Consistent with most transfers of sea animals I've known of or experienced while working at Marineland, I'm certain this one happened during the wee hours.

There were the telltale signs the day before. Our supervisor would become evasive and silent. Then there was the dead giveaway.

We'd check the cupboards for the "blood box" -- an old fishing tackle box filled with needles, vials and alcohol wipes... everything needed for drawing blood. If it was missing, you knew with absolute certainty that we would have more animals come sun up.

On this particular occasion, we received five harbour seals from the Vancouver Aquarium. Rescued, rehabbed and (for whatever reason) deemed "un-releasable," the aquarium decided to send them to Marineland, where I worked, for display.

With them came documentation detailing their names, physical attributes, diet history and behavioural tendencies. They were indeed a finicky group at feeding time.

Rolo was a young male with what we were told was a neurological disorder. His pupils were always dilated. His body would convulse steadily, and he had trouble both swimming and crawling. He was also aggressive and provided few precursors before biting. He would have little to no chance of survival in the wild, that's a certainty.

Squamish was the youngest female. Plump, round yet dainty, she was by far the most timid of the bunch. She had a tiny mouth and would often struggle to swallow the bigger herring. She was a picture of health.

Poppy, the princess, was noted for being smooth as silk. We nicknamed her "Black Velvet" and during training sessions we would aptly sing for her the Alannah Miles song. One particular trainer's voice still haunts me, though I respected the passion with which she sang.

Curry, another female, would be best described as feisty. She refused to eat any fish on dry land, choosing instead to snatch fish from our hands and flop back into the pool to consume it. She was fast, and bit me good one time.