Science
Surrogate otter mom at Long Beach aquarium is rehabilitating pup 'better than any human ever can'
Millie, a fatigued mother of an infant, was ready for a nap.
So she grabbed her baby, flipped it around, threw it on her belly and started grooming its tail — a soothing behavior.
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Millie, a sea otter, is rearing what could be the Aquarium of the Pacific’s first orphaned pup to return to the wild. As a surrogate mom, she’s teaching her adopted baby everything she needs to know to fend for herself — in the hopes she can hack it in the ocean in a few months.
“It’s all instinctual, and she’s doing it way better than any human ever can,” said Megan Smylie, sea otter program manager at the Long Beach aquarium.
Their pairing isn’t all about cuddles and relaxation. Just before Millie decided it was nap time, the pup known as 968 was practicing manipulating a crab shell, one of the skills she’d need to survive in the ocean. She’d also need to master foraging for food and grooming her thick, insulating coat.
Megan Smylie, sea otter program manager at the Aquarium of the Pacific, watches Millie and pup 968 on a screen. The aquarium is limiting the young otter’s exposure to humans to improve her chances of survival if released into the wild.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Climate warriors in limbo
Unlike seals and sea lions, otters need to be taught basic survival skills. And, conservationists say, their survival is a high priority.
They’re so important to maintaining a healthy coastal ecosystem that they’re often called “climate warriors.” Otters chow down on urchins, which voraciously devour kelp. When urchins are kept in check, kelp forests flourish — sequestering carbon and providing food and shelter for fish, shellfish and other life.
Once thought to be extinct, southern sea otters’ rebounding population has stalled, stymied by shark bites and parasites. They dive, hunt and float from south of San Francisco to just north of Santa Barbara, a fraction of their historical range, making them vulnerable to localized catastrophes such as oil spills.
There are now about 3,000 southern sea otters. That’s heartening relative to the total in the late 1930s — about 50 — but a far cry from their 150,000-300,000 peak in the early 18th century. Hunting nearly eradicated them, while protections helped them claw back. The population has stabilized over the last five years.
Sometimes baby sea otters get separated from their mothers, who might fall victim to a predator or get swept away during a storm. If they aren’t reunited or rescued by people, the outlook isn’t good; most baby otters can’t survive long alone.
With the recent rollout of its otter surrogacy program, the Aquarium of the Pacific joined the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s efforts and has roughly doubled the capacity in California to rehabilitate orphan otters using adoptive moms — a method research has shown gives the otters the best chance (about 75%) of being wild again.
It’s a promising expansion, but still falls short of the need. Most years, more otters strand than the Long Beach and Monterey facilities can accommodate, according to staffers.
“So growing this program is going to be a pretty high priority for people that are invested in otter conservation,” Smylie said.
The otters the public can see at the Aquarium of the Pacific provide plenty of cuteness. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Hello 968
Toward the end of January, a passerby found 968 stranded north of Santa Cruz. Sometimes an otter mom can be heard calling out for her baby somewhere nearby. But the pup was all alone.
She was about 8 weeks old, and still dependent on her mother for survival. (Otter dads are not in the picture.)
So she was taken to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, where all sea otter pups stranded in California pass through. Her number denotes that she’s the 968th otter to enter the aquarium’s rehabilitation program.
Pups aren’t just tossed back into the surf; they must go through rehabilitation to learn how to be an otter.
So began her long, and still uncertain, path back to the chilly coastal waters of Central California.
Teaching an otter how to be an otter
The Aquarium of the Pacific’s foray into otter surrogacy is an outgrowth of the pioneering efforts of the Monterey Bay Aquarium, which started rescuing otter pups in the mid-1980s, even before it officially opened its doors.
The surrogacy concept emerged early on, said Jessica Fujii, manager of the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s sea otter program. In the wild, through their research program, staff “saw adoptions occurring naturally; it wasn’t common, but it had been seen,” she said. “So there was this thought that the strong maternal instincts that sea otters have could translate to the surrogacy in care.”
But an early attempt, in 1987, wasn’t successful. So for a time staffers tried to act as the pup’s mom, even swimming and diving alongside it in a big tidepool near the aquarium to teach it to forage.
