The Ebb and Flow of This Sea Dragon’s Life

He got pregnant the usual way.

Five weeks later, the weedy sea dragon known as “Mr. Mom” was headed into his final days of pregnancy at the Long Beach Aquarium of the Pacific. On Tuesday, the spiny 8-inch-long creature swam slowly but looked OK.

“I’m so unbelievably happy,” said Sandy Trautwein, 37, curator of fishes and invertebrates. “But at the same time, it’s like, oh, God! It’s like I’m the godmother or something. I’m just so nervous, every day that goes by.”

Her fingernails were bitten to the quick.

The big news here wasn’t that a male sea dragon was about to give birth. Males in four other fish groups also carry eggs: the sea horse, pipefish, jawfish and cardinalfish. It was that if all went well--and Trautwein knew that the odds were terrible--this weedy sea dragon would be the first of his kind to give birth to thriving babies in captivity. In Long Beach, a successful birth would signal a coming of age for the ambitious, 2-year-old aquarium. Not only would the institution have a marquee exhibit, but it would have achieved something no other aquarium had.

Mr. Mom was carrying about 80 eggs. The gestation period is about six weeks.

“I would be very happy,” said Trautwein, a single mother, “if we had one.”

Within the sea dragon’s reddish cluster of eggs attached under its tail, you could see dark pinpoints.

Baby eyes.

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In its natural habitat--the cold waters off southern Australia--the sea dragon, a relative of the sea horse, is threatened by pollution and poachers, who prize it for itsreputed medicinal properties. In Australia, the sea dragon is a protected species.

Only in the last 10 years or so have aquariums attempted to keep the creatures, known for their sensitivity to environmental changes. In captivity, two other sea dragons had become pregnant. At Germany’s Stuttgart Aquarium, a male sea dragon had miscarried a few eggs every week until only five remained. The babies died within a couple days. At Tokyo’s Sea Life Park, a few hatchlings lived for eight weeks.

In Long Beach, a few months ago, Trautwein and her colleague, aquarist Karen Sprague, noticed that some of their 24 sea dragons, sexually mature at age 2, had started pairing off.

The pairs engaged in what appeared to be a mating dance, swimming side by side, tails curled away from each other, the signal that a female sea dragon is ready to find a willing partner. She lays her sticky eggs on the underside of his tail, or brood patch, where they are fertilized. The eggs become embedded in the patch, blood-rich tissue that nourishes the embryos. But none of the dragons’ tails had reddened and swelled, a fertility sign. Trautwein and Sprague didn’t want to get their hopes up.

Then one morning, they spotted eggs.

“It was so good to feel that you know the fish are so happy that they are doing this,” Trautwein said. “That’s the ultimate test, I guess, of animals in aquariums, of whether they’re really comfortable or not and happy.”

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The news spread. Media calls came from as far away as Australia. Other curators called with congratulations and inquiries.

For the first few weeks, the expectant father remained on display with the other sea dragons and a sign saying, “Meet Mr. Mom.” Trautwein ordered special baby food from Florida--3,000 freshly hatched mysids, the tiny shrimp-like crustaceans that are part of the sea dragons’ regular diet.

For the first few weeks, Mr. Mom didn’t seem bothered by the pregnancy; neither did the other sea dragons. The only difference was that he had a huge appetite for mysids.

A week ago, however, Mr. Mom’s behavior began to change. He started to head-butt sea dragons that got too close. He didn’t swim with the others. Instead, he hung around the surface and stuck his snout up in a behavior called “piping,” which is what sea dragons do when they’re distressed. He seemed lethargic, maybe from the weight of the eggs.

Trautwein decided to move Mr. Mom to his own tank. Give him a little privacy. See if he settled down.

On Sunday, Mr. Mom was still piping. He wasn’t eating.

Trautwein decided to move Mr. Mom back into the tank with the other sea dragons but in a private basket hooked to the side of the tank, out of public view.

A nearby sign warned staff members to give the sea dragon some space.

“If he sees you,” it said, “he will freak out.”

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Monday morning, Trautwein rose before dawn at home in Palos Verdes. She and her 14-year-old son, Bill, headed for local tide pools, collecting urchins, sea stars and limpets for an exhibit.

She made her first check on the pregnant father at 9 a.m.

He seems better, Sprague told her. Calmer.

“Good!” Trautwein said. “I was so worried last night.” She mimicked herself hyperventilating.

Mr. Mom still wasn’t eating.

Sprague offered to keep an eye on him since Trautwein was already behind schedule on her big project, overseeing a 2,500-square-foot gallery featuring more than a dozen species of sea jellies. Trautwein tried all day to focus on last-minute details for the exhibit, which was slated for a members’ preview that evening--proofreading signs, even screwing in lightbulbs.

At the preview, everyone asked: “How’s the dragon doing?”

The question had been weighing on Trautwein. She’d even dreamed about it.

With Mr. Mom’s due date so close, she couldn’t shake the anxiety. Or the excitement.

“Even to get this far,” she said Tuesday morning, “is such a big deal.”

The process was supposed to be simple. The eggs would hatch on Mr. Mom’s tail; the babies would wriggle free. The father would go on his own way.

Fearful of jinxing the birth, Trautwein didn’t want to talk too much about the fate of the babies.

Maybe she was right to not allow herself the fantasy of a happy ending. Maybe she knew too much about the fickle course of nature. . . .

Late Tuesday afternoon, Trautwein was away from the office when her cell phone rang.

Mr. Mom was dead.

Trautwein’s voice cracked.

“It’s so terrible,” she said.

A sliver of hope remained; about two dozen eggs were hatching anyway. The babies came out with bits of yolk sac attached, which means they are probably too premature to survive. By Wednesday afternoon, only a few were alive. Trautwein still hoped to save them.

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Renee Tawa can be reached at renee.tawa@latimes.com.