The Miracle of Birth (and Metamorphosis)

A standard feature of many zoo butterfly gardens is the chrysalis box.  This is a window display in which cocoons are pinned up, with the idea that lucky visitors will be able to watch a butterfly emerge from the cocoon upon the completion of metamorphosis.  Once emerged, the butterflies are given some time to dry their wings before being released into the main enclosure.   Nor are the boxes limited to zoos - private gardeners who wish to release butterflies can obtain caterpillars or cocoons (much easier and more practical to transport than adult butterflies), watch them hatch, and then set them loose.

Likewise, some zoos place their incubators on display for their bird or reptile eggs.  Incubators for domestic chicken eggs use to be a much more common sight in farmyard and children zoo exhibits, though not as much anymore.  That's probably because butterfly gardens - with the quantity of animals needed and the short lifespan of their occupants - need constant replenishment of insects.  Chicken, on the other hand, can live for years and you only need a few, so hatching out constant chicks for display can quickly lead to a surplus problem.  The need for new chicks also is more seasonal, whereas butterfly exhibits - at least those indoors - need the new recruits year round.

Species Fact Profile: Blue Morpho Butterfly (Morpho peleides)

                                                     Blue Morpho Butterfly

                                                Morpho peleides (Kollar, 1850)

Range: Central America, Northern South America

Habitat:  Montane and Lowland Tropical Secondary Forest

Diet: Leaves (Caterpillars), Fruit and Sap (Adults)

Social Grouping: Loosely Social

Reproduction:  Copulation takes place at feeding sites.  Males chase females prior to copulation, which can taken up to 3 days.  Eggs are laid on leaves and hatch after 1-2 weeks.  Completes metamorphosis within 115 days

Lifespan: 4 months

      Conservation Status: Not Listed

• One of the world's largest butterflies.  Wingspan of 7.5-20 centimeters.  Males and females differ in the size and shape of the wings (wings of the males are broader)
• Undersides of wings are brownish gray with large bullseye-shaped eyespots on the forewings and hindwings, providing camouflage when the butterflies wings are closed up.  The top side of the wings are an iridescent blue, edged with black.  When the butterfly is in flight, it appears to be appearing and disappearing.  Males have brighter coloration than females
• Threatened by habitat loss through deforestation, as well as collections (very sought after due to beautiful coloration and large size)

Kill It With Fire

As I've mentioned in a few past posts on this blog, I've never been a big fan of spiders - particularly the larger, hairier varieties.  I've gradually been able to increase my comfort level around them (I've even handled them on occasion), but I don't think I'll ever really enjoy their company.  One of my biggest fears every time I go to the tropics is finding myself in very close company with one.  As it stands, the only time I've ever encountered on in the wild was in Texas.

A lot of people don't like spiders.  Or scorpions, or roaches, or a host of other arthropods (though I've yet to meet anyone scared of butterflies).  I can respect that.   I personally have always been enamored with snakes, but I understand that those are animals that terrify (or at least discomfit) a lot of people.  Again, I can understand. 

What I don't like or respect is the frequent refrain of "kill it with fire," or any of its associated, overdramatic howls.  

From the Nintendo Switch game of the same title...

Partially this is out of respect for colleagues I have who do really care for and value insects and arachnids, and not wishing to upset them.  I know my jaw clenches every time I hear someone say that the only good snake is a dead snake.  The main part of it, however, is because that's not how I actually feel about spiders.

I don't especially like them.  I really don't like being surprised by them.  I certainly don't want them on me.  But that doesn't mean I want them to die.  And it's not just because I know that most of them are harmless to humans - because I don't wish death on the dangerous ones either.  It's not just that they have important roles to play in the ecosystem, limiting incest numbers.  It's that they are living things.  Now, I'm not a vegetarian, nor am I inherently opposed to hunting or fishing (sustainably).  I'd be ready to shoot an animal of a species that I really love if it was necessarily to save human life, like if a person fell into an exhibit and was in immediate danger.

It's just that I don't like the idea of killing something just because.

At zoos, aquariums, living museums, and nature centers, we shouldn't just be in the business of conservation and education.  We should be all about building empathy for living things.  That means rejecting sensationalism and drama (exhibits playing up how dangerous or scary some animals are).  Instead, it means teaching visitors to view all animals, not just the fluffy ones (or, including the fluffy ones that happen to have eight eyes and eight legs) not as monsters, but as living creatures deserving or respect, compassion, or - at a bare minimum - tolerance.

Walking through the Webs

When I visited the National Zoo as a kid, there was one exhibit that always fascinated me - and terrified me.  Walking through the (now closed) Invertebrate House, the last exhibit was the butterfly walk-through.  What's so terrifying about that, you may ask?  Nothing.  Nothing at all. 

