Killing Keiko (29 page)

His head cocked slightly and chewing on his whistle bridge, Tom asked, “You want me
to wait until he’s swimming or call him from there?” His tone ever so slightly contrite,
Tom knew Robin’s instruction was breaking protocol. We would never provide a rewarding
change while Keiko was sitting motionless. Avoidance would get him nowhere in the
North Atlantic.

“Just call him over, start in the north pool and move him to the med pool before you
point him out. Let’s see what he looks like first.” Robin gave a pained look. He wasn’t
oblivious to Tom’s undertones.

Knowing that debate would go nowhere, Tom did precisely what Robin asked. Once Tom
had Keiko in front of him on the south wall of the med pool, he glanced over his right
shoulder at Robin.

Robin was muscling the situation, and he knew it. With purpose, he projected a tone
that did not invite question, “Go ahead.”

Tom pointed Keiko toward the bay gate and moved immediately to the new platform tied
on the outside of the south pool, just to
the right and outside of the bay pen. Squatting in his blue and yellow splash suit
pulled down around his waist, his knees in the water, Tom slapped the flattest spot
he could find between the small caps rippling the surface. Keiko could easily hear
the thunderous clap, but he didn’t need it. He had already made his decision. As Tom
moved right and to the outside of the bay pen, Keiko sank out of sight and went left.
He resurfaced back at his position of refusal in the north pool.

After a few moments, Robin told Tom to slap again. Although Tom knew it was futile,
it was also necessary to drive the point home. Keiko wasn’t going to move. His position
taken up at the back of the north pool defiantly communicated a clear message. At
Tom’s slap, Keiko took a full breath and bobbed his head once, as if he was thinking
about moving. The gesture was more likely the first minuscule sign of frustration
boiling to the surface.

“I think we’re going to make matters worse if we keep asking him,” Tom offered.

Robin said nothing. His face stern, he chewed his bottom lip as if he was on the verge
of a solution.

Tracy, not knowing this look from Robin, offered observation. “I’ve seen this before.
I don’t think we’re going to get much out of him for a while.” She drew out the first
few words, sounding almost jovial.

It was the last thing Robin wanted to hear at the moment. He didn’t so much as acknowledge
the comment. Tom and Tracy exchanged smirks but dared not say anything. Without a
word Robin turned and walked into the research shack.

“What did I say?” Tracy asked.

“I don’t know why we’re in such a rush. I mean, I know why, but they can wait. You
didn’t say anything that’s not true … just not great timing,” Tom offered, a useless
consolation. “I can tell he’s frustrated.”

“Robin or Keiko?” Tracy couldn’t resist.

“Yeah …”

Some time passed, not an hour, but not less than half. Robin had been on the phone
in the research shack apparently discussing
the reason they waited, presumably with Hallur or Charles. When he finally came back
out on the deck, he seemed to have settled on a course of action.

“Okay, Tom, let’s go ahead and call him over again. This time call him straight to
the med pool. Don’t let him stop. Point him out right away.”

A five-ton killer whale doesn’t start or stop effortlessly. Rather than ask for the
energy required to stop and then start swimming again in order to follow Tom, Robin
wanted to use Keiko’s momentum to advantage and in the direction of the bay.

Again Tom stepped up. Again he followed Robin’s lead to perfection. Again Keiko went
to his spot in the north pool. But this time it was different. As Keiko was pointed
“on the fly” he indeed did move toward the bay gate, at the last moment diving down
and twisting in an underwater arch away from the offensive opening. As he surfaced
and slowed to assume his position in the north pool, he slapped his flukes—a clear
indication of mounting frustration.

“Whoa, he’s pissed,” Tom pointed out the obvious.

“Good, let him get pissed,” Robin said. “Sure better than just sitting there.”

“What now?” Tom had completely given over to Robin’s direction, not wanting to fight
a losing battle.

“Give’em a few minutes or so and try again.”

After those few minutes Robin offered another change of direction. “Tracy … “A pregnant
pause. “You point him out this time, same as before. This time Tom, you get on the
platform in the bay and slap as soon as she points.”

Turning slightly away from Tom and Tracy, Robin lifted the handheld to his mouth.
“Hallur, we’re going again.” The notice had been given before each effort throughout
the morning.

