If This Were Shakespeare, Methinks He'd Be The Court Jester

I mentioned here that when Nutrias swim up when I'm feeding the crew at the park, it upsets the apple cart entirely. While the geese are the biggest and the law seems to be that all the rest stand back til they're done, not so when Nutrias try to join in.  Maybe it's because they're oblivious to the pecking order. Here's Mr. Goose taking a stand. The Nurita remains nonplussed, too busy wiggling his whiskers to feel out where the bread is (lower right corner) to grok he's being challenged by the King of Everything.

The funniest thing is that these little fellas are either so dim-sighted or dimwitted (or both) that they're clueless to such advances and their complete non reaction stumps their opponent. As such, it totally deflates the situation; the geese simply give up and swim on their way, and the ducks fan out in their wake. It'd make Ghandi proud.

  

Best Ever Department

On Saturday, my stepson heads back to college for his final semester. I wanted to do something as a family that he'd remember all his life, so I arranged for us to feed giraffe's at the zoo. This is a normal sized viewing window in their little wooden house. This handsome man is parked beside it so you can really see how tall they are.

There's a family of five living there, one male and two females, each of whom have a baby.

In the wild they'd be grazing tree tops round the clock, but at the zoo, they get fed just fine. So they end up licking fence posts or the edges of their shelter in their spare time. But one female got creative and instead grooms the mane of the youngest of the group... and she does it every day.

Here he sports his little mohawk, while his mother and hairdressing auntie look on.

It's completely surreal to be close to them, with their velvety noses, funny ears sticking out, their Cindy Lou Hoo horns and enormous doe eyes. As I mentioned here, they're curious and attentive and are VERY INTERESTED in Y-O-U.

From up near the clouds that adorable face glide straight down like a crane on that long, long neck. They've got 7 vertebrae just like us -- but each one measures the height of our head alone. Around something this big, all your instincts kick on... yet their sweet, harmless nature had my nervous system stumped. To be able to stand up close to this towering presence sends a shiver of delight though your being.

As their soft, fuzzy lips take a slice of sweet potato from your hand or their long purple tongue -- apparently colored to act as sunscreen -- grabs hold of your lettuce, it's so gentle you don't even feel it.

Or maybe it's because you're so struck with wonder you can't feel anything else... though I do recall the sensation of the intense, hot brush of their breath pouring forth from their nostrils. It's like feeding a dinosaur and a kitten at the same time.

Oh, we had a most magnificent, most marvelous day.

They Need Atkins

This is a Nutria. He looks like a cousin of the Beaver with his big front teeth, webbed back feet and the same glossy brown fur. The only obvious difference is in the tail. Where beavers typically have a paddle shape, the Nutria's looks just like a rat's. In fact, they actually are a semi-aquatic rodent. I know that fact alone might make some people squirm, but they're endearing in their way (and I intend to show you that, in time). 

Two years ago you'd only see them at dusk, perching nervously on the grassy edges of the lake, skittish and shy, hopping back into the safety of the water if a human happened to be walking by.

They're herbivores and should be eating reeds and other water plants, but here he is busy with my piece of bread, clutching it between his hands like a Big Mac. These buggers have gotten so used to getting a few bites from well meaning visitors -- me included --that they've recently gotten far more bold.

Now I see them in abundance in broad daylight, and as soon as they realize a group of ducks are being fed, they upset the apple cart to get theirs. Squinting up at you from the water, they beg. If you don't indulge them, they pull themselves out and walk steadily toward you. You can put up your hand in the stop position or even hold the sole of your foot in their face and they keep advancing (though there's nothing aggressive about their approach, no hissing or teeth). I even had one sit upright on his haunches and becon with one outstretched hand curling back toward his mouth, clearly signaling "Gimme"... the exact hand gesture a human being would make (endearing fact #1)!

While it's pretty clear they can't see too well (and that's very funny -- endearing fact #2) or perhaps they're not bright enough to interpret those cues, in my mind, there's only one explanation for this behavior: they're carb addicted. 

I know how it feels to be craving a potato chip or a flaky croissant and there've been days I'd push someone into traffic to get to some.  I've heard of people for whom even a dog biscuit would do in a pinch (actually, I haven't but it describes the desperation nicely).  I know you're just on the edge of your seat about this, but I have to go to bed.

More to come.