Except that to get to it, you had to walk past the penultimate exhibit - a colony of massive (to a small child) orb weaver spiders, sprawled prominently across their webs.  Spiders always scared me as a kid, which made the Invertebrate House (and especially its goliath bird-eating spiders) a special kind of spooky for me.  Unlike the bird-eater, however, there was no glass between me and the orb weavers.  There was nothing but air.  If I'd reached out, I could have touched one.  Or, as I feared, it could touch me.

Though invertebrates are typically displayed in glass cases, there are some opportunities for visitors to have more... intimate encounters with them.  Butterfly walk-throughs and aquatic touch tanks are the most common, though I've also seen open-air spider exhibits and leaf-eater ant colonies (the ants having glassed in habitats at either end of a building, and being able to traverse an open, exposed path in between as they haul their leaf fragments back and forth). 

Such exhibits offer unique, more intimate encounters with animals.  They also do pose an element of risk.  Not so much to the visitor - it's not like anyone is having playful, hands-on experiences with bullet ants, box jellies, or black widows.  The risk is to the invertebrates, which tend to be small and fragile and could easily be damaged or killed by a careless (or malicious) visitor.  Such exhibits should be under staff supervision to protect the animals when visitors are present.

There is also the risk of escape.  Inverts - especially plant-eating insects - are some of the most tightly-regulated animals in zoos and museums due to their potential threats to agriculture.  Even for "harmless" species, there is the risk of animals getting out.  That's why butterfly walk-throughs have vestibules, usually with mirrors, to allow visitors to check themselves for hitchhiking butterflies before they depart.

Zoo Review: Philadelphia Insectarium & Butterfly Pavilion

The Philadelphia Insectarium and Butterfly Pavilion has the distinction of being the first facility I have ever learned about through a commercial.  True, the commercial wasn’t for the facility itself.  Instead, it was an ad for Bug Out, the miniseries about the disappearance of thousands of dollars’ worth of animals from its collection.  Still, it was enough to put the facility on my mental map.  I heard that the collection had been rebuilt and I assumed that a facility with that many animals of such value must have a lot of interesting species.  I’m not normally a huge inverts person, but my curiosity was piqued.  The next time I was in Philadelphia, I decided to go.

Oh…my…

The museum is a three-story structure.  The gift shop takes up most of the ground floor, while the second floor is taken up by a playroom.  Most of the animal collection is on the third floor.  As I walked up the stairs, I saw the walls dotted with display cases of mounted insect specimens with informative labels.  It made a decent first impression, that this was a serious educational facility.  Then I went into the exhibit room.

My one mental takeaway after the visit was, "I've never seen a roadside insect zoo before..."

What struck me the most about the facility was the lack of security - and this at a time when the only thing I'd ever heard about it was the theft (I hadn't watched the series yet at this point, and just knew the premise).  The displays were a series of tanks, about half of which were set into walls around the perimeter, the other half on two large tables in the center of the room.  What startled me was that the tanks on the table were not secured - I actually went and picked one or two of them off (just testing - sometimes when I'm in a ridiculous situation at another zoo I want to see what could happen if a visitor decided to just go wild - I'm careful never to take an actual risk that could endanger an animal).  If I'd carelessly knocked one over, or shoved it, I could have shattered it, spilling animals on the floor.  Heck, I could have walked out the room with one, or at least maliciously picked it up and shaken it.  All of these with no staff present.  Some were also unsecured - I could have reached into a tank and pulled out an animal and put it in my bag... or just let it loose.  I hoped that they had folks up watching the room on busy days - as it was, a friend and I were up there by ourselves.  There was a phone number posted on the wall if you wanted to call a staff member with a question, so then again, maybe not.  From watching the show I later determined that there were cameras on the room so staff could have known what happened if any mischief occurred, but by that point the damage would have been done.  

Enclosures for the invertebrates were reasonably sized, for the most part, and well-furnished.  There was a tiny number of reptiles and mammals which, on the other hand, seemed woefully inadequate.  A cage for an armadillo located on the floor had no substrate and there was a small appliance (a humidifier?) in the center, with the wire running through the enclosure.  I didn't actually see the armadillo so perhaps it wasn't in there at the time - but it still surprised me at how ill-suited it was.  An enclosure for a hedgehog had no latch on it.  Meanwhile, there was a guide to insects chained to a wall, like a pen in a bank.  It actually amused me a little bit - that flimsy laminated guide had better security than most of the animals.

