Monthly Archives: July 2025

Underwater Vigilantes


Humpback whales might be the most reliable first responders in the ocean.

According to a study in Marine Mammal Science by NOAA researcher Robert L. Pitman and colleagues, humpback whales have intervened in killer whale hunts at least 115 times between 1951 and 2012. And they almost always do it at their own expense—with no food, no kinship, no visible reward. Some factslaps:

http://childpsychiatryassociates.com/where-to-start/ The Numbers

  • 115 documented cases of humpback interference in orca predation.
  • 89% of the time, the animal being attacked wasn’t a humpback.
  • Targets saved included: gray whale calves, Weddell seals, sea lions, ocean sunfish, and even porpoises.
  • Only 11% involved a humpback calf being threatened.

In one now-famous 2009 incident, researchers watched as a humpback lifted a Weddell seal onto its chest, shielding it from a circling pod of orcas and then gently carrying it toward an ice floe.

No food. No blood ties. Just a rescue.

Why Do They Do It?

The motives remain unclear, but theories include:

  • Acoustic trigger response: Humpbacks may instinctively react to the sounds of orcas hunting, regardless of the prey species.
  • Proxy protection: By disrupting orcas now, they might lower future risks to their own young.
  • True altruism: Some scientists float the idea that these are deliberate, selfless acts—evidence of empathy across species.

Pitman and co-authors even used the phrase “interspecific altruism”, a term rarely applied outside primate behavior.

Mr. Peanut Gets His Murder On


For weeks, I’ve been courting the crows in my backyard.

Nothing formal. I don’t wear a tie or bring flowers.

But I do have a bag of Planter’s Peanuts in the shell—the kind with the monocled peanut on the front. Most afternoons, I bring them out, making an embarrassingly loud kissy sound, like I do for the pups at mealtime.

Yesterday, as I stepped outside, a crow soared overhead. Not a threatening swoop, just… close. Then, as I opened the bag, I spotted him—perched in silhouette atop the pine tree above my house.

I smacked another kiss. He ruffled his feathers but stayed put. I hook-shotted a few peanuts onto the tin roof over the patio and walked back inside, thinking nothing of it.

Today, I found a rock on the welcome mat.

Not a pebble. Not one of the red lava rocks from the yard.

No, this was a rock. Brown, jagged, cruddy, and heavy—like it had been wrestled from a field and lugged, with effort, to the mat.

I was overjoyed. We’d made a breakthrough. And it didn’t involve a carcass. I’ve read that crows sometimes show their appreciation that way.

But for now, peanuts for rocks is a bargain I’ll take any day.

Even Mr. Monocle would have to doff his cap.