Happy Winter Solstice! I'd say that the good news is that days are going to start getting longer, but believe me, I feel like each day is already plenty long enough. At this time of year, you can usually count on the news to do two things regarding our field. The first is to do their annual "How do the animals handle the winter?" article/story. The second is, in the northern zoos, anyway, to provide footage of the more cold-hardy animals frolicking in the snow and presumably loving it, even if the rest of us don't.
In the spirit of that December tradition, I've provided both here.
In 1919, William Hornaday, Director of the Bronx Zoo, had just about enough of his Curator of Birds, William Beebe. Beebe was undoubtedly a brilliant and accomplished curator; the trouble Hornaday had was that Beebe's brilliant works and accomplishments were frequently taking him very far afield of the zoo, to such an extent that he was never there. The Zoological Society eventually responded by elevating Beebe to a new role, allowing him to devote himself fully to his research efforts abroad. They were lucky that Beebe had an adept lieutenant who was able to step into his shoes as Curator of Birds. The protégé was Lee Saunders Crandall.
Although he started off as a bird man, and birds remained his true passion, it was on the mammals that Crandall made his biggest mark. In 1964, he wrote his magnum opus, The Management of Wild Mammals in Captivity, a hefty tome that was an excellent literature review of what was know of keeping virtually every species of mammal which had been kept in zoos and aquariums up until that point. A reader could find out what size enclosure the animal was kept in, what its behavior and temperament were like, what diets had been met with success, how long they lived, how they bred and raised their young, and so on. It's a fascinating reference which still is consulted by many curators today. I've seldom seen a zoo library that hasn't had a copy of it.
Not long after the publication of his encyclopedic work, Crandall published a second version, much streamlined and written for popular audiences. This book, written in partnership with William Bridges, the NYZS's Curator of Publications, was A Zoo Man's Notebook. It follows Crandall's old book in being arranged by taxonomy, following the mammals from primates to carnivores to ungulates and down the line. It focuses primarily, however, on the stories and anecdotes that Crandall, either directly or through his colleagues, had accumulated in years of working with the various species. It tried to answer for the public the basic question, "What are the animals actually like?"
The book is more anthropomorphic than Wild Mammals in Captivity, as one would expect for a book written for a popular audience. That's part of what makes it fun. It also deals much more with the human element of the zoo - staff and visitor. One of my favorite stories in it describes a young hyena that the Bronx Zoo received from another zoo, one which had been hand-raised in that facility's nursery. Upon its arrival in New York, the Bronx issued a press release about the new arrival; as was not uncommon in that age, a lot of the language used to describe hyenas was... less than flattering ("sulking," "cowardly," "scavenger," etc). When this press release trickled back to the west coast city that had furnished Crandall with the hyena, the local population - especially the children - were outraged and demanded the return of the hyena, back to folks who would appreciate it. Crandall was forced to do some spectacular backpedaling, saying that his comments were about hyenas in general, whereas this particular specimen was the cleanest, smartest, most loveable individual he'd ever met.
In yesterday's post, I bemoaned the fact that I felt that zoos were becoming too infantilized, disinclined to be serious or academic, and so on. The works of Lee Crandall, I feel, show the ideal of what a zoo should be able to do, as an institution if not as a single individual. Wild Mammals in Captivity was a well-written, scholarly work, extensively cited and meticulously researched, that drew together the sum of our knowledge and built upon it for the benefit of future generations of keepers and animals. A Zoo Man's Notebook is an excellent book for a popular audience, that takes important information about animals and introduces it to the public in a simpler, more entertaining manner. Theoretically, reading and enjoying the one could lead to seeking out and appreciating the other at a later date. Instead of just appealing to the lowest common denominator, there's something for different audience levels.
My main regret about Crandall is that he passed (in 1969) before he could move on to his true calling, Management of Wild Birds in Captivity, which ideally would have had its A Zoo Man's Notebook companion as well. What a contribution to zoo ornithology that would have been.
Years ago, when I entered the field, one of the first things I did was sign up to join AAZK - the American Association of Zookeepers. A month later, when my first copy of AAZK's journal, Animal Keepers Forum, arrived in the mail, I felt... well, professional. I spent a big part of that evening sitting up and paging through it, reading the scholarly articles that my colleagues had contributed on a number of topics. It felt mature, adult, serious. I wasn't a glorified janitor. I was a member of a professional organization that did serious work for a good cause.