Back on the ground floor is the entrance to the butterfly pavilion, which was pleasant enough with some very beautiful species, including my favorite, the blue morpho.  The walk-through featured a side-display of a chrysalis chamber, a pretty common feature of zoo and museum butterfly gardens, which allows visitors to watch as butterflies emerge from cocoons.   The pavilion was also accompanied by habitats for boa constrictor and green iguana which, if nothing special, were far superior to the reptile tanks upstairs.  Conversely, there was a small nocturnal gallery that featured a scorpion in a tank tank with a UV light over it to show the glow.

A surprising amount of the space in the facility was taken up with bizarre décor, such as a fake skeleton hanging from the ceiling and what appears to be a pile of old grandfather clocks.  The artwork is bizarre, including a series of paintings of a naked child which is frolicking with a giant caterpillar in a manner that, if not actually child porn, struck me as close enough that I decided that having pictures of it on my phone (even to show colleagues who might not believe me otherwise) wasn't something I especially wanted.

I did see some interesting species, including a few that I'd been interested in for some time, such as the gooty sapphire tarantula of India.  There was an exhibit of termites in a section of log that I considered especially innovative; given how many animals rely on termites for food and their mounds for shelter, it would have been an interesting addition to many a conventional zoo.  I was equally surprised by how many typically common insect zoo specimens I did not see, such as Chilean rose tarantula, Vietnamese giant centipede, or, that classic feature of invert education, a honeybee colony (the former two could have been off-exhibit).  I did, however, see a hell of a lot of cockroaches - and I'm pretty sure they weren't all feeders.  

If anything, this place frustrated me.  It had so much potential and could have been so cool, an excellent accompaniment to the other facilities in the area.  It could have collaborated with breeding programs with other zoos.  It could have filled the niche left by the closure of the Invertebrate House at the National Zoo, featuring educational, innovative exhibits that highlight the true diversity of animal life on earth, the vast majority of which is spineless.  Instead, it just felt sketchy and neglected.

\

When I got around to watching Bug Out shortly after this trip, I decided that maybe I wasn't that surprised after all by the state of the facility.  Nor was I terribly surprised to hear that, earlier this month, the facility has filed for bankruptcy.  No wonder they got "robbed," I thought.  I could have walked out the door with half the collection and I doubt anyone would have stopped me.  So, if this place is on your radar, see it soon - who knows how much longer it'll be here.

Philadelphia Insectarium and Butterfly Pavilion

Laws for Thee, Not for Me

Watching Bug Out, I was reminded of a paradox that's always troubled me in the animal field.  It seems that so often it is the people who ostensibly know the most about animals and who claim to care the most about them that are the most inclined to break laws that are in place to protect those same animals.  I mean, yes, there are plenty of random yahoos who engage in wildlife crimes out of pure ignorance, but I've read so many cases of people who would describe themselves as scientists or conservationists or educators who end up in trouble for ignoring wildlife laws - trafficking, smuggling, possession.  

These are the people who should, theoretically,  know better - both as in, knowing what the laws are (not being able to plead ignorance) and in knowing why those laws are there.

An impression that I've picked up from some people in the field - including some who have crossed the line and gotten themselves in trouble - is that the laws are there for other people.  That as wildlife experts, real or imagined, they are exempt from some of the petty concerns and red tape that tie up "lesser folks" and are entitled to do what they want, because they themselves know more and have better intentions than any fool bureaucrat in an office who's never done half of the things that they've done.

It also might be driven by some sense of the Tragedy of the Commons.  If you are knowledgeable about wildlife, then you will yourself be aware of how dire the situation is for many species in the wild, and how little seems to be done to protect those species.   Habitats are being destroyed, invasive species and diseases are spreading, there's lot of poaching and unsustainable practices... why follow the rules if no one else is?   If you were in an art museum and the building was one fire, with priceless works of art being burned up left and right, would it harm anything if you snatched a painting off the walls for yourself on the way out the door?  In fact, it would be easy to convince yourself that you were doing a noble thing in saving it.  And once outside - well, you'd be in a better position to appreciate it than anyone else, so why not keep it?  Replace that painting with a Spix's macaw, or an Ethiopian mountain viper, or a gooty sapphire tarantula, and you start to understand the thought process. 

The truth is, there are fewer things in the world easier to do than to justify doing something that you want.

I will admit, there are plenty of wildlife regulations which, from where I stand, often strike me as kind of stupid.  Sometimes I'll slog through a permit process, or wait for someone else to get a permit approved, so we can do something with an animal, and I'll think, this is pointless.  There is no risk, no controversial aspect or moral objection to what I'm trying to do.  No species or populations in the wild are impacted.  And no one will really know if I did it or not, if I was inclined to move under the radar.  So why do I have to spend hours that could be spent on animal care or conservation filling out my body weight in paperwork (in the past - now a lot of it is online, of course)?