Responding to Tracy’s slap, Keiko remained mostly horizontal in the water column as
he approached. He knew what was coming, and this was an easier position than turning
vertical and upward toward Tracy. As his right eye lifted slightly and made contact
with Tracy’s searching expression, she pointed him toward Tom and the
gateway, then moved fluidly toward the gate as if saying, “Follow me” with her whole
body.

Keiko dove below and out of sight. There was no white water evidencing a hard turn
away, but he had gone deep enough that not even the glowing white portions of his
markings were visible in the tealike depth. On the bay platform, Tom slapped.

Keiko was nowhere to be seen. A minute passed. Still there was no sign of the whale.
Robin searched the bay expectantly, encouraged by the prolonged disappearing act.
If Keiko was deep and looking at the gate, he didn’t want to miss the chance to encourage
him.

“Slap!” he yelled in Tom’s direction.

Tom had been looking back over his left shoulder as he sat on his knees on the nylon-webbed
platform, his right hand steadying the fish bucket at his side. As he turned about
face and leaned down on his left arm preparing to slap, Keiko surfaced almost hitting
Tom’s face with his bulbous black rostrum. Instead of slapping, the athletic Tom smoothly
transitioned from raised hand to placing a target on Keiko’s nose at once blowing
his whistle. A continuation of the same fluid movement, he turned and began grabbing
a ball of herring with both hands, triumphantly plopping them with a
thwap
into Keiko’s cavernous mouth. Only then did he take the time to give cheer. After
all, Tom knew he was on camera.

“Think he’ll do a behavior?” Robin was directly behind Tom leaning over the yellow
plastic railing. He finally looked relaxed, his faded blue jeans, blue sweatshirt
and black fleece vest now appropriate for a more casual mood.

“Only one way to find out,” said Tom.

Tom finished feeding Keiko a few generous handfuls of fish, then standing, he bridged
again and fed him a second time, as a quick “thanks” for not leaving when he stood
up. Keiko’s eyes were wide and alert. Clearly his presence in the bay was tentative.
Tom shuffled a few inches to his right and made a dramatic sweeping gesture, smacking
his left outstretched arm down to his extended right arm, as if a Florida Gator fan
taunting their opponent. The signal was asking for a tail-lob.

Keiko moved to his right, lined up at the surface, took one long delaying breath and
then began slapping his tail flukes on the surface as he swam a counterclockwise circle.
In the expanse of the bay, this behavior looked ridiculous. It wasn’t the tail lobbing
that was odd, it was the diameter of the circle Keiko swam … almost precisely the
size of the bay pen’s confined north pool. Set in the sheer enormity of this new environment,
the small course clearly illustrated Keiko’s unfamiliarity with the new bay to even
the most untrained eye.

Tom kept the session short, not wanting to lose Keiko by pushing his threshold for
the unknown. After a few more quick behaviors and a marquee side breach, he pointed
Keiko back into the bay pen. Asking Keiko to go back to a familiar place at just the
right interval, Tom was making use of a learning process common in everyday life,
rewarding the unknown with the known.

Media and bystanders left satisfied for the time being; however, sessions continued
that afternoon repeating entry and exits to the bay. It was clear both from the protracted
effort to get Keiko to the bay and his choice location between sessions, that he was
not at all comfortable with the new accommodations. For this and many other reasons,
not the least of which was our own discomfort with the yet unpracticed bay operations,
the gateway was closed. Keiko spent this night and a few more inside the bay pen as
usual. Three days later, I arrived back on the island and debriefed with Robin and
Tom. In vivid detail they related Keiko’s successes.

In the few short days following the debut, they had continued increasing exposure
to the bay and had a few opportunities to reinforce Keiko for going to the bay of
his own free will. Even so, it was abundantly obvious that the bay would require focused
conditioning. Keiko’s “mansion” was not yet the preferred locale that it was believed
it would be.

The circumstances of Keiko’s introduction to the bay created a frustration that boiled
in my gut like a hot cauldron. I never spoke up; it was far too late for that, and
I knew it would only generate
friction between Robin and me. He would take the responsibility; he didn’t shy from
such things, but that wouldn’t unshoot the gun. Still, it was not easy to let go of
my disappointment. The forced introduction placed continued dependence on human direction,
and at the same time it sacrificed the chance to capture self-motivated exploration
from Keiko.

