They had to walk single file between trees for a minute or two. They came to an open space overlooking the rocky cove, and they paused. Spot investigated gopher holes; his tail swept the air like a metronome.

“Anyway … I’m feeling misanthropic lately,” Isabelle explained as she watched seagulls flutter around a far rock pool. It wasn’t typical of seagulls to flutter. “Except for you and my kids, I don’t think I’d miss people. What’s over there?”

“Where?” and Isabelle pointed at the flocking seagulls. “Come,” she said as she nudged Rosie along the path.

“Lately I’ve been extremely critical of the works of man,” Isabelle continued as they walked. “Nothing’s good enough for me. I feel like a drill sergeant; I want to tell our species to buck up, try harder, STRIVE dammit! Drop to the floor and give me 50 pushups! I look around, and nothing we do is good enough. Not the operas. Not the cathedrals. Not even the wedding cakes. On the other hand, the works of God? or nature?” and she swept her arms open to include the ocean’s width, the sky’s height, the depth of land behind them. “This stuff’s absolutely perfect. Stop here.”

“Why?”

“I want to check that out.” Isabelle pointed to a rock pool below them. “I’ve never seen seagulls fly like that.”

“Oh. Is something dead?”

“No. Ahh. It’s a sea lion birth! See? To the left of the birds …”

As Isabelle’s words registered, Rosie saw. A shiny dark cigar-shaped animal nudged a small one into the sea beneath the pool.

“The mother is making the baby swim before she lets it nurse,” Isabelle declared. They watched the infant circle a few times in the waves before it began climbing back to the pool and its mother, who by then had wriggled her body onto the warm stone above the water, leaving only her tail flippers submerged. The afterbirth remained in the pool, and the seagulls dove and wrestled for it while the baby slithered up rock and slid back down in its attempts to climb.

The pup made it to the pool as the birds took off. Two still fought for one piece of sea-rinsed placenta while most of the others carried strands in their beaks.

The baby crossed the pool and began its final quest. Rosie and Isabelle watched, silent. It took awhile for the pup to make it. The mother didn’t help. When the baby finally managed to suckle, the two friends sighed together.

“Wow.”

They returned to Isabelle’s cottage without further discussion. Their cheeks were damp and their smiles soft. Mutely agreeing, they managed to avoid Rusty-the-slut. Spot followed them like a groom.