Years later, when I saw my own name in the journal as the author of an article, I felt like I was making an important contribution to the expansion of professional knowledge. I was very proud.
The other day, I saw the AAZK had updated its logo. It certainly was... a choice.
I'm always fearful of sounding like an old curmudgeons, but I get irked sometimes at the tendency of zoos to infantilize their field. There's a popular cultural misconception that zoos are for children. Sure, kids and their parents are an important part of our demographics, and we definitely should plan for them in our facilities and our mission. Sometimes, however, I feel like we lean too heavily in that direction. I don't want to gatekeep and make our profession and our campuses too highfalutin and exclude younger audiences. But I kind of miss the days, which I sometimes feel like I was too young for, when zoos were seen as serious scientific institutions that were on par with other museums. Making ourselves too childlike - logos, graphics, signage, promotional materials - can detract from that.
This isn't about my ego or wanting to feel like an adult or a respected professional (well, okay - maybe a little). If zoos are just about being a cute place to take small children, and serve no higher function in the eyes of the public, they cease to be important institutions and become something easily dismissed - maybe something easily outgrown. It becomes a lot harder to justify our work if we're on the same cultural plane as Chuck E Cheeses, a glorified venue for birthday parties. We WANT kids to come, and we WANT them to have fun, and we WANT them to have a friendly experience. But we also have to deal with weighty scientific issues of welfare and conservation.
Perhaps I read too much into as colorful, cartoonish new logo. But I wish that zoos and their affiliate organizations sometimes would present themselves as more mature institutions.
From the New York Times (which I'm made at anyway lately, so here's a sneak-peek behind their stupid paywall. I'm not sure how accurate this really is - it's very hard to say for certain which individual dollars go to which programs - but it does seem like more transparency should be required for these programs. The money US zoos provide China is a lot for the zoos, but only a drop in the bucket for China. We've been told that the numbers of pandas in the wild are increasing, but again, how much of that is independently verified versus what we've been told by Beijing?
Paradoxically, I think if we as a society cared less about giant pandas than we do other species, that might break China's insistent grip on the species. Although I've recently learned that a French zoo is going to receive another highly-sought Chinese endemic - the golden snub-nosed monkey, much rarer than giant pandas in non-Chinese zoos - so maybe that's going to be the new hot-trend
There is a bird curator I know who has a special passion for storks. Not just, the storks, mind you, but their closest relatives as well, all of which used to lumped together as one taxonomic group before the splitter came along. This group consists not only of the storks but the ibises, shoebills, pelicans, and flamingos as well - this curator loved them all, and if he had his way, he would have had a zoo that was full of these birds and no others.
There was one particular member of the branch of this avian family tree that he always swore up and down that he would never have in his zoo, one which he vocally criticized whenever he heard about in zoos. And bird, ironically, is one of the most sought after, rarely-exhibited of zoo birds - the shoebill.
The shoebill, sometimes called the shoebill stork (though, again, under the new taxonomy, it's closer to the pelicans than to the storks) is a massive, bizarre-looking bird from Central Africa. It's a tall, rather homely looking bird, with a beak like a big wooden clog and eyes that look like they belong to a serial killer. Those eyes and that beak are a bit more striking than they'd be in other species of bird, because in a shoebill those eyes are going to be roughly on level with your eyes, the beak with your face. They're a strange, big, fascinatingly ugly bird. It's no wonder that zoos have loved them for decades.
While it has been accomplished, however, shoebills don't breed reliably in zoos, with only a few institutions having had luck hatching them out. As a result, only a small number of these birds are found in American zoos, and that number is expected to continue to decline until they phase out. I last saw the species at the San Diego Zoo Safari Park in 2016, and am not sure when or if I'll see one again. Any attempt to re-establish the species in the US will be reliant upon wild imports, with no guarantee of successful breeding resulting in a stable population. It's this fact which led the curator to be so adamantly opposed to the keeping of the species in the future. Removal of animals from the wild just to fill zoo exhibits is something that we think of as being left in the past.
The thing is, though... shoebills do a great job of removing themselves from the wild.
