By Rocky (Donna) Liberty
At 3:30 p.m., I realized the time and charged to the beach to capture the last bit of day. Walking south towards the light, I scoured the beach for aggies, shells, and the odd bit of interesting glass. Curiosity and the thrill of discovery have always spurred me to walk miles in search of buried treasures.
Ahead of me several yards, I noticed something pinkish-yellowish. Its colors stood out against the blue-gray of the sand and rocks. This weird pinkish-yellowish thing was actually about the size of a human heart – and it was also pulsating. What the heck IS that? A sea anemone? A fish out of water? EWW!
I got closer. Something moved. Then I saw it. The tentacle. Holy cannoli, an octopus! Its cute little tentacles were white and blue. Sadly, they were also stuck in the sand.
My mind finally grasped the situation. I told Octé (of course, male or female, it must have a French name), “Don’t worry. I’ll get you to the water.” I was suddenly catapulted to Octo-medic, and took my job seriously. Speaking loudly and clearly, I reassured the patient. “You are just fine. Don’t worry.”
Searching frantically for a to-go container or coffee cup, I cursed the litter gods. (Where’s garbage when you need it?) I found a stretcher, also known as driftwood. Knowing our hands contain bacteria, I avoided touching Octé. Got him onto the stretcher. Prayed he would stay on it ‘til we reached the shore. He wasn’t doing so great.
I got him to the water, but out of curiosity, I wondered if Octé would make contact. Taking off my left glove, I held my hand near. Ahhh! This little 18 or so inches of life actually did reach out and latch on to my finger! A jolt of I-don’t-know-what (ultimate joy?) came into my brain. The strength in this tiny creature was beyond my ken. I stood there, overwhelmed with awe.
The little octopus let go. I gently placed him in the water. He seemed weak, but immediately sent out the sepia ink – a protective measure. It gave me hope to see that he was alright. As the sun was setting, I watched him for almost five minutes, wished him well, then headed back to my car.
As I neared the landing, I saw a young man standing there, smoking his mini-cigar and contemplating. A woman in the distance was collecting wood.
I couldn’t stop myself. Bawling my eyes out, I shouted, “I have to tell you what just happened to me because it really just happened!”
They were both gorgeously receptive to my story. The man told me, “You may have saved a life today,” with a warm smile.
The woman chimed in sweetly, “Oh yes, and octopuses are amazing and intelligent animals.”
I am grateful they were there. I’ll never forget them.
That was one month ago. I’m still on Cloud Nine, reliving the experience with each retelling.
Hopefully, I’ll see Octé again. He will say “Oui, oui, c’est moi!” and we will laugh at how a nervous Octo-medic could still function.
I now have my OWN octopus teacher. I still can’t quite believe it happened. How did I get so lucky? I’ll never be the same.
