They are the dogs. Unruly, loud, excitable. Bruce's barely audible observation cracks a smile out of Clark as they navigate around children and buckets of dead seafood. Big whiskered snouts open wide to catch little silver fish and slimy squid, which is both very fun, a chance to interact instead of staring through tanks wistfully, and also mildly stressful. Like it's teasing them, tossing food down by hand one at a time, and it'd be more fair to just pitch the bucketful into the pool and let them have at it, which is kind of how Clark fed the chickens way back when. Urgently and generously.

The show is satisfying, getting to watch them swim like torpedos through clear water, and then slapping their bodies up onto the concrete, grasping rubber balls in their mouths, waving their flippers. The girl with the bow and the soccer shirt is enamored, as is oversized Kryptonian further back.

If there's a news headline in a few weeks of someone sighting Superman giving a seal a bellyrub, drawing criticism from wildlife experts everywhere, Bruce only has himself to blame.

"We should go by the shark tunnel again," Clark suggests, through the last scattered applause. "To make sure."