Every time I let it go, figuratively, I could only circle back to the missed opportunity
and how rare it was in our quest for his freedom. Nevertheless, it was only March,
and we were in the bay. That fact, independent of any other consideration, was worth
a great deal.

Sadly, “I told you so” turned out to be the flavor of the first week of Keiko’s access
to the bay. We saw a complete setback from every expectation (or wishful desire) as
a further set of complications reared its ugly head.

Keiko made no bones about his preference for the old familiar bay pen over that of
his new playground. In the first few days of bay operations, he would only leave the
pen at our behest. Given the freedom of choice, he would nest himself in the confines
of the north pool, the innermost sanctuary of the bay pen. Never mind the open gateway
and wide open expanse of the bay there for the taking. Repeating much of the structured
conditioning of his first separation to the medical pool, we leveraged every possible
tool at our disposal to encourage Keiko’s voluntary exploration of his new digs, this
time without forcing the issue.

Yet one more trait that challenged every notion of survival, Keiko was quick to shut
down in the face of repeated failure. There was no doubt in my mind that the initial
process of exposure to the bay had cost us dearly. At the heart of the matter, the
process had demonstrated how Keiko adapted to change. We wanted a whale that would
eagerly dive into new environments, chomp at the bit, seek out fresh and undiscovered
territory and show extreme curiosity toward other living things (apart from humans).
Instead, what we
had was a withdrawn, neurotic introvert; dependent on our direction at every turn,
void of even a spark of life at the onset of new challenge. Not what one would expect
from a whale called “killer.”

The best we could hope for was to set the stage, pique his interest in the bay, lie
in wait and insure that nothing hindered each tentative step forward. Then, taking
advantage where only a fingerhold existed, we provided familiar reward for each ventured
and voluntary act that resembled the whale we envisioned for release. It was excruciatingly
slow going at first. But the tenants of learning reign supreme. For each meticulous
step forward, when all the elements are combined unfailingly, behavior will follow
the path well laid.

By the third day of access, we were just beginning to see the fruits of our tedious
watchful labor. Following sessions where we asked Keiko to the outside platform, he
began to linger, whereas prior sessions had ended with his immediate return to the
pen. Other times he would venture out of the pen on his own, making a brief appearance
in the bay. The appearances were hardly worthy of report, but enough with which we
could wield our trade: consequences that revived interest, shoring up his confidence
and boosting repeat and prolonged performances.

Our rally was short-lived. On the fourth day, Keiko lost all interest in the world
around him. Food held no value. In or out of his spartan accommodation, it didn’t
matter where or how it was offered. Trainers, his broken and distanced family, stirred
nothing in the whale. He only sat motionless, the black of his melon camouflaged in
the undercarriage of the pen’s structural pipe. Keiko’s only movement was facilitated
by the undulating surface swell of the bay pen’s interior. Something was very wrong,
and this time it wasn’t herring heavily laden in fat.

Just like illness in people, animals experience the same wax and wane of unpleasantness.
In the breaks between whatever was taxing our athlete turned patient, we were able
to get enough attention from Keiko to draw a blood sample. That afternoon, Robin ran
the sample to the local hospital. It would be enough to get a basic
read on that which we could not solve by observation alone. As we had expected, Keiko’s
blood work showed a spike in his white blood cell (WBC) count. Not a nominal spike,
his WBC was elevated to concerning levels.

Pinpointing the exact cause of an illness via blood sample results is an art form.
Sure there are usual suspects that typically indicate the more well-known ailments.
But in most cases, the best one can hope for is a general idea of the nature of the
affliction or at least clues enough to prescribe effective treatment. In this case,
based on various key results in his blood panel, Robin and Dr. Cornell consulted by
phone and determined that the condition was likely an infection. The culprit could
have been in his stomach, his urinary tract or any number of skin or other commonly
affected areas of his body. Nevertheless, given all the metrics at his disposal and
the observations of Keiko himself, Robin believed the ailment was respiratory in nature.
Although he was not a trained veterinarian, Robin had an uncanny Sherlock Holmes’
ability at solving medical mysteries, particularly as they related to marine mammals.