Free Killing Keiko by Mark A. Simmons

one on the end and one roughly
     in the middle of its length. There were windows, too, but only at the southern end
     providing views of Keiko’s pool, the harbor to the southwest, and the cliffs to the
     east.
    We entered through the door in the end and walked into a bunking room that doubled
     as a “wet room,” an area for disrobing survival suits after the routine dousing from
     the elements. From there a small foyer and bathroom joined the wet room to the “dry
     room” where the staff spent a majority of its time. The dry room had a small kitchenette
     with sink, running water, a coffee maker, microwave and cabinets full of more dishes
     and kitchenware than I had in my first apartment. At the back end of the dry room
     was a bank of video screens, about nineteen in total, providing images from all around
     the pen, including a few from underwater. There was also audio recording equipment
     and a few hydrophone hookups that allowed the staff to listen to or record underwater
     sounds through submerged microphones.
    One of the hydrophones was connected to a speaker, always providing the constant low-level
     underwater sounds, echo-like bumps and grinds of the ever moving bay pen. Under the
     window facing Keiko’s pool, a low counter provided desk space and included shelves
     above. There was a lone computer for staff use on the pen sitting beneath the east-facing
     window looking out toward Keiko and the interior of the bay pen. There were even blue
     and white flowered Midwest-style curtains. Three cafeteria-like chairs completed the
     accommodations.
    Very cool
, I smiled. As a person from the animal field, I was not used to having all these
     work-related toys. After a brief tour of the bay pen housings, including an explanation
     of the records takenon Keiko, ethogram data recorded on Keiko’s activities, and various other procedures
     and protocols, we went out on deck to watch a training session with Keiko, the “Big
     Man,” as I would come to call him.
Thrashing
    Stephen Claussen slapped the water’s surface, the signal for calling Keiko over to
     where he stood at the pool’s edge. Stephen was the lead trainer on this particular
     staff rotation. Stephen had gained his whale experience caring for Keiko in Oregon.
     He was full of nervous quirks. At times Stephen would unknowingly rub his hands together,
     one balled inside the other as if the evildoer in a cartoon escapade. Other times
     he would do it consciously, acting out the backdrop of a twisted comment. He was an
     immensely funny guy. His sense of humor was often a great and welcome equalizer in
     the middle of our newness, dampening the uncertainty pressed upon the staff. Stephen
     and I became fast friends.
    The session was painful to watch. I had never seen such a slow whale. It was as if
     I was watching a fully loaded dump truck double-clutch through thirteen gears to get
     moving. Keiko, when he finally came over to Stephen, didn’t even lift his eyes above
     the waterline. This posture is analogous to a person who “just-woke-up” dazed and
     with his or her eyes half shut.
Hello? Are you hearing me?
One can never be sure.
    Stephen stood slightly hunched over, his chin almost on his chest as he peered down
     at Keiko. He nervously talked to him, his whistle bridge clenched between his teeth,
     narrating the more obvious while he pondered his next steps. (A “bridge” is an audible
     whistle signal that “bridges” the gap between the completion of a correct behavior
     and the whale receiving reinforcement.) Stephen’s posture didn’t lend much to a professional
     appearance. Instead, the way he carried himself made his clothes, the same apparel
     most of us wore, appear on him just a bit more disheveled.
    Stephen moved ahead with his session plan, asking Keiko for a few behaviors. Among
     the menu of trials he gave the signal for abehavior they called an “innovative.” Having no idea what I was watching, the session
     seemed