Shoebill parents produce 1-3 eggs, but generally only one chick survives - the oldest of the clutch. The death of the younger sibling(s) is a result of a combination of neglect from the parents and direct violence from the older sibling. This phenomena, which is seen in many birds, ranging from grackles to boobies to raptors, is called siblicide, or Cainism, after the Biblical first murderer. Some species are facultative cainists, in which siblings could live together, but resort to this dark behavior based on challenging environmental conditions, such as drought not providing enough food. Others are obligate cainists - one sibling almost always ends of up killing the others. Even in good years, it's rare for more than one shoebill chick to fledge.
In situations like this, I sometimes wonder, what's the harm in zoos stepping in? If a certain number of shoebill eggs/chicks are laid/hatched but destined to die anyway, does it really harm the natural world for a few to be removed each year to be raised in zoos? They were just going to die anyway. And if those birds grow up in zoos and, despite best efforts, don't breed, and we can't build a sustainable shoebill population, does that matter, if we're able to sustainably harvest a few eggs or chicks now and then to replenish zoos? Shoebills are long-lived birds, and especially if only a few zoos were involved, the number of eggs or chicks taken would be minimal. Presumably, if the chicks slated to die could be polled, a life in a zoo aviary would seem preferable to being bludgeoned to death by your older brother or sister, or pushed out of the nest by your parents.
Anything that proves to be detrimental to the wild population is non-negotiable, in my opinion, and it is true that there has been harassment or wild shoebills by folks raiding the nests to sell birds to collectors. But if it could be done in a safe, sustainable manner, I admit I see no harm.
Another year, another annual update from the zoo community
Brevard Zoo opened its new lion habitat in Expedition Africa. The zoo continues to work on developing its planned sister facility, an aquarium to be located in Port Canaveral.
Brookfield Zoo continues to work on its outdoor expansion of Tropic World, but while visitors wait for that to open, there's plenty of new sights in Chicago. The bottle-nosed dolphins are back from their sojourn at the Minnesota Zoo. A new North American prairie aviary has opened, featuring sandhill cranes and prairie chickens, as well as a new North American turtle exhibit. Koalas have joined the collection for the first time, and can be seen in the Children's Zoo. The big news, however, was the unveiling of a very ambitious new masterplan which, among other exciting developments, calls for the return to elephants and hippos to the zoo.
Chattanooga Zoo plans to add a series of exhibits for smaller African species - warthog, serval, and Cape porcupine - as well as an expanded giraffe habitat.
Cincinnati Zoo opened it's expansive new habitat for Asian elephants, with satellite exhibits for some smaller Asian species in the works. The zoo is also at work on new habitats for black bears and sea otters, replacing the old bear grottos.
Cleveland Metroparks Zoo has shuttered its iconic Rainforest building. It will reopen - heavily modified, and complete with outdoor habitats - as Primate Forest, featuring the gorillas that were located elsewhere in the zoo.
Columbus Zoo is hard at work renovating its North American area. The zoo also expanded its Asian elephant habitat, and as a result no longer houses rhinos.
Fort Wayne Children's Zoo has rebranded itself as the Fort Wayne Zoo. The zoo, long famous for its Tasmanian devils, which had been absent from the facility in recent years, was part of a new import of the species, along with Toledo and Columbus, and more on the way.
Greensboro Science Center's rainforest dome will hopefully open in 2026, according to estimates from the facility.
Indianapolis Zoo has announced plans to add new habitats for Aldabra and Galapagos tortoises in the new year. The zoo opened its new chimpanzee habitat earlier this year (after my visit, before my review was written). It's designed in the style of its existing (in)famous orangutan exhibit.
Milwaukee County Zoo unveiled (just this week!) a new exhibit for their Humboldt penguins, with triple the space as the old habitat. The new exhibit is located at the zoo's entrance and features a waterfowl, underwater viewing, and improved water quality systems.
North Carolina's Asia area is still under construction - tigers, gibbons, and Komodo dragons, are among the species slated to be added, with some of the animals already present at the zoo. The zoo also no longer exhibits seals; the former seal habitat will become a penguin exhibit.
Philadelphia Zoo has recently sent out its sloth bears and Andean bears in preparation for a renovated Bear Country. The Humboldt penguins, which also live in that portion of the zoo, have also been sent out while construction takes place, but will return!
