“They Saved My Dog.”
Page Four of some remarkable, inexplicable stories of killer whale behavior toward humans in the wild.
A small party of scientific people left shore to go whale-watching in a small boat. When they returned, their German shepherd, Phoenix, was not on the island. He’d apparently tried to follow them out into the big water and powerful tides of Johnstone Strait.
The people searched the Strait until 11 p.m. No dog. The dog’s owner was sitting on a log, crying, when he heard the blows of killer whales. He was suddenly horrified at the thought that they might have eaten his beloved dog. He could see the whales coming closer because the turbulence of their swimming caused the sea’s phosphorescent creatures to glow.
Just after the whales passed, he heard splashing. Suddenly, there stood his sodden dog, weakened and vomiting saltwater.
“I don’t care what people say,” he declared. “Those whales saved my dog.”
Not an isolated case. At a different research camp, a person went kayaking and when he returned, his dog, named Karma, was missing. Similarly, she’d probably tried to follow. The researcher was mourning the loss of his faithful companion late in the night when some whales passed. The dog appeared on the beach, soaked and trembling and near collapse.
“I was there,” said the person who related the story. “There’s no doubt in my mind; those whales had pushed Karma ashore.”
Next – Page Five: “She Pushed Her Wounded Calf to My Side of the Boat.”
All posts in this series are excerpted from Beyond Words; What Animals Think and Feel by Carl Safina.