“Infant pilot whale eaten by shark” read the headline—that was the shock of it, the baby that had been beached with forty other pilot whales, five saved by humans, rescued from the maw of senseless tragedy.
Isn’t it amazing how little we understand?
Maybe the other adults will adopt this orphaned infant, maybe they will sympathize and look after him.
Mommy, daddy, baby pilot whale—poor infant orphan.
Rehabilitated by volunteers, who stood by, crying, when these lucky five were released, four adults and the tough little baby survivor.
In the wild, alone, no pod, just baby pilot whale, alone, single, singular. Not adopted by his newfound friends, poor little orphan infant whale.
Who could have foretold the ending of this tale? The fate of the whale, beached, orphaned, rehabilitated by the milk of human kindness? Who could have foretold this tragedy?
Apparently, the shark.