Compassion

Compassion is a strange animal.  It sneaks up on you and motivates you to act.

I was walking the beach last week checking out the detritus washed up on shore.  There were shells, corals, tumbled glass and rocks, but not the one thing I was looking for: shark’s teeth.  That’s pretty much the only thing I care to take from the beach.  Sure, I picked up a few nice pieces, but I passed them along to my family and brought nothing back.

While walking the shell line at the edge of the water I saw a fish that had washed ashore.  I don’t know what kind it was.  It was just some sort of bait fish, maybe three inches long.  I had no idea how long it had been out of the water, baking on the hot summer sands.  I reached down to touch it and it moved slightly.  Since it was still alive, but barely, I felt that I had to put it back in the water just to give it a chance to survive.  I couldn’t just leave it to die.

I picked it up, placed it in the shallows and watched as it rolled back and forth, tossed by the tiny waves on a calm shore of the Atlantic.  I thought I was perhaps too late.  I followed the fish for a few moments as it was pushed back and forth by the waves like a piece of driftwood.  I could see its mouth moving.  It was trying to breathe.  It was not dead yet, but I did not know if it had the strength to recover or if it had suffered too long out of water and in the heat.

The fish was not able to right itself and it continued to roll as the waves pushed by.  I could see now that its gills were moving.  It was breathing and making progress, but had not yet recovered.  I decided I would move it into deeper, calmer water.  There was a quick drop off at the shoreline.  In one step the water went from ankle deep to knee deep.  The sharp incline caused the ocean to roil near the water’s edge, which was great for turning the seabed over at the shell line, but be very calm beyond.

I took two steps into the water and placed the fish gently in.  Within moments in the calmer water the fish was able to hold itself upright.  It flicked its tail and moved its fins.  After a few starts, it began to swim of its own volition.  I was elated, yet its next move brought more concern.  The fish swam back into the shallows, back toward the shore.  Was it intentionally beaching itself, or was it just stupid?

I walked with it down the beach, trying to shoo the fish back to deeper, calmer waters.  I wanted it to swim away, not to beach itself again.  It was able to remain upright among the rougher waves, so it had regained much of its strength, but its course remained frustrating.

My sister, who had been walking with me, had continued to collect shells and corals as we went.  She picked up something which turned out to be just a rock and threw it into the water.  The rock splashed into the ocean adjacent to the fish.  Spooked, the fish bolted for deeper waters.  I lost sight of it.

I stood at that point on the beach for a few more minutes.  I looked to see if the fish had returned to the shallows or washed back ashore but did not find it.  I do not know if the fish actually survived.  I could only hope.

I don’t really know what made me act to save the fish.  It certainly didn’t stop me from eating other marine life that week: conch, squid, shrimp, and snapper.  I don’t believe that this incident will stop me from eating meat either, but something struck me in that moment.  I saw a creature that was alive and in mortal peril.  If I did not act to save it, no one else would have.