I was part of a two-person crew who “rescued” an Ellie (elephant seal) pup on Tuesday. I put the term in quotes because the animal appeared to be perfectly healthy, but we had to bring it in because it was drawing a crowd of people. I’m not crazy about this policy, but I’m newbie volunteer, so I keep my mouth shut and perform as trained.

By the time we arrived on the scene, the animal was accompanied by three humans who were keeping the others at bay, an older couple and a late-middle-aged man. Disclaimer: I am terrible at estimating ages, so these people may actually be any post-pubescent age. The couple, pert and confident, had been watching the animal for at least an hour. The lone man, loquacious and emotive, was mourning the death of his wife just ten days before; her remains had been returned to the sea after alkaline hydrolysis, and he felt closer to her at water’s edge.

The couple presented as confident, long-term residents very comfortable with their knowledge of animals and quite willing to instruct other would-be viewers on the allowed approach. From the standpoint of my previously-referenced training, what they were doing was not ideal, having positioned themselves between the animal and the water. They mentioned that the animal would occasionally raise its head, make eye contact, then resume napping. They interpreted this as some sort of interspecies communication, and posited that the animal was comforted by their continued presence and protection.

Another possibility is that the animal was repeatedly checking to find out if its path to the ocean was clear.

I appreciate these folks’ concerns, and their time, and certainly worse things could have happened to this animal if it had gathered the wrong kind of crowd; recently, another crew encountered people throwing rocks at an animal. But in all likelihood this animal was just relaxing on the beach until humans stuffed it into a crate and carried it off. In addition to no signs of illness and a vigorous fight to avoid capture, it bore a grease mark that our computer tracked to a beach more than ten miles south the day before, a long swim unlikely to be made by a young animal in poor health.

All three humans stepped up their game when we asked for suggestions for the name we will use to identify the animal in our system. The widower wanted to name it after his wife, suggesting both her first name and her family name, while the couple had decided on Bruno while they were waiting. As we loaded the truck and prepared to leave, the woman pulled me aside to tell me that the widower was “creepy” because earlier he was kissing a photo of his wife. She thought the couple’s time investment had given them first dibs on naming, and wanted to submit a backup choice. I expressed the possibility that the other man was still mourning his wife, and she admitted that was the compassionate interpretation (her phrase) and “wished [she] could feel that.”

I consulted with my crew colleague after we were alone in the truck. To his credit, he said the widower seemed creepy to him also but that “that doesn’t matter,” and agreed we should submit all the names. HQ looks for a previously-unused name, so the surname won out, as we suspected it would.

Maybe I’ve been reading too much colonial history lately, but the encounter left me disgruntled. Well-educated and -heeled white people taking charge of a situation and feeling entitled to decide the fitness of others’ responses seems wrong. In case you are wondering, the widower was a person of indeterminate skin color who spoke English with an indeterminate accent. I guess I’m no better at identifying those characteristics than age.