The attraction between dolphins and people goes back thousands of years. Ancient Greek artists decorated coins, pottery, and walls with their pictures, and the animals appear in Greek and Roman mythology. The Greeks considered the dolphin sacred to their god Apollo. For centuries sailors have considered their presence near the bow of a ship as a good omen. They seem to bond with people and seafaring lore is replete with tales of human rescue by these intelligent creatures.

 

I slithered into the lukewarm waters off Roatan, an island east of Honduras, to frolic with trainer Brandy and her flippered friends. It wasn't long before we attracted a crowd, dolphins zipping all around in their glistening majesty. I soon found myself eyeball to eyeball with a bottle nose and an impish grin, both of us suspended in hydrospace. They had come to play, like puppies, only wetter. They accepted us, pimples and all, with obvious frivolity. I don't know who smiled the most.

On my last evening in Roatan, I sat alone on the beach and watched sunset encircle the island with an iridescent glow, then melt away in a blaze of magenta glory. I had journeyed south to join a pod of dolphins in their world, to watch them play in the moonlight and dance in the sun. I was content to be in their benign presence, a kindred spirit at sea, ever smiling at Poseidon, ever cavorting at the bow of our ships.