The problem is, once you decide that some laws are worth following and others are not is when you begin to get yourself in trouble.  CITES, the Endangered Species Act, the Marine Mammal Protection Act, the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, the Lacey Act - these are all in place to help protect endangered plants and animals in the wild.  And the laws are only as good as the people that follow them... regardless of your experience or intentions.

Documentary Review: Bug Out

It's been said that fiction has to make sense.  Reality doesn't.  That was my main thought as I watched the true crime documentary Bug Out, which aired last year on IMDbTV.  The four-episode series tells the strange story of the Philadelphia Insectarium & Butterfly Pavilion.  When the museum's president John Cambridge came to work one day in 2018, he found himself surrounded by empty tanks, as a reported $50,000 worth of insects, arachnids, and other animals were missing from their enclosures.  It was a robbery which made international news, primarily for the shock value. Bug Out is the story of the resulting police investigation of this mystery.

Alright, so the trick for the rest of this review will be not giving away any of the details.  Suffice to say, I found the show to be very engaging and was completely taken aback by the twist ending, which I absolutely did not see coming.  If you enjoy a good mystery, here's your endorsement.  The show is worth watching if for no other reason than that.

Taking a step beyond the case, I really appreciated what a great piece of educational programming Bug Out was.  It very easily could have focused just on the shock value, and that really is what I expected from it after the trailer.  (The footage of the guy pulling a live tarantula out of his mouth made me cringe a little bit).  Instead, the viewer is treated to a surprisingly informative yet entertaining expose of the insect pet trade - where animals come from, who takes care of them, and the legal and ethical implications of it.  Some of the permit aspects of it almost made the nerd in me gasp out loud, especially the segment pertaining to an unfortunate African giant land snail.  Even if you aren't a bug person, the drama that unfolds surrounding the staff of the museum - past and present - has more twists, turns, and back stabs than a season of Game of Thrones.

The show reminds me very much of the book Stolen World, which describes the scandals of the reptile-keeping community, both private and institutional, which got me thinking that would also make a compelling series.  It's worth noting that Insectarium CEO Cambridge has recently filed a defamation lawsuit against the producers of this show, so some of the information in this series should at least be taken with a grain of salt pending the legal process.  Still, this show, while very engaging and educational, does leave the viewer with a somewhat bad taste in the mouth concerning many of the players... and the taste isn't a tarantula.

Empathy for Inverts

Perhaps the most important change in zoos and aquariums over the course of the past few decades has been our increased focus on animal welfare, or as some facilities now frame it, "animal well-being."  Whereas zoos of the past were more heavily focused on the physical health of animals, modern institutions now take a holistic view of the physical, social, behavior, and mental (even emotional) lives of the animals to make sure the wellness is being promoted at all levels.  Not surprisingly, this philosophy was first applied to the species that we relate to the most - primates, elephants, carnivores, and marine mammals.  Over the years, this "sphere of well-being" has been expanding.  When I started off in the field, no one thought for a second about enrichment for reptiles, or asked if their amphibians were "happy."  As our understanding of animals and their needs has continued to develop, however, we continually find ourselves applying these questions to more and more species.

Invertebrates, I would say, represent that final frontier.

While zoologists have historically been encouraged to eschew anthropomorphism - the attribution of human traits to non-humans - the truth is that assessing the well-being of an animal requires putting yourself in its headspace and considering how it might experience the world.  In a way, it's the opposite of anthropomorphism - zoomorphism, when we try to think of things as the animal would.  With some species, it's easier than others.  But how do you look at the world through the eight eyes of a tarantula?  And a tarantula is a piece of cake compared to a jellyfish, or coral.  How do you relate to an animal that doesn't have a face or doesn't move?  And what about a hive of bees?

Many zoos feed live invertebrates - especially crickets and mealworms, but also roaches, earthworms, and others to their animals.  How should the welfare of those animals be considered?  In many zoos, surplus invertebrates, such as the rapidly-reproduced offspring of a Madagascar hissing cockroach colony, are culled and used as feeders.  Is that a problem?

There have to be some modifications to our understood wellness parameters, obviously, when working with some of these species.  The important questions to ask are 

    1.) are they healthy and safe (unless they become feeders, of course...)?  

    2.) are they give the chance to express natural behavior?

    and, most importantly...