Pittsburgh Zoo and Aquarium, having rejoined the AZA, is launching a new masterplan, with new habitats for giraffe and orangutan being highlights.
Potawatomi Zoo's Andean bear exhibit is completed (the zoo had received its first Andean bear last year, but it was living in the old lion exhibit while construction was carried out). The new habitat is adjacent to a new indoor dining area.
Between when I visited and when I posted the review, Seattle Aquarium has opened its exciting new Ocean Pavilion, a significant deviation for a facility which had almost exclusively focused on species native to the Puget Sound region.
The first steps of Shedd Aquarium's renovations are complete. The iconic Caribbean reef display in the rotunda has been replaced with twin habitats, one depicting freshwater ecosystems and one depicting saltwater.
Sylvan Heights Bird Park announced plans for a new African penguin exhibit, which, like almost everything else at Sylvan Heights, will also include waterfowl. In non-exhibit news, the facility mourned the passing of its co-founder and director, the legendary British-born aviculturist Mike Lubbock.
And finally, as previously mentioned, the Wildlife Conservation Society's Bronx Zoo will be reopening its famous World of Darkness. Bronx has some of the finest exhibits in the country, but is not a zoo that's prone to make big changes very often, so this is very exciting indeed. I'd seen the old building shortly before it closed, and it definitely was a bit dated and tired looking. I'm very excited to see the zoo's fresh take on this display and what animals it will feature.
Death Valley National Park, straddling the California-Nevada border - attracts a lot of superlatives. It's the largest national park in the contiguous US, as well as the lowest, the hottest, and the driest. The latter two might make it seem like an unlikely place to look for fish - and you'd largely be right. That being said, Death Valley is also home to Devils Hole, a geographic formation that is the only known natural habitat of the tiny, beautiful, and critically endangered Devils Hole pupfish. This past week, the fish, one of the world's rarest, might have just got rarer.
A recent earthquake jolted the habitat. Some of the effects were likely bad, such as upsetting food sources and eggs. Some effects might be more positive in the long-term, but that only really matters if the short-term doesn't destroy the fish before things settle back into their favor. When a species already occurs at very low levels in its natural habitat, there's always a risk that any change could be the nudge that tips it over the edge of extinction.
Photo Credit: NPS
There have been historical attempts to not have all of our fish in one basket, both through the establishment of additional pseudo-wild populations in refugia (none of which were successful) and in aquariums and labs. So far, captive breeding efforts have been hit or miss, though some success is finally being made. Early hurdles seem to have been overcome. If need be, wild habitats could probably be repopulated with captive-bred ones.
The fight to save the Devils Hole pupfish has spanned back almost a century, with considerable controversy over how much effort and expense should be incurred to save a tiny, obscure fish (in the minds of many local people, the answer is "none"). To me, the lesson that the recent events in Death Valley call to mind is that for many endangered species (especially reptiles, amphibians, freshwater fish, and invertebrates), captive breeding is an essential tool in keeping a species safe and securing its future. It's possible that the earthquake could doom the fish of Devils Hole to extinction. If that tragedy were to happen, it would be good to know that we have a backup plan to save the species.
When you work with zoo animals for long enough, you eventually accumulate tales of loss. Sometimes they are animals that you spend years working with until you can't imagine a day when they won't be there - and then they're gone. And then there are the ones who come only too briefly before tragedy takes them away. Sometimes they are gone in the less dramatic sense - sent to another facility, where maybe you can keep in touch with their new keepers and follow up with them. And sometimes, they're just... gone. And you never know what happened.
Such was the story of one of my earliest, more poignant losses - Boomer.
Boomer and I met at what we can charitably describe as a roadside zoo, where he was born not too long before I started there. I'd had some bad professional luck and was desperate to get back to work, and, figuring any port was good in a storm, I took the job at a sketchy little place I'd never heard of before. It was relatively nearby, which was good because I couldn't afford to move again, so I figure I'd stick it out.
Boomer did not have a particularly original name for a red kangaroo ("Boomer" being a term for a male of that species). I should be embarrassed about that, seeing as I'm the one who named him, but I was barely out of school, he was my first kangaroo, and I was in love with him. Being a kangaroo, he started life off as something about the size and shape of a jellybean, gradually recognizable by the expansion of his mom's pouch. His young life took a turn for the worse when one of the senior keepers decided that she wanted a baby kangaroo to raise as an educational ambassador, and the joey was taken from the pouch. About five seconds later, I heard that keeper exclaim with disgust. For some reason, she hadn't counted on the possibility of the joey that she pulled being a male.