Only a Mother Could Love

There's a Moray eel in the kids area of the zoo, He has a crooked jaw and gives the impression that one eye's askew. He's hilarious.

They've named him something fitting but it escapes me at the moment.

I'll find out and enter it here tomorrow. Til then maybe we can have some fun and come up with names for him oursleves. I'm going with Senor Snaggletooth. What would you name the guy?

Chasing Elvis

Last week I passed by Elvis on my way out of the park. He was standing opposite of me, on the ledge smack dab in the middle of the reflection pond. To get to him I'd have to go a long way whether I walked right or left, so I called for him to come over. I waved a piece of bread his way, singing, "Elvis! Ellllllvis!"

He immediately started for the water, but teetered, hemmed and hawed. As I continued to gesture, he tried in earnest to jump but something was off. I finally said, "Elvis, you're a DUCK. Get in the water already." He did.

When he got close I did a visual check: eyes bright, attentive, no problem swimming, body robust, feathers all good, and an appetite.

So I fed him and left.

Yesterday I returned, just to see if he was OK. He was standing in the shallows on the steps of the falls, the water flowing over his feet. I'd never seen him do this before (Elvis's world is small, and he's a creature of habit), and when I called, he didn't react.

Though I failed at all neighborhood sports back in the day, I do have a great throwing arm. I hurled pieces of bread all the way to him. If they landed close by, he wouldn't budge, but if I got them within pecking range he ate. Once those were gone, he gazed at the rest. He lifted one foot up but when he went to place it he pulled back as if he were testing a fire. After three or four attempts he finally took a step but very quickly shifted his weight to the other leg. Elvis was clearly limping.

Maternal instincts ablaze, I put down my bag and waded in. He was a little nervous (a reminder he isn't fully tame) so I took it slow, squatting to reduce my size. His leg didn't look swollen, and I couldn't see any cuts or lumps. I'd once seen the undersides of his webs and was surprised to see thick greyish pink pads of skin, much like a cat or dog. Maybe he'd gotten a gash and was standing here to soak it.

I reviewed my options with a frown. Do I call the park offices, the SPCA, take him to a vet on my own? And then there's the moral quandry: If I get involved, will that be worse for Elvis? Sometimes when we humans intervene, it's not always best. I don't claim to know how to tell that, but this is where the respect of nature's course comes in (we oft think that means letting an animal die but nature can also heal). I decided to let him be for the night. If it got worse, I'd call the zoo for advice.

The next day I saw Elvis through our telescope, hanging with a his buds on the side of the pool. It looked like he was walking more easily.I later went down there just to make sure.By that time he was being chased by a little boy and running quite well. Sigh.

The Poo of Pooh

I struggled to open the ridiculously long, industrial strength plastic bag while wearing protective latex gloves, but I tried my best to mask it. I wanted to impress. This was the moment I'd been working toward, being a Carnivore Keeper's Aide, and I was given my first task -- shoveling bear sh*t. I knew it was a part of the job, but I suppressed a snort when it was the first thing I was assigned. I wondered if it's an inside joke among the staff to throw newbies right into it and see what they're really made of. All I know is, I was determined to make it look like I'd been doing it all my life.

As I scooped up the morning-fresh puddle of gunk, I almost keeled over from the stench. Between that and the weight of the shovel and my gloves sticking to the bag that just would not stay put, I swung it best I could in the direction of the opening and dumped it. It mostly got on the sides, leaving me no clear spot from which to grab it and shake things down. The smell made me care a little less about neatness and more about being done so I brought back the second scoop hoping my aim would be better. It was, but I still had to figure out how to carry the mess with me as I tidied the rest of the habitat. At that moment the very nice keeper took pity and showed me a way to roll and set the bag so I'll do better next time. Still, I did all this with a wry smile on my face thinking: for the rest of my life, this will be a fun story to tell.

I admit, I was shaking in my knee high rubber boots when we first entered the enclosure. I think it crosses everyone's mind that there can be mistakes (if it doesn't, you've done it too long). The keeper told me the bears were properly locked outside so I plunged ahead, though it felt like I had ginger ale in my veins. When I was done collecting carrot remnants and refilling their pool, I watched as he prepared their arthritis

medicine. He mixed it with honey in a Tupperware bowl, then headed around the corner with me in tow. He squatted down and I stopped short in my tracks. What I didn't expect was to see a GIANT grizzly right THERE.