    3.) are caretakers constantly open to learning more and open to improving the parameters of the animals' care if new information comes to light that could improve that care

We're constantly learning new things in this field that enable us to take better care of animals.  I'll never be embarrassed for past animal care practices if we honestly thought we were doing our best, or if we are limited by circumstance.  It's only embarrassing if we know how to do better and willingly don't do it.  And that extends to those animals that we've traditionally considered the "least of these."

From the News: New England Aquarium successfully breeds seadragons after more than a decade of trying

New England Aquarium successfully breeds seadragons after more than a decade of trying

The Little Mermaid Poster, Reviewed

 Or, "Why No One Wants to See a Movie with Zookeepers, Aquarist Edition."  We've got a veritable United Nations of fishes here, including a few tropical freshwater species which would last all of a few seconds in the North Atlantic  (not being a fish person, the arapaima was the one that popped out at me immediately).  That being said, I also remember flamingos and lizards (marine iguanas?) in the animated version, to say nothing of the giant anteaters in The Lion King... so maybe I'll just go back into my corner and shut up so people can enjoy the movie.

Originally posted on Reddit by u/kimisawa1

Species Fact Profile: Giant Pangasius Catfish (Pangasius santiwongsei)

                                                     Giant Pangasius Catfish

                                                Pangasius santiwongsei (Smith, 1931)

Range: Southeast Asia (Mekong and Chao Phraya Rivers)

Habitat:  Deep Freshwater Rivers Bottoms

Diet: Fish, Crustaceans, Carrion

Social Grouping: Solitary

Reproduction:  Spawn prior to the monsoon season (April and May).  Breed through external fertilization, with about 600 eggs released per spawning event.  No parental care provided

Lifespan: 20 Years

      Conservation Status: IUCN Critically Endangered

• Body length up to 3 meters (more commonly 2 meters) and weigh up to 300 kilograms.  Wide, flat head without whiskers (despite being a catfish).  Prominent curved dorsal fin, resulting in its trade nickname of "paroon shark" or "hi-fin shark"
• Dorsal surface is brownish-black, ventral surface is silver.  Fins are grey with black accents
• Migratory, moving upstream to spawn.  During periods of drought, use deep pools as refuges.  Appear to be two populations, separated by the Khone Falls, over which the species cannot migrate
• Significant population declines in recent years, brought about the overfishing and the construction of dams in their river systems, which disrupt migrations and limit habitat
• Some commercial rearing on fish farms, with some possible breeding success (may represent fish being bred in wild and eggs hatched in captivity).  Very small individuals are sometimes sold in the pet trade, with prospective buyers usually unaware of the maximum size of these fish.
• Specimens have been observed wild in South Africa and Turkey, likely representing released pets - not established in these countries

House of Little Birdies

"You love the little birds, I think?  I see you've managed with a fond research to find their tiny claws a roomy perch!"

- Cyrano de Bergerac, Edmond Rostand

This month, the Smithsonian National Zoo reopens it's long-awaited, newly-renovated Bird House.  Rethemed as Experience Migration, the structure is certainly a far different building than the one that closed to the public some years back.  The old Bird House was filled with many single-species enclosures that housed a variety of birds from around the world.  The new one is taken up with three smaller walk-through aviaries, all featuring American birds.  (The outside yards of the building continue to display some of the larger species that were previously present, such as cassowary, Kori bustard, American flamingo, and whooping crane).

What is truly surprising about the selection of birds inside the building is that the roster doesn't include any "rock-star" bird species.  There are no penguins or puffins, no raptors, only a single species of small parrot.  Instead, one gallery depicts a Delaware Bay shoreline, dominated by a mixed-flock of shorebirds scurrying across the beaches, while horseshoe crabs lurk at the bottom of salty pools.  A second is a prairie pothole, with the most prominent residents being a flock of ducks.  The third, what was once the tropical rainforest walkthrough aviary of the old Bird House, is still a rainforest, but this time reimagined as a shade-grown coffee plantation.  The stars here are the myriad little migratory songbirds that travel from the north to the tropics every year - many species that (despite their native status) I have never seen before, in a zoo or in the wild.

Experience Migration has the potential to be a controversial exhibit among bird keepers.  First, many of the birds were sourced from the wild, as there were few species with zoo-based populations to draw from.  Second, it devotes a lot of space to species that are not managed by AZA breeding programs, which can seem like a waste of space to birdkeepers at a time when there are so few buildings like this that could accommodate smaller bird species.  Thirdly, there is a sense of what was lost.  The Bird House at National Zoo is where I saw my first bird of paradise, by first kiwi, my first hornbills, and many other exotic, exciting species.  I will miss all of those.

