect, loopy handwriting, are reminders and lists of chemicals: 2.5L H2O *New eye drops for Luna, 3L H20 Tacro w/ Ace, RL BD for Sammy, and Chlorex rinse mouth CAT for Ginger.

  Next to the technical slash science-y notes is a section for what seems to be more training-related details. Luna: Don’t ask for elephant UFN. Cola has special instructions to ask for 5–6 deep breaths in AM or PM. Wow. It’s as if they’re humans. I wonder if deep breaths do the same thing for dolphins as for people. I had a teacher back in second grade who always told us to take a “balloon breath” if we were feeling angry or sad. Does Cola need that reminder in the morning or at night, too? I think about when I saw him swimming laps and leaping out of the water. He probably needs to catch his breath at the very least. Below, Cola also has another note highlighted with red asterisks: Only tail wave with guests.

  “So,” Tara says when she’s done on the phone, “as you can see, we keep things pretty detailed around here.”

  I nod. I can’t help but wonder why Cola only tail waves. I also desperately want to see a tail wave. If I had a tail, I’d probably use it to wave all the time. Why not?

  “I just talked to Annie up at the office. It’s pretty mellow today; the only session with guests isn’t until the end of the day.” Then, slightly under her breath, “Annie has a heart of gold but is still learning the ropes. Anyway, it’ll just be you and the trainers all morning.”

  “Great!” It didn’t occur to me that there would be other visitors around during my time here. It is a fully operational dolphin sanctuary slash research center, after all. Duh.

  Tara takes me to the kitchen-y space where the other two trainers on duty sort fish from big cardboard boxes into buckets that hang from hooks attached to some sort of scale that dangles from the ceiling.

  “Y’all, this is KT, my shadow for the day. KT, this is Jolie and Natalia.”

  “Heyyy,” they say in unison, peeking over their shoulders.

  “I’d shake your hand, but I’m covered in half-frozen fish guts!” Natalia says cheerfully.

  “Welcome, KT!” Jolie exclaims.

  One thing I’m learning about dolphin trainers: They have no shortage of enthusiasm. Also, a major part of their job is sorting out fish and organizing all the fish into a gazillion different buckets. Much more to this dolphin-trainer thing than cuddling with gigantic marine mammals all day.

  “Each dolphin gets a specialized diet,” Tara says as she lifts a cardboard box onto the counter. She digs in and starts dropping half-frozen Pacific herring into metal buckets. They clank like icicle instruments. “Our girl Sammy needs a little more meat on her bones, so she’ll get fattier fish than, say, Luna.”

  “What about Cola?” I ask.

  “Sweet baby Cola is healthy as a horse,” Tara says.

  “Weird comparison, Tar,” Jolie jokes.

  “Psssh,” Tara says, pretending to throw a sardine in Jolie’s direction.

  Tara, Natalia, and Jolie break down how the feeding works. The first task in the morning is always sorting food, which takes a while because dolphins eat a lot. Like twenty-five pounds of fish per day. That’s like one and a half Sprinkles. Most of their fish comes frozen straight from Canada.

  “And dolphins live until they’re, like, thirty to fifty, right?” I can’t help showing off what I’ve learned about dolphins over the years. I want Tara and all present company to know they’re dealing with a pseudo-expert.

  “Yep. Generally, they live much longer here with us than they would in the wild,” Jolie says.

  “Do the dolphins here ever go back into the wild?” I ask.

  “No, not usually. In some scenarios, we might transfer one to a more suitable sanctuary, but once a dolphin has been under our care, it’s not easy for them to transition back into open water. Mainly because they’re not used to hunting.”

  Interesting.

  Tara adds, “When I mention to people that I’m a dolphin trainer, they sometimes come at me with stereotypes, like, Oh, you trap dolphins for a living?”

  I swallow, glad she can’t read my mind. I remember when a similar fear crossed my brain.

  “Or my favorite,” Natalia says. “Don’t you feel bad keeping wild animals in a tank?”

  “So not a tank,” Jolie confirms, gesturing with a fish-gutty finger toward the lagoon.

  “So annoying,” Natalia adds.

  I know the feeling, I think but don’t say.

  Natalia spells it out. “Our sweet babies are fed well, cared for if they’re sick or injured, and basically get dozens of belly rubs all day.”

  “In other words,” Tara adds, “dolphins here at Dolphina Cove—or at any other sanctuary, for that matter—are really living their best lives.”

  Them and me both.<
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  Over the next hour, I watch Tara weigh more buckets of fish, insert vitamins into the fish gills, and clean every surface with a special soap and drown everything in water. Finally, it’s time for the playing part, aka a training session. My heart twirls with excitement.