A GIANT bear, did I mention that?

In my pre-Aide interview, the first 30 minutes were essentially warnings consisting of things I should not or could not do for my and the animal's safety. At the end they asked if I had any questions and I joked, "Um, what can I do?" So I expected this bear to fling himself against the bars, roaring and swiping at the bowl with claws as long as my fingers. I figured we'd have to push the bowl toward him from a great distance with a very long indestructible pole, as if he were Hannibal Lecter.

But the keeper was kneeing right against the bars cooing to the bear, who had his paws curled up under him like a pussy cat. He was so big he disappeared into the shadows of the cage. But his head was fully visible, apart from the hulk of him -- and it was massive, with thick dark fur only serving to make it bigger (and by the way, this guy is the smaller of the two on exhibit). Yet he could not have been more sweet and docile, sticking his tongue way out of his long snout to reach the honey/meds in the bowl. It took me a moment to collect myself before I thought to whip out my iPhone. I didn't know if it was OK or totally unprofessional to snap a pic... but since I saw volunteers taking pictures here and there, I risked it. This hasty stealth move accounts for my fuzzy shot, but it does capture them moment for me to keep. 

At the end the keeper stuck in the spoon and asked the bear softly if he'd like to lick it, which he did. These are old bears and maybe that accounts for it, but this ruddy, masculine keeper's tenderness toward them was a great example of the effect animals have on people's hearts.

She's Baaaack

Though I squint at our 60" TV and need glasses to file my own nails, the heart works in mysterious ways. It's not just a part of our body; its' yearnings govern our abilities, and at times empower us with superhuman skills. Just ask the Grinch.

We've all heard stories of great feats of love, some extending to the physical, like a mother lifting a car just enough to free her child caught beneath. That must be how, at this great distance, I made out Mrs. Goose in the scene below.  Double click on any picture to enlarge 

Even on this little screen I know you can see a white dot in the water. But that's Mister Goose, heading toward me. Mrs. Goose is that barely visible tan spot back on the grass behind him (She looks like a tree trunk for that tall center pine). I knew if I called to him, he'd started swimming my way and she'd be sure to follow.

My heart grew ten times ten as she came into focus, gliding daintily behind her man.

Like I said, they're a pair, and never far apart. That's why it's been so alarming to see him without her for the last 6 weeks (not counting the two+ weeks that neither were around).


They arrived and had just begun to eat when our bliss was cut short by several rounds of children who, as children (especially boys) do, wanted to grab them or screech with glee. To gain the trust of these birds you have to be a whisperer of sorts and I knew this wouldn't do. Then a pesky Nutria kept invading their space, hoping for some bread (normally reed eaters, park visitors have them carb addicted... but that's for a future post). It was all too much for the Lady G. and she chose to cut short our reunion. Though busy with another bite, once Mr. Goose realized she was paddling toward the center island, it was he who followed her.

They climbed ashore and waddled into the trees, stopping now and again to nibble greens. I strained to see as she headed deeper in and he dutifully complied. Guess my stint with SuperVision was short lived, as it was no longer necessary... With this one, blessed turn of events, all was set right in my world.

First Day as a Keeper AId

The first thing I did this morning out in the zoo was to tag along while the carnivore keepers took the cheetah cubs for a walk. Apparently they do this most every morning before opening, for enrichment. My question is who gets more enriched -- the animals or their humans?!?!

I can't tell you how exciting it is to see these tall cats, sleek and gorgeous, saunter out on a leash, completely calm and comfortable among us. Watching one climb up and perch on a picnic bench and get his ears scratched by his keeper was nothing short of intoxicating (This is the only big cat that purrs and they do it for the same reasons domestic cats do. And it is LOUD!). Every cell in my being was drawn to reach out too, yet the rule for anyone but their handlers is to stay at least two leash length's away.

They're great ambassadors for their species. Cheetahs are perhaps so well suited because they're non-confrontational and I'm told they don't prey upon anything bigger than them. But it's a testament to their trainers that they can walk around the public safely --albeit carefully. They stick close to the animal, one on each side escorting them to a spot where people can see, and other staff is never far. Sigfried and Roy would tell you their tigers can be tamed, and folks who raise Grizzly's may too. But everyone agrees it's imperative to remain acutely aware of their wild nature while enjoying the miracle of getting close.