To keep rehabilitating otters from becoming too comfortable with humans, aquarium staff members such as Brett Long watch them remotely.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
While otters raised this way were able to hunt, they didn’t always socialize properly, said Brett Long, senior director of birds and mammals at Aquarium of the Pacific. Many were too comfortable with people.
“We are very good at keeping them alive and very good at keeping them healthy,” Long said. “What we’re not very good at is teaching them how to be an otter back out there.”
Then, in 2001, the Monterey Bay Aquarium paired an orphaned pup with Toola, a stranded female otter who’d had a stillborn. The pair bonded.
From there, the aquarium tried pairing orphans with otters that hadn’t been “primed” by a recent birth. More success.
They continued refining the methods, distancing humans from the caretaking process as much as possible. Caretakers wear disguises reminiscent of Darth Vader’s getup during feedings — so they’re not recognized as people. Panels are put around their pools to block the sight of humans, and the otters are monitored remotely. Releasable otters are also never placed in aquarium displays where throngs of visitors can “ooh” and “ahh” at them.
Researchers previously thought “experience and knowledge of the ocean was the most important part” of the rearing process, Fujii explained. “And what we since learned is that really that social aspect and that kind of identification as, ‘You’re an otter,’ was really key.”
Over two decades, 70 pups have passed through the Monterey aquarium’s surrogacy program. Ten mature female otters did their part as adoptive moms. A study found the rewilded otters contributed to population growth in an estuary called Elkhorn Slough. In 2002, when the aquarium began its releases, there were only about 20 otters in the estuary. By 2016, there were more than 100.
In late February 2020, the Long Beach aquarium announced it was joining the surrogacy program as a partner and welcoming Millie, who is now 7. The pandemic around the corner delayed the program’s rollout, and it wasn’t until September 2023 that the permit was approved. But they still had to wait for a stranded otter to put Millie’s surrogacy skills to the test.
A long road home
After a three-week stabilization period, 968 was driven from Monterey to Long Beach. During the roughly six-hour drive, she had ice to munch on and cool air piped in.
When 968 met Millie in February, it wasn’t familial love at first sight — at least on the pup’s end.
She stranded later than most pups, meaning she may have had some memory of her biological mom, experts said.
“And so the first time it met Millie, it was like, ‘You’re not my mom.’ And Millie, fortunately, was just patient and was, like, ‘Hey, I’m in the pool. I’m hanging out,’” Long said.
A very chill stepmom tactic.
But by the sixth day, things were less chill. If a bond doesn’t form in seven days, then it likely never will, Long said.
Aquarium personnel would get excited every time the pup swam closer to Millie. When the two otters finally united, after nearly seven days, cheers erupted from the office where they watched the events unfold on a livestream.
Millie and 968, seen on a TV screen at the Long Beach aquarium, are now inseparable.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
“I don’t know that that’s going to fade,” Long said of the collective enthusiasm. “There’s some invested people on this project, [and] this has become a very popular corner of our administration.”
Now Millie and the pup are inseparable. In late March, 968 rested on Millie’s belly the best she could — the pup had grown to around 18 pounds, from about 11 when she arrived in Long Beach.
After a relaxing nap in the sun, they made their way to the other side of the pool. The pup, now about 4½ months old, played with a piece of a crab shell as Millie relaxed on a platform. Soon the hyper baby scampered up next to mom in what appeared to be the otter version of “Ma, look at me!” According to Long, the pup was in a stage akin to the terrible twos.
Millie, in a sense, is giving back to the program. She was raised through surrogacy herself and for a while did just fine in the wild — until people started feeding her, which is illegal, experts said.
When she was about 2½ years old, she started jumping on kayaks, and federal wildlife officials ordered her out of the water. When Millie was fished out, it turned out she was pregnant. (Millie’s story is reminiscent of the surfboard-stealing otter that became a national sensation over the summer. That otter, dubbed 841, gave birth in the wild shortly after her antics grabbed headlines.)
Millie raised her pup using the surrogacy program protocols, and it was eventually released. It appears her maternal instinct hasn’t faded.