Big Boomer back before he got especially big
It's worth noting that male red kangaroos can be about twice the size of the females, or about as large as an adult man - and a fair bit stronger. They can be very single-minded animals, not easily intimidated or cowed, and an aggressive (or, in its view) defensive, red kangaroo is a pretty frightening animal. Hunters have had their dogs killed by them before in Australia. Come to think of it, hunters themselves have been killed by them.
I didn't really think about it in those terms. I just saw that we had a little joey that was pulled from the pouch and couldn't be put back in. And so I raised him. All of us did, I mean, but I feel like I was the most parental towards him. The senior keeper liked taking him home sometimes to shock the neighbors, or once or twice even to a bar. Still, she lost interest before too many months had passed, and the novelty wore off. With my limited experience, I tried raising him in that awkward in-between of being a kangaroo and a... whatever the plan was for him to be. I'll admit, I did get a lot of pleasure out of calling his name and watching him bounce over to me, sidle up to me, and tug at my pantleg, looking up unexpectedly. He was able to live with the other kangaroos, so he had some socialization skills, but you could tell he never quite fit in.
Boomer grew up - physically, as well as behaviorally. I was stuck working there for longer than I liked, and I professionally grew up with him. Soon, not many staff members felt comfortable going in with Boomer. He was pushy and domineering, and would shove keepers up against the walls. Some of the female keepers got... cues... from him that he wanted to be more than friends. None of the other male red kangaroos behaved like that - we assumed it's because Boomer, raised by people, wanted to interact with us, but still didn't know how. At any rate, he certainly wasn't afraid of people. I tried working with him, sometimes in the enclosure, sometimes on the other side of the fence. The zoo's owner just saw him as a liability. And one day, he was gone.
It wasn't until I left that zoo and got back into working at accredited facilities that it dawned on me how wrong a lot of things from the place were. The vet care. The enclosures. And, in this case, the lack of transparency. I never found out what happened to Boomer. I presume he was sold to someone else. Were they warned about his nature, and prepared to accommodate a half-imprinted adult male red kangaroo? Or were they in for a nasty surprise? Did he wind up with a mob of females elsewhere that he could live alongside peaceably, and spend out his days lounging in the sun? Or was his fate darker?
At that place, and with that owner, asking questions was a great way to not have a job anymore.
This was in the earliest days of my career, and I'm glad that I don't work there anymore. I don't know if I would have liked the animal caretaker I'd have become if I stayed there much longer. But I do have a lot of memories of that place. Some of them are happy, to be sure, but there are plenty that are bitter, or sad. The memories of Boomer definitely fall into the later category. I really wish that everything had gone differently for him. Long after he was gone (and while it wasn't directly related, I didn't stay for that much longer after he left), I found myself thinking of him hopping over to see me with a hopeful look in his eyes. I hope that his life got better after he left our gates.
The Macropods ("Big Feet") are a group of marsupials that includes the kangaroos, wallaroos, and wallabies - there really isn't a clear distinction between those species, except basically size. These animals are famous around the world for two things. One is their pouches, but all marsupials have pouches (though they're probably more easily seen and noticed in these species, which are more bipedal). The second is their hopping.
No other large mammal locomotes the way a kangaroo does. In fact, kangaroos can't walk - they just hop. Hopping is a fascinating way of moving around - after pushing off with their tail, they hit the ground with both feet, each bounce powered by the previous one. It takes a bit more energy to get started than walking does, but once they're on the go, it's one of the most efficient methods of travel for any land mammal. (They're also surprisingly good swimmers, but that need not occupy us now).
Perhaps because it's energy-intensive to get started, kangaroos are inclined to rest and not hop unless they need to - when they do get up, they tend to do a few short little shuffles. Most of the times I've seen one hopping full speed it's when they've been startled by something - like me. Trying to catch them for one reason or another. I try not to chase them. It's hard and stressful on the animals. It's hard and stressful on me. There's usually a better way, but sometimes it has to be done.
