Melody Horrill - A Dolphin Called Jock: An injured dolphin, a lost young woman, a story of hope

First published in 2022

Copyright 2022 Melody Horrill

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Some names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals and their families.

Allen & Unwin

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Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

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Web:www.allenandunwin.com

ISBN 978 1 76106 735 8

eISBN 978 1 76106 441 8

Internal design by Post Pre-press Group

Set by Post Pre-press Group

Cover design: Deborah Parry Graphics

Cover photograph: Mike Bossley

For the best teachers I ever had, the Port River dolphins, especially Jock, who taught me how to trust.

To the Dolphin alone, beyond all other, nature has granted what the best philosophers seek: friendship for no advantage.

Plutarch (46 CE120 CE)

IT WASNT JUST THE OPPRESSIVE ADELAIDE HEAT THAT KEPT me tossing and turning all night. I was excited. In the morning, I was going out onto the Port River to visit dolphins with one of my university lecturers, Dr Mike Bossley.

Id never been before. The only real dolphins Id seen were from on-board a boat, travelling from Singapore to Australia as a child. I knew about them, howeverId read stories of dolphins seeking human interaction, even forming special bonds with people. They seemed like inquisitive, intelligent creatures with a vibrancy and vitality that were irresistible.

Mike had been studying the Port River dolphins for years and knew many of the resident individuals by name. I couldnt wait to see them for myself. Even though it was voluntary, I was buzzing at the prospect of helping with the work. I wanted to learn more about these creatures.

We are setting off in a small rubber dinghy under a smoggy, soft sienna sky flecked with cotton-white clouds. The briny air is mixed with a faint scent of decomposition from a nearby dump. Between the distant shrieks of gulls comes a barely audible mechanical hum.

My T-shirt is already damp. The air feels tacky, glutinous and clammy, which is unusual for South Australia. Apparently, tropical moisture has moved down into the state. A gossamer haze rises from the water, the groping tendrils of steam dissipating as they ascend. This part of the river is artificially warmed by the nearby power station, Mike had told me.

We putter away from the ramp. Crooked trees, leaves the colour of absinthe, cling to the riverbank with gangly spider-like legs, their convoluted roots jutting out of the mud, supporting contorted trunks with abundant canopy. The mangroves seem to be sitting in a sea of stalagmites, more suited to the subterranean. I later discover they are snorkel-like roots called pneumatophores that help the trees to breathe. They remind me of The Day of the Triffids, one of my favourite early sci-fi movies. These swamps are essential for the health of the ecosystem. They provide a rich and vital habitat for fish during their breeding cycle.

A movement catches my attention.

Is that a dolphin? I blurt, bouncing on the rubber seat, almost losing my balance.

Mike stops, stands and cuts the motor.

I glimpse what appears to be a dorsal fin, gliding past one of the boats anchored in the channel.

The dolphin keeps looping around the same boat. Around and around. Occasionally, he disappears underwater, only to reappear shortly after with a puh sound. He seems oblivious to our presence.

Oh my God, whats wrong with his dorsal fin? I ask. It doesnt look real. It seems as if it had been crudely fashioned by some wayward kid with playdough. It is contorted and twisted, and its tip appears ready to fall off at any moment.

Yeah, Mike replies. We know hes been tangled up in discarded nets and fishing lines a lot and its cut into his flesh. He seems to be quite young, an adolescent, so he couldve first been entangled as a baby and the line disfigured his fin as it was growing. Over the years the injuries have made it easy for him to get tangled up again. He spends most of his life just circling that boat.

Why is he alone, I wonder. Where are the other dolphins? I thought they lived in pods. I know they are highly social creatures, which rely on one another. It seems odd to see one all alone, acting so strangely, so obsessively.

As he continues his ceaseless circling, this dolphin with the deformed fin looks so lonely and isolated. I feel compassion wash over me. He looks like an outcast. Like me, he seems damaged. I wonder if he too has internal scars, as well as external ones. He looks disconnected and alone, like me, wounded and adrift in the world. Maybe hed been abandoned by his mother. Perhaps hed suffered pain and been shunned by his peers, as I had. It was also possible he just didnt know how to interact with others, or was too afraid to try. Something deep inside feels an instant kinship with him. I sense the beginnings of a profound connection.

Jock had that dolphin smile, that fixed expression making them always look happy. I knew what it was like to wear such a mask. Unlike him, however, I could choose to put mine on only when I needed to. When I did, I felt no-one could see beneath it. Few people knew I carried a lifetime of sorrow. My family life had been dysfunctional, wracked by bouts of extreme violence and cruelty, ruled by fear.

I grew up doubting everythingmyself, my family, other people, the world. I felt disconnected. The connections I did have were flimsy and superficial, and entry to my heart was strictly forbidden. I didnt understand love. I wasnt worthy. To me, love was just a concept. It was conditional, transactional, fraught with hidden traps, something to be wary of. Something inside me was broken. I told myself to just live with it. I could conceal it, and maybe one day fix it. Problem was, I just didnt know how to do it.

Bobbing in concert with the current, I felt an overwhelming urge to reach out to this solitary creature, to reassure him that he wasnt alone. I wanted to let him know somehow that I cared, that I understood. For the first time in my life, I felt compelled to nurture a relationship.

My response surprised me. The trip was meant to be lighthearted, joyful, exciting. Instead, I was sitting on a boat, delving into the abyss of my own emotions in response to a dolphin. It seemed implausible that I could feel such an affinity to this creature so quickly. But I did.

Back then, I didnt know just how important my connection to this dolphin would become. It would release me and teach me. It would help me find inner peace and a connection to the natural world. I would finally understand and revel in the simplicity of having fun, living in the moment.