  A “session,” I learn, is when trainers work with dolphins one-on-one to practice different behaviors. The whistles hanging around their necks are actually called bridges, which I personally think is much cooler than whistle. Mysterious, yet professional. Tara uses her bridge (or bridges) whenever Sammy does the behavior she asks, so the dolphin hears the high-pitched tweet and associates it with that behavior. With Tara, Jolie, and Natalia all in session at the same time, regular chirps fill the air.

  I learn so much more from observing a session than I would from the Internet. First, dolphins have toys for days. Hula-hoops, balls of various sizes, and Frisbees. The trainers call these toys enrichment. Technical term. Playing with a pool noodle, Natalia explains between bridges, isn’t just fun for the animals, but resembles movements and challenges the dolphins might experience in the wild, which keeps them both mentally and physically fit. Pretty cool. The ultimate two birds, one stone situation.

  Second, all successful completions of a behavior are rewarded with positive reinforcement of a fish, a fish frozen in a block of ice, or flavorless Jell-O. Tara lets me throw a reinforcement (a hunk of Jell-O) to Sammy when she successfully retrieves a piece of enrichment (a red buoy). Fun fact that even I was unaware of, despite my dolphin obsession: Dolphins don’t chew their food. That’s right. They have tons of little Tic Tac teeth, but those are only used to snag the goods. Once food is in their possession, they just swallow it whole, like that time Dad tried to teach Lucy and me how to eat oysters (shellfish in Iowa? Um, no thank you).

  Third, not that this is really news per se, but wow can dolphins get air. Sammy (yes, Sammy, the youngest dolphin in the lagoon) can essentially do the dolphin equivalent of a dunk. She’s able to launch herself out of the water like an actual torpedo. I can’t help but laugh uncontrollably when I see her—it’s just so amazing!—but part of me wonders if she could leap over a house. Like a two-story house. I look at the barrier of shrubs that separates the lagoon from open water.

  “Could she jump over that fence thing?” I ask Tara.

  “Oh, yeah, if she wanted to.” Then, to Sammy, “Couldn’t you, big girl?”

  “Shouldn’t the fence be a little higher, then?”

  “Dolphins are extremely powerful animals. But they don’t have depth perception, so they can’t actually see that they’re easily able to hop the fence.”

  Tara goes on to explain that dolphins see out of each eye separately. Very cool, and makes me dizzy to think about. They also only sleep with half of their brain at a time, so one half of their brain is active while the opposite eye stays open and alert. Humans are involuntary breathers (we can breathe even when we’re sleeping, without thinking about it), but dolphins are not, which is why they have to stay half-awake all the time. Thinking about that kind of makes my whole brain tired. I don’t totally get it, but it sounds like something every kid under the age of eighteen would love to be able to do.

  Tara takes more time to confirm that while this might seem like boot camp (definitely not what I was thinking, but she has a point), dolphins are extremely intelligent and curious creatures. Sessions are actually really fun and stimulating for them. As an extremely intelligent and curious creature myself, I hope seventh grade at Fernbank Middle School, which begins in less than twenty-four hours, feels the same way.

  While Tara works with Sammy on a behavior only slightly less dramatic than Olympic gymnastics, I watch Natalia and Cola. Cola is definitely active and splashy.

  “Is Cola going to practice his tail flip?” I ask, remembering the note on the whiteboard. I don’t want Cola to miss out on all the fun.

  “Right now, we’re just working on bonding,” Natalia says. “Isn’t that right?” Natalia tweets her bridge and throws Cola a slightly bloody fish. He gobbles it up and dives underneath the water.

  Natalia tweets her bridge once, and then again, but Cola doesn’t return.

  “Cola away,” she announces. She must see the concern on my face because she explains, “That just means I’ve lost sight of him, and it lets the other trainers know. It’s all about communication over here.”

  A moment later, Cola appears with a shameless grin on his face, mouth open, smiling big, apparently ready for more treats. Or more fun. Or both.

  Toward the end of the session, after Cola completes a particularly impressive aerial move, Natalia bridges and he glides over for a belly rub. Natalia lies on her stomach on the deck and reaches her hand to graze Cola’s white underside.

  “Good job, Cola! You know I love you so much.”

  Cola looks quite pleased with himself. Though I’m only several feet away, I’m not sure if he can see me, but I give him a solid grin and a wave anyhow. Then—and I swear this is true—Cola lifts his right fin and waves right back! It’s a Dolphina Cove miracle! Unfortunately, the impromptu wave also splashes Natalia right in the face.

