Sealed with a kiss

Mother's Day 2010; I walked the empty, sunless beach, curled my bare toes against the cold, wet, gritty sand.  A chill rose from my feet to my head and my blonde arm hair sprang from goose-pimpled flesh.   I called out, cautioning my children to stay away from the surf.  "You'll be freezing if you get wet and we're not leaving.   I'll want to walk a long way.  We just got here, stay dry".  Pointless directions; they were soaked within seconds as I expected they would be.
I kept one eye on them as I strolled and the other on the dogs, who were happily galloping free, sniffing everywhere, scaring up sporadic congregations of seagulls.  Leash laws are lost on me.   Probably because I was busily watching kids and animals, I didn't take careful notice of my own direction and only became aware of the perils to myself  when the pungent scent of death reached my cold nose, startling me to look down.  I didn't scream, but rather let my mouth gape open in awe of what I took in.
I called my children and with them came the dogs.   All drew near and all were shocked by the smell, all were fascinated and thrilled as I was by the large, dead seal.
We stood there, talking about the open chest, admiring it's broke ribs, missing heart, the left behind section of lung, what else might be absent internally we pondered.  It's head was off too and lucky for us, a clump of seaweed sat where it would have, should have, once had been, making it's decapitation easier to accept.  Aside from the smaller dog wanting to roll in it, I found nothing wrong with our insatiable curiosity and desire to explore its lifeless remains.  My son encouraged me to speculate on the size of the shark who'd killed it, sent it's lifeless body into waves to be washed up to shore for us to enjoy.    I found myself spinning a tale of a hungry shark and a sacrificial seal, the circle of life came pouring from my mouth.  My daughter wanted to "keep it".  I contemplated the large Hefty bag rolled beneath the seat in the back of my Jeep.  I kept it there for those occasions when something messy had to be transported home, which is often the case when you live with kids and dogs and not so far from water.   It would be kind of nuts for me to bag this guy up and bring him home so we could dissect him further, wouldn't it be?
A shovel, pail and a bitchen stick right here on the sand would be experiment enough and as it turns out, it was.
We spent an hour, maybe more, lost in the seal.  Then we moved on, watched the speedy sandpipers rush away from waves on their toothpick legs, then  continue seaching in freshly wet sand for whatever it is they eat, before hurrying away again, like a fast forwarded video tape when the surf encroached on them.  Dolphin came by, cavorting together in the stillness beyond the rough waters.  Delightful to see, but not as wondrous as the rotting sea lion carcass.
I often forget the lesser holidays; like Saint Patrick's Day, Memorial Day and often even Mother's Day, but I never misplace this memory.   I can still feel the temperature, sense the chill, taste the salty air, smell the tide, feel my insides literally rolling up with the excitement over the remarkable, unexpected find.   And I never cease to marvel at the endless curiosity of my children,  recalling their oohs and aaaahs.   Morbid maybe, but memorable, highly memorable.   It was a good day.  I'll take it.