Rules of Animal-Inflicted Injuries

"Yeah, I've done some pretty stupid things but hey,

I'm a little bit harder and a whole lot smarter,

That's how I got to be this way"

Justin Moore, "How I Got To Be This Way"

A recent blog post commented on how the animals that are most likely to hurt a zookeeper aren't the ones that the public is most likely to think of as dangerous.  I've never been bitten by a lion, but I have gotten the living crap chewed out of me by a spotted skunk.  I've been taloned by a hawk once or twice while holding it for examinations - no big deal - but I have run for my life and leapt over fences to escape the wrath of a sandhill crane. 

I would now like to introduce my two rules of zookeeping animal injuries, based on a few years and a lot of minor injuries... illustrated with anecdotes!

1) You are most likely to be hurt by an animal that you do not take seriously as a threat.

My first job out of college was as a reptile keeper at a zoo in Texas.  It was a big collection - crocodiles, alligators, half a dozen species of monitor lizard, and every venomous snake that I'd ever heard of, along with plenty that I hadn't.  It was a terrifyingly awesome workplace.

Another keeper started the same week as I did, and we became buds of sorts.  We set up a friendly wager as to which of us was going to be the first one to be bitten... by anything.  For months we watched our steps (and, more importantly, fingers) as we worked all of the reptiles.  We fed crocodiles.  We wrangled varanids.  We handled pythons.  No bites.

One late spring morning, we had just finished moving our herd of Galapagos tortoises to their outdoor enclosure.  To help them settle in, we put some plates of food out for them.  A grape rolled off one plate.  My friend absent-mindedly picked it up and - still talking to me - nonchalantly held it out for the nearest tortoise.

The yelp of pain/shock/indignation that ensued as the tortoise closed its beak around his finger will stay with me forever...

2) You are most likely to be hurt by the animal that you regarded as a friend

An Andean condor came into quarantine at another zoo where I worked.  The quarantine stall was tiny - 10 x 10 foot - with no shift, so we became close... very.  Getting over some initial discomfort of being in the tiny room with the giant bird, we soon became very comfortable with each other, soon the point where I could pet him on the back, scratch his neck, or even hand-feed him his diet (I know, I know... idiot).

The condor eventually cleared quarantine and was moved to an outdoor enclosure. We still stayed on very friendly terms; when I'd go inside, he'd instantly hop off his perch and run over for a neck scratch.  Sure, he was nasty to the other keepers, even chased a few out of the enclosure, but we were buds!

One day I was training a new keeper when we came to the condor exhibit.  I showed the new guy his duties and introduced him to the bird.  As we were leaving, I casually patted the condor on the back saying, "Yeah, he's a good bird."  That's when he decided he didn't want to be a good bird anymore.

His neck twisted backwards, his head struck upside down, and his beak - that nasty curved beak so effective in opening up llama carcasses - latched into my forearm.  With a great deal of swearing and swatting, I dislodged him and exited the exhibit... only to realize that the new guy was still inside, with the condor (now eyeing him with keen interest) between him and the door.  I had to go in and usher the thoroughly-terrified new guy out to safety.  He wouldn't do that exhibit by himself for months.

I don't know what set the condor off that day.  Probably it was having two people in close proximity; he probably suspected that we were up to no good, trying to trap him up, for example.  I don't hold it against him personally, and we worked together for another year before I left that zoo.  I just didn't give him any more pats on the back.