It’s a Vet’s Life. Roy Aronson
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Once we had departed she must have felt safe enough to return.
The next few weeks were a stalemate. Every time I approached the pontoon, she would dive into the water and swim away, not letting me come even remotely close to her. The only small consolation was that she returned to the pontoon time and time again. She must have felt safe there because out in the open ocean, debilitated as she was, she was a sitting target for any number of predators, not least of which the Great White shark. False Bay has a large population of seals and a large population of Great Whites that prey on them, and this injured seal would make a quick and easy snack for a cruising Great White.
She was now even thinner. I noticed that her forays into the sea were getting shorter and the time she spent lying on the pontoon was getting longer. I wondered if she was eating. Seals are hunters and need to be fully agile and healthy in order to hunt successfully. This seal was getting weaker and thinner, and I was sure that her success as a hunter was being compromised.
I decided to try and feed her so I went to the local fish shop in Simon’s Town to buy some fresh fish. I got the fishmonger to cut the fish into what I considered to be bite-sized snacks for a seal and then rowed out as close to the pontoon as I could get without startling her. By now she was getting used to me and I was learning about her boundaries. I knew how close I could get before she would jump off and swim away and it seemed to me that I was able to get closer and closer each day. I wondered if this was because she was getting used to me or whether it was because she was simply getting weaker by the day.
I rowed up to a distance that did not frighten her and threw a piece of fish on to the pontoon about a metre away from her. To my disappointment she did not make any effort to try and eat the piece of fish. I threw another piece closer to her this time but still she ignored it. I decided to row a bit closer and throw fish into the water, hoping that she would jump off the pontoon and feed from the fish pieces in the water. But this did not work either. I now realised that despite my best efforts to help her, there was a real possibility that the seal would die.
I sat in the rowing boat, bobbing up and down a few metres from the pontoon feeling frustrated and dejected. Was this beautiful sea mammal going to die? Was there no way to get close enough to her to sever the nylon that had embedded itself around her neck?
During this time I had asked a number of people for help and each time someone would come up with a new suggestion as to how to capture her or immobilise her. But no matter who tried or what was tried, we got the same result. When she felt threatened by human proximity she would jump in to the safety of the water and swim off. She only returned when we had retreated a safe distance.
The hours became days and the days became weeks and she became weaker and weaker. After a month of trying everything I could think of, she was so weak that I was able to sit on the pontoon a metre away from her without her jumping in to the sea to escape. She stayed tantalisingly just out of reach so that even though I was able to sit really close to her, it was just not close enough to cut the nylon. She was dying and I felt totally useless.
At this point fate took an unexpected and very welcome hand in the matter. The expert I had called at the Fishing Industries Research Institute called me to ask how things were going. I told him my sorry tale and said that unless something drastic happened, she would die within a few days. He offered to come out the next day to see what we could do together. I thanked him gratefully for what I considered to be an eleventh hour reprieve.
The next morning I went to work with considerably raised spirits. My contact arrived with a bag filled with equipment, including a special throw net that had a leather hood. He told me that since the seal was so weak, we could try to throw the hooded net over the seal, immobilise her mouth and prevent her from diving into the sea. He also had a pair of scissors with long handles and a pair of heavy leather gloves. Equipped with this bag of tricks and new found hope, we rowed out to the pontoon. The seal was lying there and was a depressing sight. Her eyes were dull and her fur lacklustre. I was sure that she was near death. We were able to get on to the pontoon without her moving away and I think that at this point she was just too weak to offer any meaningful resistance. I doubt that she would have been able to swim had she had the strength to jump off the pontoon.
My friend donned the heavy leather gloves and with a casual but experienced flick of his wrist, he threw the net over the recumbent seal. He quickly grabbed the ends of the net in case she jumped off the pontoon and maneuvered the hood over her head. He then managed to sit astride the seal, something I have no doubt he would have been unable to do if she had been healthy and up to full strength. In the meantime I had grabbed the long-handled scissors and quickly went to work cutting through the heavy line round her neck. At long last the noose of death was off but I wondered if it was too late. Now all we could do was inject her with antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory and hope for the best.
Nature is a wonderful thing. Given the opportunity, once the underlying cause has been removed, most animals will heal themselves even in such an advanced state of debility as the seal was in.
I watched her with wonder as the next two weeks passed. The first thing I noticed was that even by the next day, a scant twenty-four hours later, she started swimming a bit more and lying on the pontoon a bit less. I hoped that she was strong enough to hunt because by the time we actually managed to remove the noose she was just skin and bone. Within another day or two her coat started to regain some of its beautiful lustre. After a week she was swimming vigorously and spending less and less time on the pontoon. I had no doubt that she was able to hunt because she actually started putting on weight at an amazing rate. From day to day I could see the difference. The cut around her neck was healing and the seeping had stopped. The dark ring of fur was still there and I wondered if the fur might not be permanently stained. Blood is a strong attractant to sharks and her instincts must have made her aware of this because she never really strayed outside the harbour precincts during her recovery.
The last time I saw her on the pontoon was two weeks after we had removed the noose. She was once again sleek and, dare I say, almost fat. Her wound had healed completely and there was no blood seepage but the dark ring was still there. When I came too close she barked loudly and dived into the water.
And then one day she just was not there anymore. I guessed that she had recovered fully and was now able to resume her life as a seal in the open ocean.
A few months later while I was working on my raft and measuring barnacle growth, I looked up and caught a glimpse of a sleek and fat seal, about the same size as the one I had helped. The seal jumped onto the pontoon for a few seconds and then dived off and swam away. But not before I noticed a black ring of fur around her neck.
My life has been shaped and continues to be shaped by all the little experiences that have accumulated over my lifetime. I know for certain though, that this was a pivotal experience for me. It was the catalyst that made me want to become a vet. I had a good degree and I was comfortable cruising along in the navy, but then along came a seal that I struggled desperately to help. I knew from then on that I wanted to spend the rest of my life working with animals. I am grateful to the seal for coming into my life and allowing me to help her, and I am grateful that she helped me.
For the love of a horse
My encounter with an injured seal while I was in the navy planted a seed in my mind. Veterinary science was becoming more appealing and I started to consider it seriously. It took just one more experience to nudge me firmly in the right direction.
The great thing about working for the defence force in the 1970s was that if you had an aptitude for sport, you were encouraged (practically ordered actually) to take part in competitions at the highest level, all expenses paid. I was a keen if not hugely skilled rider and enjoyed three-phase eventing. I put in an application to attend the Defence Force Equestrian Championships in Potchefstroom, which is where I found myself a few weeks later with a horse to ride and a generous budget.
Now unbeknown to the defence force, my riding, while quite good, was not competition standard. I was a fair jumper and could do some dressage but the truth was that my keenness