  “Bad manners, Cola,” she scolds. “You know better.” Cola swims away, slipping his tail up for another splash before he disappears.

  He does not get a fish or Jell-O when he returns a moment later.

  Finally, it’s time for the main event. The big swim. I, KT Wynn—twelve, almost thirteen, Iowa City native, lifelong Libra, crayon doodler extraordinaire, future award-winning journalist, rocky road ice cream enthusiast—am about to swim with a real, live dolphin. I actually can’t believe it.

  I also can’t totally believe how many people showed up. After spending most of the day alone with Tara, Natalia, and Jolie (though Annie popped her head in a few times, too), I had forgotten that other guests would be joining us for a dolphin encounter of their very own. I was slightly disappointed to see the parking lot begin to fill up with cars. This whole experience has been so private, and I’m not sure if I want to share it. Not that I have a choice.

  By the time I’ve changed into my bathing suit, the other guests are crowded behind the trainers’ office. As I near, I see they’re in line getting fitted for life jackets. When it’s my turn, Jolie sizes me up and hands me what looks like a life jacket for, well, a dolphin. It’s gigantic.

  “I think it may be a little big,” I say.

  “You don’t want it too tight,” she explains.

  I put my arms through the vest and snap the three front buckles. The shoulders ride up to my ears.

  “Are you sure I won’t, like, slip out?”

  “Not a chance.”

  I try to trust her. She’s a professional. She knows. I’m a strong swimmer, anyway, I remind myself. It’s not like I’d drown if the life vest were to float away without me inside.

  When life jackets are secured, Jolie leads everyone down to the dock. I didn’t notice this before, but a rectangular piece of the dock right in front of the picnic benches operates like an elevator. Tara explains to the crowd that when it’s our turn, we’ll get on it and then be lowered into the water. Convenient, I guess. It also reminds me of this part in a horror movie that Cady made me watch last Halloween that I can’t remember the name of. Weird.

  Tara says I’m up first. “VIP,” she whispers with a wink.

  I give her a thumbs-up because suddenly my chest feels too fluttery to talk. Mom helps me move from Sprinkle into a floating chair provided by Dolphina Cove. She’s made of big white PVC pipes that remind me of the dentist for some reason. If she had a name (I’m not sure if she’s worthy of a name), it would be Boodles or something equally unpleasant to say out loud. Once I’m in, Mom pushes me onto the elevator dock next to Tara.

  Mom leans down to whisper, “Do you want me to come with you?” so nobody else can hear.

  I shake my head.

  “I’ll get it all filmed for you.” Mom squeezes my shoulder, and then it’s just Tara and me.

/>   Because that butterfly feeling in my chest is growing stronger, and this bubbling chair makes me feel smaller, I remind myself that it will be fine. I love dolphins. The trainers love dolphins. The dolphins are living their best lives here at Dolphina Cove. It’s all fine. I love dolphins and it’s all fine.

  Tara gives a wave to Natalia, who then pushes a button. We lower into the water at a comically slow pace. Surprisingly, the elevator dock doesn’t make any cranking sounds as we descend. The other guests watch from the stationary docks. There are about two dozen of them in total. Some are young kids, and there’s one other teenager who looks super bored. Most of them are sunburned; probably tourists.

  But I’m a local now.

  I hear faint sniffling behind me. I turn and see a girl who looks to be around five. Her hair is long and tangled, and her striped red-and-white one-piece bathing suit is extremely cute. She hides her face in her dad’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, baby, the dolphins are nice.” The girl buries her face deeper into his armpit. “Look, she’s doing it. Look how brave she is. You can be just as brave as her!” The girl peeks one eye out and looks my way. I give her a little wave. She blinks back at me with big, quivering eyes. I feel you, I want to say.

  I’m snapped back to reality once I’m waist deep and can feel how cold the water is. And yes, the water is still murky while I’m in it. I’m submerged to my chest, and I can hardly see my lap when I look down. It’s also colder than I expected or remembered from the stray splashes I felt on my arms during the training session.

  This is the first time I’ve been in the ocean. I immediately miss the over-chlorinated pools I’m familiar with.

  The dock stops moving. Or sinking, rather. Here we go.

  “First, Sammy is going to join us so you can get a touch, and then we’ll unbuckle you so you can swim out and get a ride and a kiss.”

  I nod.

  “Okay, hold out your hands in front of you, like this.” Tara demonstrates. I mimic her, so my hands are in front of me like a zombie. I’m very cold now. I wish the sun were closer to the earth. I don’t see Sammy anywhere.