Still, the building has proven an exciting, interesting venture.  Firstly, I do appreciate and admire the conservation messaging and the call to action.  There's not much that the average zoo visitor can do, say, to help preserve the imperiled birdlife of the Marianas Islands - but collectively, we can do great things to improve the lot of the increasingly-rare North American songbirds that are disappearing from our landscape.  Secondly, though, I admire the bold decision of basing an enormous new project on small, underappreciated, and unsung species.  North American migratory birds (excepting a few large and spectacular species, like whooping cranes and trumpeter swans) are often overlooked by zoos.  Too many zoos, I think, if given the money for a new bird house would do penguins, flamingos, macaws, and maybe a big tropical aviary and call it a day.  

Experience Migration, on the other hand, challenges visitors to show some appreciation and awareness of the small and unseen among us.  It reminds us that beauty doesn't just come in big packages, but in the form of tanagers, warblers, and buntings flitting around us, unnoticed.  It also helps raise awareness about how, at the same time we've been ignoring those species, we've also been silently losing them.  It reminds, however, that the loss isn't inevitable, and that, with enough conviction, we can reverse this trend and help bring small birds back into our lives.

Small-Star League

Small animals can be incredible exhibit animals and some of them can be very popular with the public.  There's one ceiling they seem to have never cracked, as far as I can tell, and that's true celebrity status.  By that I don't mean small species which visitors come to the zoo to see - I mean individual animals that people come to see.

Cincinnati Zoo, of course, has Fiona the hippo.  There was Willie B. the gorilla at Zoo Atlanta, Packy the elephant at Oregon Zoo, Colo the gorilla at Columbus Zoo, giant pandas in DC ... a line of famous zoo celebrities that stretches back, in this country, at least to Smokey at National Zoo, and back even further in the zoos of Europe (Jumbo the elephant, Zarafa the giraffe, Clara the rhinoceros, etc).  Gomek, the saltwater crocodile at St. Augustine Alligator Farm, was a rare non-mammal entry on the list, with his successor, Maximo, now bearing the title.

Some, such as Fiona, are world famous.  Others might not be as celebrated, but still have a devoted fan base.  There is an entire facebook page, for example, dedicated to photographs of Alba, the San Diego Zoo's female Andean bear.  As far as I can tell, no small animal has reached that level of fame.  The closest I can think of would be the koalas at San Diego, before that species became as prevalent in zoos as they are today.

A lot of the most popular smaller animals (which are really more midsize in the grand-scheme of things) are parts of social groups, so visitors come to see the group, not the individual - penguins, or meerkats, not THAT penguin or THAT lemur.  It also seems to be the rule that the animal must be of a species that the public is already familiar with - I haven't seen many cases of even larger lesser-known animals achieving rockstar status at their facility

Though I will say, for a while there was one almost-exception.  I was surprised to see many facebook posts about, of all things, a short-eared elephant shrew named Cranberry at Zoo Knoxville, who was something of a social media hit and even had some branded merchandise out there.  Unfortunately, elephant shrews don't live all that long, which did put a damper on Cranberry's following.   Perhaps with enough time and social media savvy, Cranberry too could have become a star.

Life on the Menu

Historically, one group of animals which has proven to be a major challenge for zoo managers has been the small cats - which has surprised a lot of people, because big cats - lions, tigers, leopards - traditionally do quite well in zoos.  The little cats, in contrast, have a reputation for being very shy, very neurotic, hard to breed and difficult to exhibit.  It appears that the question is one of nerves.   Lions and tigers are apex predators, confident in their dominion over all they see, and as such perfectly relaxed napping in full view, eating at their leisure, or allowing themselves to be distracted by enrichment in front of visitors.

Little cats don't quite have that luxury - because they aren't only predators, but prey as well, and as such, must be constantly on their guard.

And if that's how the little cats feel, imagine the worries of the animals that they eat - the small mammals, small birds, reptiles, and so on?

A major challenge in zoo exhibits for small animals is allowing these animals - which naturally spend much of their time hidden away from a world full of bigger, hungrier animals - to feel comfortable enough to come out and engage in natural behavior (even though hiding is a big part of that natural behavior).  To do so, spaces should be large and complex enough to allow the animals to be out of hiding but still maintain some space and visible barriers between them and visitors.  Proximity to other species that the animal might view as a threat should be managed (this doesn't just impact small animals - one of the secrets to getting cheetahs and clouded leopards to breed in zoos was removing them from close proximity to bigger cats).  For nocturnal or crepuscular (dawn/dusk active) animals, dim lighting can help encourage the animal to come out and feel less exposed.

Ironically, one of the tricks to make animals feel most secure being out in the open is having lots of hiding spots, which ideally keepers will disturb as little as possible.  If the animal knows that it has a safe place to retreat to if it feels threatened, it's more likely to be willing to take a few minor risks in exploring the rest of its habitat.