The path they took went right past the giraffes who live next door. Surely with their height they've had no problem watching the cheetahs day in and day out. But as we walked past, all five of these gentle giants focused on the cats, their curious faces on those towering necks peering intently at them and us. I've never seen all five of them walk together, all at once like a herd (and so quickly) to follow us, legs akimbo, batting their ultra-long eyelashes. Since their fencing is almost invisible, it gives the illusion that they are free and just happened to walk up. It's just too surreal for me to accurately describe. Fortunately I took a snap to capture what I could.

This is a terrible shot because they were backlit by the rising sun but it's better than nothing. I just knew it was one of those images I'd never forget in all my life yet would never be able to describe how it felt to have the rapt, active attention of these 5 amazing beings. Look closely til you make out all their heads. From left to right you have the male (he's tallest, natch, and I have a total crush on him), one female, two babies and another female.

After the walk, one of the cats just wasn't ready

to go back into his habitat. He hesitated at the

gate several times, but proceeded obediently. Once inside though, he decided to clunk his long

limbs down, buying himself a few minutes more.

The second thing I did on my first day as a keeper aid was shovel bear poop.... ah, but that's a story for tomorrow.

He's Safe!

Because tropical storm Edouard was headed toward Houston I went to the park so I could feed Elvis. I wasn't feeling so hot, but with a potential hurricane on it's way, and seeing Elvis standing alone on the gravel path from the telescope in our window, I went. I didn't even want to think about Mr. Goose but I couldn't help going to the edge of the water to at least look across to where he usually stands. Lo and behold, I saw a lone Chinese goose, floating in the lake.My heart leapt though my mind tried to keep my feelings in check. Could it be him??? My eyes darted around to find the orange beaked goose (Because the orange beak's partner and Mr. Goose look so much alike, and thosse two new ones are never far apart). Test #1 passed --  he was solo. Then I squinted way across to where I'd been Saturday and made out what appeared to be two geese. Thankfully they're easy to spot by size.  Then, as if the gods were patting me on the shoulder, at that very moment I heard the pair trumpet from that distance, and I knew I had Mr. Goose in front of me!

I only had grain left, but held it out and called, hoping he'd come... Sure enough he did, gliding slowly, raising his beak and trembling the way he always does.

Then he lowered his grand head and gobbled from my palm. Once he was that close I checked for his distinguishing marks -- a rim of yellow on his "eyelids" and a line of white where the ridge of his black knob meets his forehead. The new black beaked goose doesn't have those.
Oh Mr. Goose, Mr Goose! Isn't he glorious?

I try not to get too attached. Early on, as I'd see little ducklings disappear each day or happen upon a dying bird, I told myself that if I were going to be a part of this, I had to respect that nature takes it's course. But to have such direct interaction with an animal as compelling as this for the last 2 years IS in fact a relationship. And to suddenly find he and Mrs. Goose both gone without a trace, at a time of year that could not be explained by mating or migration, wasn't so easy to accept.

My heart just sang yesterday to see him at last.

Hope

Had a meeting at the zoo this morning. The entrance is very close to where the geese hang out, so I bolted and checked for signs of at least Mr. Goose. He's still missing. It was high noon and one of the hottest days this year... but there were the new two, with their legs in the water keeping cool. The black beaked one even went to sleep standing in full sun so I can't say it was too hot for Mr. G. I don't know if he's flown away, or if Mrs. Goose has babies and he's in the center of the island somewhere helping take care of them. I've read male geese have strong paternal instincts (she said with hope hope hope).

Knowing I was grasping at straws, I made the rounds to their usual places. I looked across to the front end of the center island, where I've occasionally seen all four nipping at greens on the shore. Deserted.


Then I tramped to where I often saw them enjoying the shade or where they swam back to after eating my bread. It's on the back end of the center island, a place I figure they call home.

See the darkish cove formed by that tree hanging low into the lake? That's where they usually are, if not on the shore in the picture at the top.

I knew I wouldn't see them, just like all the other times I've looked. Still, there's a pathway that goes back into that brush and in my minds eye I picture Mrs. Goose sitting on a nest in the thicket, nosing at her eggs while Mr. Goose regally stands guard beside her.

This just makes me laugh