The sea otter surrogacy program exhibit at the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach doesn’t have a live video feed of Millie and 968, but it does have cute baby otter footage.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
The test
The release of 968 will depend on whether she can reach certain developmental milestones. She has to show she can care for her luxurious fur; crack open clams, mussels and other food; socialize reasonably well with other otters and avoid humans.
She’ll separate from Millie when she’s about 6 months old — the age pups typically leave “home” — and head back to the Monterey aquarium where she’ll hang out with otters closer to her own age. There, she’ll also get the opportunity to hunt live prey.
If all goes well and she passes a final health exam, she’ll return to her native waters. She’ll be implanted with a tracker and rigorously monitored for two weeks. After that period, her survival chances are as good as any otter.
Unfortunately, you can’t wave to 968.
Because the surrogacy program hinges on keeping humans away, visitors at the Long Beach and Monterey aquariums won’t be able to see the otters. The rearing pools at the Aquarium of the Pacific are tucked behind a medical center and a marine mammal protection law prohibits livestreaming their activities to the public.
However, the Long Beach aquarium has launched an exhibit explaining the program. And, yes, it does include adorable video of baby otters.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Science
What’s in a Name? For These Snails, Legal Protection
The sun had barely risen over the Pacific Ocean when a small motorboat carrying a team of Indigenous artisans and Mexican biologists dropped anchor in a rocky cove near Bahías de Huatulco.
Mauro Habacuc Avendaño Luis, one of the craftsmen, was the first to wade to shore. With an agility belying his age, he struck out over the boulders exposed by low tide. Crouching on a slippery ledge pounded by surf, he reached inside a crevice between two rocks. There, lodged among the urchins, was a snail with a knobby gray shell the size of a walnut. The sight might not dazzle tourists who travel here to see humpback whales, but for Mr. Avendaño, 85, these drab little mollusks represent a way of life.
Marine snails in the genus Plicopurpura are sacred to the Mixtec people of Pinotepa de Don Luis, a small town in southwestern Oaxaca. Men like Mr. Avendaño have been sustainably “milking” them for radiant purple dye for at least 1,500 years. The color suffuses Mixtec textiles and spiritual beliefs. Called tixinda, it symbolizes fertility and death, as well as mythic ties between lunar cycles, women and the sea.
The future of these traditions — and the fate of the snails — are uncertain. The mollusks are subject to intense poaching pressure despite federal protections intended to protect them. Fishermen break them (and the other mollusks they eat) open and sell the meat to local restaurants. Tourists who comb the beaches pluck snails off the rocks and toss them aside.
A severe earthquake in 2020 thrust formerly submerged parts of their habitat above sea level, fatally tossing other mollusks in the snail’s food web to the air, and making once inaccessible places more available to poachers.
Decades ago, dense clusters of snails the size of doorknobs were easy to find, according to Mr. Avendaño. “Full of snails,” he said, sweeping a calloused, violet-stained hand across the coves. Now, most of the snails he finds are small, just over an inch, and yield only a few milliliters of dye.
Science
Video: This Parrot Has No Beak, But Is at the Top of the Pecking Order
new video loaded: This Parrot Has No Beak, But Is at the Top of the Pecking Order
By Meg Felling and Carl Zimmer
April 20, 2026
Science
Contributor: Focus on the real causes of the shortage in hormone treatments
For months now, menopausal women across the U.S. have been unable to fill prescriptions for the estradiol patch, a long-established and safe hormone treatment. The news media has whipped up a frenzy over this scarcity, warning of a long-lasting nationwide shortage. The problem is real — but the explanations in the media coverage miss the mark. Real solutions depend on an accurate understanding of the causes.
Reporters, pharmaceutical companies and even some doctors have blamed women for causing the shortage, saying they were inspired by a “menopause moment” that has driven unprecedented demand. Such framing does a dangerous disservice to essential health advocacy.
In this narrative, there has been unprecedented demand, and it is explained in part by the Food and Drug Administration’s recent removal of the “black-box warning” from estradiol patches’ packaging. That inaccurate (and, quite frankly, terrifying) label had been required since a 2002 announcement overstated the link between certain menopause hormone treatments and breast cancer. Right-sizing and rewording the warning was long overdue. But the trouble with this narrative is that even after the black-box warning was removed, there has not been unprecedented demand.