From the News: Cocaine Cat

Cocaine cat: Cincinnati zoo takes in exotic feline found with drug in system

You may have heard about Cocaine Bear, the new movie based (extremely-loosely) on the story of a black bear which consumed a load of cocaine dropped by a drug smuggler.  In a recent case of life-imitating-art, authorities have captured a serval (a medium-sized African wild cat) with cocaine in its system, found roaming Oakley, Ohio.  The serval was transferred to the Cincinnati Zoo, which will offer a home to the animal.  I don't know which part of this confuses me more - why the serval had cocaine in its system... or why the authorities thought to test for cocaine in the first place.

A lot has been said over the years about the problem of privately-owned big cats, especially tigers, in the US, culminating in the passage of the Big Cat Public Safety Act.  Small wild cats are also found in the pet trade - not as many of them as you might think (maybe because a lot of them aren't that different in appearance in size and appearance from domestic cats, which lessens their appeal).  Servals, with their unusual appearance, larger size, and beautiful coats (which often lead zoo visitors to confuse them with cheetahs or leopards), are an exception.  I've definitely seen more servals in private hands than I have in accredited zoos.   Their hybrids with domestic cats - called savannahs - are widely sold in some parts of the country.

Bigger animals tend to grab the headlines, but smaller ones are easier to slip through the cracks.

Hopefully this cat recovers from its ordeal and settles into its new home. 

Close Encounters of the Crowded Kind

If there is one drawback to the small animal exhibits, I find it to be the crowds.  On a quiet day (which is when I normally aim to visit a zoo or aquarium) there's no issue.  On a busy day, looking at small exhibits is impossible.  When you're watching a shark swimming by in a huge ocean tank, or an elephant strolling across its yard, it's easy to see the animal from a distance.  In the case of the elephant, it'll almost certainly be at a distance, because you're probably watching the animal from an overlook, or across a moat.  With smaller animals in glass-fronted habitats, the visitors are usually able to get right up to the display.  This can lead to an annoying situation where lots of people are crowded at the glass in a mob, making it impossible to break through and see.

Sometimes, I admit that the zoo snob in me bristles at these times to a degree that's kind of ridiculous.  This is especially true if it's something rare, unusual, and (almost always) obscure that I really want to see but can't because of the crowds.  I'll find myself muttering to myself about having my view blocked by people who, I sense, won't really appreciate the animal anyway, and probably won't even remember it ten seconds after they move on.

This is another situation in which providing larger habitats for small animals can help, but it won't be a full problem solve, as it's still easy for a few people to block off visual access to a small animal.  So there might not be a solution here.  The plus side, I find, is that when you do finally push your way through and see the animal up close (or, better yet, if you've come on a quiet day without crowds), the encounter is that much more intimate and personal than it is from watching a big animals several yards away.

Species Fact Profile: Spiny-Headed Tree Frog (Triprion spinosus)

                                            Spiny-Headed Tree Frog

                                                Triprion spinosus (Steubdacgberm 1864)

Range: Central America (southern Mexico through Panama)

Habitat:  Lowland and Montane Rainforests, up to 2000 meters elevation

Diet: Insects

Social Grouping: Solitary

Reproduction:  Breed in tree cavities, with males calling for females.  Lay eggs in a small puddle of water trapped in the leaves of a bromeliad, up to 300 eggs per clutch (usually only about a dozen hatch).  Eggs hatch about a week after laying.  Female cares for the eggs after they hatch by laying additional infertile eggs in the puddles for the tadpoles to eat until they complete metamorphosis (60-135 days) and emerge to care for themselves.

Lifespan: 10-15 Years

      Conservation Status: IUCN Near Threatened

• Body length 5.8 - 8 centimeters.  Large head, long, slender legs with adhesive disks on the tips of the toes.  Large tympanum (circular "ear drum") at the corners of the mouth.  
• Most recognizable feature are the several sharp spines projecting from the head and back, for which the frog is named.  These are absent in juveniles and grow in as the frog matures
• Dorsal color is a pale gray-brown with some dark brown or red markings.  A narrow band of white separates this region from the flanks and underside, which are dark brown or black
• Arboreal and nocturnal, more likely to be heard than seen.  Male's call is a "boop, boop, boop" which can be heard up to 100 meters away
• Primary threat is habitat loss, though the species can sometimes be encountered in disturbed habitats, including coffee plantations.  Distribution is patchy, absent in some Central American countries in the middle of their range

More Room to Roam

When I wrote the last piece extolling the virtues of small animals, I realize I should have added a disclaimer.  Yes, more small animals can be housed in a space that would traditionally have house one larger species.  At the same time, those small animals should also be receiving more space than they traditionally would have received in older zoos.  The old cages at my hometown zoo, now long out of use, were originally used for big cats, such as lions and tigers, but would be an appropriate size for small cats (maybe some medium-sized cats), such as Pallas' cat, ocelot, and sand cat.  Those species, in turn, would have historically been kept in cages about the size (and complexity) of my bathroom back in the day.

