Photo-bombing a beluga

 Marineland has been Savannah's go-to birthday location from the time she was in footie pajamas (yesterday), racing through the house in a Pavlovian response to the television commercial jingle. She knew ALL the words to the Marineland theme song before she could spell her whole name (again...yesterday).

The Mosimans knew all the tricks for an epic Marineland visit. Smuggling in a 5 pound bag of dog kibble for the deer and the fish along with apples for the bears. We knew where to double-back for the roller-coaster to avoid walking all the way back to the beginning to ride again. We knew the precise time when the polka band would begin to to play. It was, quite simply, under-the-sea fantastical. We could never understand why other families did not have as much fun as we did (Hello Rachel, falling into the carp pond) even when we were elbowing our way past the animal rights activists at the front gate. Thanks, by the way, guys..."No Shamu for you!" Dolphins don't give off much by way of a splash zone...and I doubt Rachel doused anyone but herself during her dip in the drink. Don't get me wrong. I believe orcas are best suited for the sea. It's just the likelihood of me being able to kiss an ocean-dwelling orca appears minimal...even if I am wearing bright colors.

But now it's 2016 and Brad Mosiman put his foot down and refused to try and smuggle apples across

the Canadian border. I packed a large pizza worth of Disalvo's into my backpack and Brad invited me to carry it through the park's entry gates. No one even looked at me. "See," I hissed self-righteously at him as he reclaimed the backpack, to lug a large pizza and five beverages around for the next four hours, "We could have been packing porterhouse steaks and fireworks for all these people care!"  Marineland is charmingly, nostalgically, fabulously trapped in the 70s. I myself was trapped in their bathroom forever...flushing my own toilet, turning on my own faucet, expelling my own soap, and unfurling my own paper towels. I love it!

Our first (and only hurdle) was the deer. Syd had been psyching herself up for the deer encounter. Unbeknownst to us, she apparently had developed a bit of a "Deer-jumping-on-me" phobia. "I thought you were only afraid of manatees," Savannah stated, amazed before following up with a related question. "Are you scared of ALL herbivores?" Anyhoo, a padlock separated Sydney from facing her fears. Just as well. No sense in upgrading Syd's condition to a "Deer-stabbing-me-with-its-antler" phobia.
No one fell in the carp pond. Thanks to Rachel, we now wear safety harnesses. "Belay," I yelled, a carp pebble in my palm, leaning toward a friendly-looking goose. "Belay on," Brad answered, letting out enough rope for me to reach the water while counter-balancing his backpack full of Disalvo's pizza and beverages.

We paid what some might deem an extravagant amount to feed the belugas. I say I would have paid MORE just to touch that wet, rubbery skin and exchange some whistled greetings from my friends, the canaries of the sea. Our guide, slipping us sardines (Now don't make that seem dirty), educated us about these peaceful looking animals before our "big fish finish."

Out of sheer kindness, we decided to lighten Brad's load, breaking for lunch. Normally I have a dachshund and a rottweiler nearby to accept my gifts of pizza bones but they were nowhere to be seen. What to do...what to do? It was time to write a commercial for my favorite pizza shop: Disalvo's Pizza...bear-tested...people-approved! Turns out that karma is a b!tch though. Who would have thought that the most dangerous creature at the bear enclosure would NOT have been the bear? My friend, Joan, attempting to rescue me from the billions of bees, swatted one on my hand, successfully driving the stinger into my tender flesh. I howled. The bears laughed vindictively. I didn't blame them.

Despite the warnings and apathetic advice of fellow guests who told us that there was nothing down "that way" except miles of dusty heartache resulting in bored bison, we insisted on taking the road less traveled. And how wrong they were! "I wish we had something to feed them," one family remarked, staring at the statue-still animals. Confused, Sydney and I looked across from the enclosures to the small, grass-covered mountain facing us. Moments later, we were back with arm-fulls and suddenly the bison put out a request for a flaming hoop to jump through to thank us for the treat. "Your foot-long blue tongue is thanks enough," I said to my furry-faced new friend as he wrapped it around my wrist like a bracelet (Don't make that seem dirty."). 

"I can't wait to blog about our trip to Marineland," I sighed happily the next day. Savannah paused. "It was fun," she agreed, "but I'm not sure it's what you would call bloggable." "When is the last time that you fed a bear pizza?" I asked. "Never," she admitted. "Have you ever had a blue bison tongue slither up your arm like a snake?" I asked. "No," she admitted. "When's the last time you gave a beluga the big fish finish?" I inquired. She smiled before answering, "Yesterday."