The Spectacular Sea Cow

When I was an elementary school student, I saw my first manatee in a schoolbook.  Flipping through the pages idly, while the teacher droned on about some nonsense that had nothing to do with animals, and was therefore irrelevant, I came across a black-and-white picture that immediately caught my attention.  A woman in a wetsuit was standing in a shallow pool, though it looked a bit deeper because she was in a half-crouch.  Nestled up against her, its back snuggled against her chest, its pudgy form wrapped in her arms, was the most adorable animal I'd ever seen.  

It was about the size of a golden retriever, but that's about where the resemblance ended.  It's soft, gray body was only partially visible - the part that was above the water - but I saw a round, sweet-looking face craning up towards its handlers, while paddle-like flippers drooped down into the water.  The woman was feeding the baby manatee a bottle.  Both the keeper and the manatee had expressions of pure bliss on their very-different faces.

Not the picture that I originally saw - this manatee calf is even smaller and younger - but it gives you an idea of what kind of an impression it made on me (Attractions Magazine)

Since then, I've seen manatees in the wild twice and in a half-dozen zoos and aquariums.  Every time I see one, my mind immediately clicks back to that photo.  I always smile remembering it.

Manatees almost strike me as an animal too sweet, lovable, and innocent for this world.  That very well may be true.  They've certainly been hammered hard by our species, especially those members who are partial to motorboats.  The big, placid mammals are too slow to easily maneuver out of the way, and many manatees bear the scars or are missing chunks of their body as a result.  Those are the ones that survive, of course.

Not many zoos and aquariums in the United States have manatees.  Those that do receive animals that were injured or orphaned in the wild.  Some of them may be raised back to a state where they can be released back into the wild.  Others are going to be permanent residents.  In addition to the exhibit animals, these facilities, such as ZooTampa at Lowry Park and Jacksonville Zoo, maintain hospital facilities for manatees in need.

Most of the facilities that house manatees, not surprisingly, are in their native Florida.  The state has dubbed the species its official State Marine Mammal and afforded it protection on top of what it already receives on the Federal level - though there has always been push-back on protecting endangered animals, especially ones that interfere (if only by existing) in the lives of the extremely entitled.

Manatees are indeed adorable animals, which has led many people who aren't harming them through negligent boating to seek them out for company.  However, such interactions are illegal - it is prohibited to feed, pet, pursue, or approach these animals too closely.

The one exception to all of the above is Crystal River on Florida's Gulf Coast, not too far north of Tampa.  It's the one spot in the state where it is permissible to get in the water and interact with the animals.  The experience is regulated by rangers to make sure that both humans and manatees are being kept safe at all times, which is how it should be when people are given the chance to get up close and personal with wildlife.

I've never swum with a manatee, let alone gotten to bottle-feed one as it lounges in my arms like a giant, content baby.  I don't suspect I ever will.  I have gotten to see them in the wild on a few occasions.  You don't see much, usually - just a gathering bulk beneath the water, with the surface periodically broken by a temptingly-boopable snout coming up for fresh air before sinking back down to its underwater salad bar.  It's not the most intimate of encounters - but it's nice to see them, doing their own thing, safe in the wild where they belong.