Thankfully, hopping kangaroos in an enclosure tend to make circuits along the same predictable routes, which makes it easy to predict where they are going. The easiest way to stop them is to snag the tail as they hop by, then hold on for dear life - a big boomer can pull you off your feet with the momentum. Likewise, kangaroos need to push off with the tail to start hopping, so your easiest bet is to sidle up to one before it gets going and get your hands on the tail ASAP.
Reproduction:Polygamous.Breeding takes place year round. Embryonic diapause (delayed
implantation) so embryo doesn’t start to develop until previous joey is out of
the pouch.Gestation period 30-38
days.Joey travels to pouch after birth
to nurse, starts venturing out at 6 months, mostly out of the pouch at 9
months.Males
mature at 18-20 months, females at 14-24 months
Body length 100-140 centimeters.Males substantially larger than females
(28-42 kilograms for males versus 18-24 kilograms for females).Compared to other kangaroos and wallabies,
they have a short, wide torso and stouter limbs and short, broad feet.The soles of the feet are roughened, providing
extra grip on rocks
Course, shaggy fur ranges from light gray to reddish
brown to black, depending on subspecies
Males maintain home ranges of about 2.5 square
kilometers.Females have smaller home ranges
(about 1 square kilometer); males overlap with several females.Generally solitary, but will form loose
groups around abundant food sources.Males compete for access to females in boxing matches, but these do not
result in significant violence
Primarily feed at night, sheltering in brush
or under rock overhangs during the day.Capable of obtaining their required moisture from their diet, can go 2-3
months without drinking
Generally silent, but will signal danger by
making a hissing sound through the nose and pounding their feet on the ground
before fleeing.Red foxes prey on joeys
Four recognized subspecies: eastern (nominate),
western, or euro (O. r. erubescens),
Barrow Island (O. r. isabellinus),
and Kimerley (O. r. woodwardi).The subspecies differ in their size (the
Barrow Islander being the smallest) and their coloration.
One of two (or three) species sometimes called
wallaroo.Common name comes from the
Dharug name for the animal, walaru,
with English spelling being a combination of the words “kangaroo” and “wallaby”
Barrow Island
subspecies is considered vulnerable (poor health and nutrition).Other subspecies are common over a broad
geographic range. Some commercial harvesting allowed under
monitored conditions
Last week's annual Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade featured an elaborate float from the Wildlife Conservation Society. Among the artificial animals and costumed performers on the float, sharp-eyed viewers may have spotted an interesting detail - a dark panel, resembling a hollow or a cave, from which a pair of glowing eyes peered out. Rumors had abounded for a while, and this certainly seemed to be a tip, but now the rumors are confirmed. After an absence of about fifteen years, the Bronx Zoo is reopening one of its most iconic exhibits - the World of Darkness!
World of Darkness was one of the first zoo nocturnal houses, a trend of exhibit which certainly isn't very common today either, and usually not on a large scale. Opened in 1969, it closed forty years later due to budget cuts, being one of the more expensive zoo exhibits to operate. Under reverse lighting, visitors were able to see a variety of nocturnal creatures, including lemurs, small carnivores, caimans, and, of course, bats. I've been to the Bronx Zoo on several occasions, but only saw the exhibit once, the year before it closed.
Details about the new exhibit are sparse so far, but promotional materials on the zoo's website show sloth, caiman, bat, and, as a special highlight for the seekers of zoo rarities, aye-ayes! Who knows what else will be inside? The newly refurbished building will open next summer, in 2025. New exhibits are always exciting by themselves. The return of a classic, world-famous exhibit that I thought I'd never see again, though? That's a special thrill!
There are many variations of the game "Never Have I Ever." The basic gist is a list of things, and you get a point for every one that you've done. Some may be for bucket list travel destinations ("The Empire State Building," "The Grand Canyon," etc). They might be experience based ("Riding in a Helicopter," "Bungee-Jumping.") As you will no doubt be shocked by, there are plenty of non-PG versions, which probably work best as a drinking game (perhaps under the assumption that if you haven't done something yet by the start of the game, you probably will have done so by the end).
I recently saw the list below, which was published by Nebraska Wildlife Education (I was pleased to ssay I got all of them), and it struck me as a fairly sweet, wholesome version for nature lovers... but what would one for zookeepers look like?
Never Have I Ever...
