Shhhhh.
With two baby dolphins in the house, not only is Baltimore's National Aquarium asking visitors to keep it down, but the infants have also forced the attraction to reconfigure one of its most popular shows just as tourist season launches.
With little ones to consider — to say nothing of their sensitive mothers — the usually boisterous dolphin show, known for splashing and shrieking, has turned into a quiet zone, with hushed music, fewer visitors allowed in at a time and a video documenting dolphin births substituting for most of the noisy acrobatics.
Though showing off baby animals is a no-brainer at most zoos, a surefire visitor magnet, the aquarium is keeping its dolphin calves out of the public eye — but showing them off all the same. With the survival rate of dolphin calves less than one in three and many babies not making it to their first birthday, the aquarium is hoping the short-term shushing, and limiting access to the cuteness to just a glimpse for now, will lead to healthier dolphins.
"It's a totally different feel than the typical show," says Nancy Hotchkiss, the aquarium's senior director of visitor experience. "But we want people to be able to share in the story."
The first of the two calves was born the morning of April 14, just as the aquarium staff was heading to work. She was born to Spirit, a 10-year-old first-time mother who shared her pregnancy with her half-sister Maya, who was also having her first baby.
Both dolphins were impregnated by a male named Chinook, in town from Chicago's Brookfield Zoo, just for that purpose. Maya's son arrived two weeks after Spirit's, on the morning of April 27.
Tiny, skinny and wrinkled, the newborns spent their first days learning to swim while their mamas tried to get the hang of nursing. Without really swimming on their own, the babies hitched rides in their mothers' slipstream, moving almost constantly as a proud yet fretful staff watched their every move, 24 hours a day.
After four or five days of drinking their mother's nutrient-rich milk, they both began to grow bellies.
Nursing for dolphins is as critical as it is complicated — a procedure quite similar to a dramatic midair refueling operation. The calf must cup his tongue and latch it, straw-like, onto one of his mother's mammary glands. The mother squirts milk that the calf must quickly catch — all while the two continue to swim. The whole thing begins and ends in seconds.
Maya didn't get it at first. Staff brought in one of the other female dolphins as coach.
Now 6 weeks old, Spirit's girl has emerged as the plucky one, endlessly curious and rather independent — unafraid to check out the other side of the pool. Staff recently overheard what could have been her first vocalization, a little "eep" for her mother. Her cousin, on the other hand, isn't so bold. Tentative and timid, he stays as close to Maya as possible.
The calves have just started playing together, and opening their mouths when they see one another, or one might rub her pectoral flipper against the other, which staff says is a little like holding hands.
Not counting these two, 12 calves have been born at the National Aquarium since 1992. Of those babies, six survive today and live at the Aquarium.
Four other calves died within their first year of life. Two more died as juveniles.
The infants succumbed to everything from pneumonia and infections to breathing irregularities. In 2004, one 4-month-old died after being roughed up by two males.
There are 10 dolphins now at the aquarium, ranging in age from Nani, who's 39, to the baby boy, who's a month old.
The maturing of dolphins is still largely mysterious, says Brett R. Whitaker, deputy executive director for biological programs. A baby can seem fine one day, deeply in trouble the next.
"Things could completely change," he says. "Just like that."
That's largely why the aquarium has no plans to name the newborns until things are somewhat less touch-and-go. When that time comes — perhaps this fall — there will probably be a public contest to name them.
Wednesday afternoon, Spirit and Maya swam circles in the aquarium's auxiliary pool, which is visible from the show pool but separate. The calves followed their mothers, surfacing when the adults surfaced, diving when they dove. The mothers kept a close eye on visitors, popping up often to check them out, a move the staff calls "spy hopping."
The staff can't say for sure, but they guess both calves weigh about 40 pounds now — up from the 30 or so pounds they weighed at birth. Both are considered on the small side, but not enough to cause worry. If they grow to be strong like their mothers, one day they'll weigh in at as much as 300 pounds.
No one has handled the calves. However, just this week, dolphin training manager Allison Ginsburg spread her palm over the surface of the water, and after passing by tentatively a couple of times, Spirit's calf swam over, very close, and rubbed her whole body against Ginsburg's hand.
"It was amazing," the trainer says.
Until the babies are more stable, aquarium visitors who pay the extra $3 for the dolphin show will get the quiet version.
That means instead of the typical capacity crowd of 1,200, only half that will be allowed in at a time for a show. And when they file into the dolphin area, as the audience did for Wednesday's show, they'll be greeted by the warning, "Shhhhhh," broadcast on multiple video screens.
Staff members roam the rows, explaining to people that the mothers and babies need quiet time. And during the performance, the host makes a point of mentioning the newborns and talking a lot about the dolphin family tree. After a few subdued tricks — considerably less flipping and splashing then one would see at a normal show — visitors watch a short video showing the births of the calves.
While the older dolphins swim freely and showboat in the main tank, hawk-eyed visitors might catch a glimpse of the babies, who are kept in the back with their mothers. The most anyone will see is a glimpse of a tiny baby tail fluke, perhaps the flash of a beak.
Any sight of the babies at Wednesday's show — either in the tank or on the video screen — prompted much oohing and aahing.
Trainers put together the quiet show somewhat on the fly just before Memorial Day after trying to resume the regular performances and realizing the mothers and babies weren't taking it well. They were faltering with nursing and showing other signs of distress.
"We said, 'Wait, let's take a giant step back,'" Whitaker says. "Let's figure out what's going on, and in the meantime, take a chance to present the public with something incredible."
The calves appear to be thriving in the more tranquil atmosphere. Whitaker and Ginsburg guess the quiet programming will continue for another couple of weeks before trainers start trying to add back more regular show elements.
It all depends on how the babies take it.
"Nothing is set in stone here," Whitaker says. "We're very fluid and flexible."