Even animals that we've generally thought of as very simple and inactive - reptiles, amphibians, invertebrates - we now know benefit in many cases from larger living spaces that allow more room to exercise and a greater opportunity to display a full-range of natural behaviors.  I wonder if part of the reason that so many visitors may considered these species "boring" in the past is that we *treat* them like they are boring. put them in glorified shoeboxes with a bland label, and then stack them on shelves.   If people every see them, of course - kept in a tiny habitat in very close proximity to humans, it's not surprising that many small species would hide all day, at least to the best of their ability.

The Keeper of Small Things

When we think of zoo animals, we most often think of the biggest animals - elephants, giraffes, bears, rhinos, big cats, and the like.  These are among the most popular of animals with visitors.  In many ways, their presence or absence is what is used by members of the public to determine if a facility is a "real" zoo or not.  I know that was my thought process as a kid.  If a zoo didn't have hippos, tigers, and a half dozen other ABC species, it was a kid's zoo.

Over the year, my mindset has changed.  Part of it has been me developing more appreciation for smaller, less flashy animals.  Part of it, surprisingly, has been a rethinking of the visitor experience.

As we advance animal welfare at our institutions, that often means bigger exhibits for animals, which means bigger habitats.  As a result, many zoos have fewer habitats for large animals - maybe a zoo would have had five species of bear once, but now have one or two in that same space.  Larger habitats mean more natural experiences and better chances to express natural behavior, which is great.  The downside is that if have fewer animals and a certain number of them are off-exhibit or out of view for any reason, the visitor experience declines.  This was especially notable over the last year when avian influenza caused many zoos to pull their birds (flamingos, penguins, and a handful of other birds break into the mammal-heavy category of "zoo stars"), leaving many empty displays.  A guest may walk around the zoo all day and see very few animals.

On the other hand, if you go the opposite route and take those five bear habitats and give them to smaller animals - meerkats, wallabies, red pandas, anteaters, and muntjacs, for example - you have five habitats instead of one.  It creates more diversity and more opportunities for visitors to experience active, engaging animals.  If the meerkats are off-exhibit for habitat repairs, or the red pandas are in their dens because it's too hot outside, visitors can see the other animals.  You aren't putting all of your eggs in one basket, or in this case, exhibit.

This is even more obvious in animal houses.  Except for reptile houses and aquariums, many of these buildings - bird houses, small mammal houses, primate houses - are fading away.  There are arguments in favor of that - more space, more outdoor access, greater focus on geographic exhibits - so I'm not too surprised.  Still, I do miss the excitement of wall-to-wall animals, one right after another.  I enjoy looping around these buildings with the stimulation of seeing one animal right after another, never knowing what you're going to see next.

Not surprisingly, the smaller you go, the more animals that you can comfortably fit in a space (and then having the possibility of multi-story habitats, seen in aquariums but not in many other animal collections).  When you factor in invertebrates (the most numerous of animals, by far), smaller (re: non-shark) fish, amphibians, and smaller reptiles, birds, and mammals, you can have an entire zoo with dozens of species in the amount of space that would otherwise make one decent giraffe habitat.

When I was a kid, I loved hippos more than any other animal and wanted to be a hippo keeper.  Today, I think I could build an entire world-class zoo without a single animal that I couldn't pick up myself.

The Miniature Zoo

It didn't make it into the movie version, but the novel Jurassic Park features a flashback of InGen founder and dinosaur mogul John Hammond with one of his earlier creations - an elephant that stays the size of a house cat.  Hammond takes the elephant around as a fundraising prop, never failing to wow the public.  

The elephant doesn't quite behave like an elephant when reduced in size - it's more like a bitey, irritable rodent.  I suppose it would hard to be the same kind of creature when you're size is so dramatically adjusted - though this lion is certainly giving it a try!  (I found this strip in an online group called Out of Context Comics, and as such don't have the source or artist).  

Over recent years, many zoos have downsized their collections, phasing out some species (often large animals) because they felt that they didn't have the room or resources to adequately house them.  This would certainly be a fun sci-fi twist... as long as you could be sure that you didn't have to worry about visitors pocketing lions and giraffes and trying to sneak them out the gate.