Death At Sea

My case load is a lot like the sea.
It is never constant. Never predictable. Always in motion and transition.
And because I cross the Puget Sound most days to get to the city (either by car ferry or by bridge), I am more aware of this than most.

When I get out of my car during the ferry crossing, and walk down towards the bow of the ship, to the very edge of the yellow barrier point past which no one can pass,  the sound of the ship's engines do not drown out the symphony of waters, birds, sky and wind.  Standing by the bow of a Washington State Ferry you realize, there is a greatness to the universe, and a humility to the human spirit (at least mine). And you learn... life is really transition between points in time and space.

I'm especially aware of this philosophical reality... particularly now, when winter comes to the  Pacific Northwest and the chill in the air makes life more challenging and interesting.
I explore the beach after storms sweep through... bird and mammal bones wash ashore from Port Gamble Bay.A few days ago,  I followed as our dogs ran free on the long isolated beach in our backyard.
The dogs suddenly stopped and gathered around something distant. They were looking down and appeared motionless. I raced to them and I too stopped in my tracks
We were the pack examining the dead.

It was THE heron.
Not just any heron.
But THE heron.
The one that played with Zen, our massive half Husky, half Lab.
THE heron with the huge nest atop the tree next door.
THE heron who would dive bomb Zen.  Zen would chase THE heron if it stopped to munch a fish by the distant shore. They were love/hate playmates for years.
Now THE heron was dead in the water. Rather, in the sand and sea weed beside it.

THE big majestic big blue heron was part of a family of three (the third being last year's baby).
The dead one was big. It was mama or papa. I couldn't tell and didn't want to know enough to look.
Its long, limber neck was twisted, though I suspect that's not cause of death.
Something else happened....it could be anything.... the possibilities out here in the boonies are limitless.
Maybe it got stuck in the mud flats at low tide.
Maybe the eagles got it, I wondered if eagles and herons fight.
Maybe some good old boy was being bad and shot him.
Or maybe it had a heart attack and dropped mid flight to the ground like a sack of feathers, flesh and bone.

The dogs and I just stared in collective curiosity and  I like to believe, communion.
Other creatures had been feeding off  the body.
It wasn't pretty to look at, though its long beak was untouched.
I felt an instant wave of loss, grabbed the dogs' collars, leashed them and we walked to the edge of the peninsula.
I'm sure the dogs forgot about that heron in a heart-beat, if they even once considered what it is they were viewing.
Me, I still can't stop thinking about it, as I watch another Heron fly alone... or  sometimes with the smaller heron.

You may wonder what all this has to do with private investigations and blogging.
There is a link, I assure you.
It is one word.
Loss.
I've been working two child abduction cases. Both domestics.
In each, (one client is a man, and another is a woman) the Child protective Agency or Judicial System failed one child and one parent.
The child(ren) were taken from the right person and given to the wrong one.
And when the wrong one gets the kids, they either run.... or break their semi-defeated opponent completely down.
That's why I'm including the following video.
Every day, every where in the world, children are victims....
parents are victims....
of  legal and custodial injustices, mistakes, loop-holes, horror stories.
Following is one such story and shows how one such victim released her pain in a way that may help others in the sharing.
I honor her for that.
And I ask you to share the U-Tube story that follows... if you are so inclined.