I was out for a drive with my daughter on Saturday, enjoying the ridiculously beautiful (and unseasonable) day. We decided to drive down the South Shore, along the coast.
As we passed one of the beaches, there was a lot of cars there, and a lot of people out on the beach. Now, it was unseasonable warm for early December, but this the Atlantic Ocean–it’s too cold for people to play in it until August, no one is playing in it in December.
So we pulled up to see what was going on, and found that there was the corpse of a small whale washed up on the beach. It was probably an infant right whale, since there have been some stories in the paper laterly about the migration of right whales in the area, but I didn’t get out to look up close.
Having to try to explain to Sarah why the whale was on the ground, and not in the water, was the hardest conversation I’ve had in a long time. In fact, I broke one of my own rules about not lying to her, and avoided the whole death issue. I am very glad that I decided not to go for a look with her.
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