Around 40% of menopausal women were prescribed hormone treatments in some form before the 2002 announcement. Use plummeted in its aftermath, dipping to less than 5% in 2020 and just 1.8% in 2024. According to the most recent data, the number has now settled back at the 5% mark. Unprecedented? Hardly. Modest at best.
Nor is estradiol a new or complex drug; the patch formulation has existed for decades, and generic versions are widely manufactured. There is no exotic ingredient, no rare supply chain dependency, no fluke that explains why women are suddenly being told their pharmacy is out of stock month after month.
The story is far more an indictment of the broken insurance industry: market concentration, perverse incentives and the consequences of allowing insurance companies to own the pharmacy benefit managers that effectively control drug access for the majority of users. Three companies — CVS Caremark, Express Scripts and OptumRx — manage 79% of all prescription drug claims in the United States. Those companies are wholly owned subsidiaries of three insurance behemoths: CVS Health, Cigna and UnitedHealth Group, respectively. This means that the same corporation that sells you your insurance plan also decides which drugs get covered, at what price, and whether your pharmacy can stock them. This is called vertical integration. In another era, we might have called it a cartel. The resulting problems are not unique to hormone treatments; they have affected widely used medications including blood thinners, inhalers and antibiotics. When a low-cost generic such as estradiol — a medication with no blockbuster profit margins and no patent protection — runs into friction in this system, the friction is not random. It is structural. Every decision in that chain is filtered through the same corporate profit motive. And when the drug in question is an off-patent estradiol patch that has negligible profit margins because of generic competition but requires logistical investment to keep consistently in stock? The math on “how much does this company care about ensuring access” is not complicated.
Unfortunately, there is little financial incentive to ensure smooth, consistent access. There is, however, significant financial incentive to steer patients toward branded alternatives, or simply to let supply tighten — because the companies aren’t losing much profit if sales of that product dwindle. This is not a conspiracy theory: The Federal Trade Commission noted this dynamic in a report that documented how pharmacy benefit managers’ practices inflate costs, reduce competition and harm patient access, particularly for independent pharmacies and for generic drugs.
Any claim that the estradiol patch shortage is meaningfully caused by more women now demanding hormone treatments is a distraction. It is also misogyny, pure and simple, to imply that the solution to the shortage is for women’s health advocates to dial it down and for women to temper their expectations. The scarcity of estradiol patches is the outcome of a broken system refusing to provide adequate supply.
Meanwhile, there are a few strategies to cope.
- Ask your prescriber about alternatives. Estradiol is available in multiple formulations, including gel, spray, cream, oral tablet, vaginal ring and weekly transdermal patch, which is a different product from the twice-weekly patch and may be more consistently available depending on manufacturer and region.
- Consider an online pharmacy. Many are doing a good job locating and filling these prescriptions from outside the pharmacy benefit manager system.
- Call ahead. Patch shortages are inconsistent across regions and distributors. A call to pharmacies in your area, or a broader geographic radius if you’re able, can locate stock that your regular pharmacy doesn’t have.
- Consider a compounding pharmacy. These sources can sometimes meet needs when commercially manufactured products are inaccessible. The hormones used are the same FDA-regulated bulk ingredients.
Beyond those Band-Aid solutions, more Americans need to fight for systemic change. The FTC report exists because Congress asked for it and committed to legislation that will address at least some of the problems. The FDA took action to change the labeling on estrogen in the face of citizen and medical experts’ pressure; it should do more now to demand transparency from patch manufacturers.
Most importantly, it is on all of us to call out the cracks in the current system. Instead of repeating “there’s a patch shortage” or a “surge in demand,” say that a shockingly small minority of menopausal women still even get hormonal treatments prescribed at all, and three drug companies control the vast majority of claims in this country. Those are the real problems that need real solutions.
Jennifer Weiss-Wolf, the executive director of the Birnbaum Women’s Leadership Center at New York University School of Law, is the author of the forthcoming book “When in Menopause: A User’s Manual & Citizen’s Guide.” Suzanne Gilberg, an obstetrician and gynecologist in Los Angeles, is the author of “Menopause Bootcamp.”
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