Grey Seal • Halichoerus grypus • Phoque Gris • Waspu
I was back on Sable Island, helping with the Department of Fisheries and Ocean’s grey seal research program. It was the first few days of January. The island was packed with grey seals. There was a lot of snow that season. Over the last couple of weeks, females were dragging their large, pregnant, cumbersome bodies over the sand to give birth. Males were setting themselves up into strategic positions with only one thing on their minds: “mate”.
One large female had decided to pup next to our garage at East Light, the camp at the east end of the island where I was staying with three other researchers. For several days, we kept walking by her. She eventually stopped snarling at us. But she didn’t stop snarling at any potential suitors. Late one afternoon, as the sun was setting and we had just returned after a full day of work, we saw she had just given birth. Her pup was wet and exhausted. She was exhausted but alert. I stayed behind as the others return to camp.
The female heaves herself towards her pup, lightly strokes him and scratches her belly, encouraging him to suckle. He is hungry but clumsy and awkward and fumbles about, trying desperately to find her nipple. She lightly scratches him, he bumps into her, again and again and she continues to scratch and lightly stroke him. And finally, he connects. And nurses. And she relaxes. Their first bonding moment. Female and pup. Mother and baby.
Just over two weeks passes and the pup packs on the pounds, while the female loses weight just as dramatically. She has allowed a large male to hang around the periphery for a couple of days now. One afternoon, I came back to get some gear before heading out again. As I approached the cabin, I noticed the mother and pup exuberantly nuzzling each other. Rubbing their heads together, the mother sniffing him relentlessly. He curls up under her chin and she nuzzles him, and they touch noses and pause. And then repeat. I have never seen such prolonged...affection. I can find no other way to describe it. I’m intruding on a special, tender moment.
When we get back that evening, the female is gone. Only her pup remains. He is weaned. He is on his own now. I think back to the scene several hours earlier. Was she saying goodbye? Were they enjoying one last moment together as mother and son? I’m anthropomorphizing. But I can’t help it.
Ten months later, I give birth to my first baby. A boy. And like that seal pup, he is wet and exhausted and hungry but awkward and clumsy. And I’m also exhausted and trying to encourage him, but unlike that female grey seal, I don’t know what I’m doing. But he eventually finds his own way and connects. And nurses. And I relax. Mother and baby. Female and pup. Grey seal and human.
Now that baby is four. And I think back to that female grey seal and her pup and their final goodbye. And I am glad I have him much longer than 17 days. And I am relieved to know that while there will come a time when he will be ready to strike out on his own, I will always be there for him.
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