1.) Had an animal solicit me with a courtship display
2.) Been accidentally locked in an exhibit
3.) Accidentally locked myself in an exhibit
4.) Tipped over a wheelbarrow full of manure (inevitably in the middle of the path)
5.) Woken up in the dead of night unsure if I locked an exhibit
6.) Snuck back to the zoo in the dead of the night to check I locked the exhibit
7.) Made a birthday cake for one of my animals
8.) Sampled one of my animal's diets
9.) Taken an animal on a roadtrip (3 hours or more) to or from a new zoo
10.) Practiced the call of one of my animals
11.) Gotten confused when talking with a coworker because the animal has the same name as a different (human) coworker
12.) Sent a sympathy card to another keeper following the death of a favorite animal
13.) Made a painting with one of my animals
14.) Developed a specific voice in my head for an animal so we can have conversations
15.) Bought or brought something from home to be used for enrichment
16.) Started a training program for an animal, only to eventually come to the conclusion that the animal has been training me
17.) Been the first person to find a baby animal at work
18.) Broken up a fight between two animals (same species or different)
19.) Taken a selfie with an animal. Been unhappy with it. Begged the animal to keep posing
20.) Realized that being a zookeeper was the best decision I ever made
Another list that I can say I checked each box. Any suggestions for additions?
Fall may not official start for another three weeks, but for all practical purposes, winter is here. By now, many zoos in the country have shifted to winter hours; some may be closed for the season. Cold-intolerant species are being bundled inside, whether to indoor exhibits or to remain off-exhibit until the spring. Horticulture is raking leaves, or, depending on their location, clearing snow. Animal transfers are likely done for the year, or close to it. Keeper talks and other education programs are winding down, and the raucous calls of hordes of field trippers are becoming fewer and fainter. Assuming the zoo is open at all, guest services are usually greatly reduced, with fewer concessions and gift shops open.
All of this, of course, pertains to the northern zoos. In the south, things will be as busy as ever. Maybe busier. For zoos in Arizona, for example, winter can be one of the more pleasant times to visit, while a trip in the summer might be a sullen, scorching slog.
Most of the zoos that I've worked at have been open year round, but in many cases it's been a nominal distinction. I've had plenty of days in which the few hardy guests are outnumbered by the docents who showed up and, having no one else to talk to, chase after keepers or repeat their elevator speeches to each other. I've never worked at a zoo that was really... "on" all year. Looking back on it, I'm glad I haven't.
Sure, the stability of year round visitation, reduced need to move animals back and forth, and all that is quite nice (the former especially from a financial perspective). Still, this job is exhausting and taxing, and I can't imagine not having a few quiet months to recharge, work on projects, and really focus on the facilities, the animals, and my team to an extent that's less feasible when the crowds are streaming through the gates all the time.
I feel like every time someone I know takes a trip to someplace perpetually warm, they always say that it's very nice to visit, but they wouldn't want to live there - they need variety. They need seasons. The same could be said about one's work life.
Diet:Plankton, Photogenic Output of Symbiotic Algae
Social Grouping:Asocial
Reproduction:Hermaphroditic, each clam producing eggs and sperm. Cannot self-fertilize. Spawning season varies across range, broadcast eggs and sperm in the water. Fertilized eggs float in the sea until larva hatches in about 12 hours. At roughly one week, the clam settles on the seafloor, though at this stage it can move with a "foot." Mature at about 15 centimeters in length
Lifespan: 100 Years
Conservation Status:IUCN Critically Endangered CITES Appendix II
Largest living bivalve, with a maximum shell size of over 1.2 meters and weighing over 200 kilograms (record weight over 330 kilograms). Shell consists of two thick, slightly elongated valves joined by a hinge; the top valve has flattish-folds which interlock on the margin with those on the lower valve, protecting the soft clam muscle inside (though unlike other giant clams, the shell cannot close completely)
Valve is gray-white, sometimes with pink, orange, or yellow tint, while inside is the soft body wall of the mantle
Symbiotic relationship with photosynthetic algae, which grow in the mantle tissue. This algae protects that clam from excessive UV radiation while also providing nutrients; the clam in turn provides a safe place for the algae to grow
Clams of the genus can produce large, white pearls
Genus name comes from the Greek for "three-bites," Ancient Romans claimed that these clams were big enough to require three bites to consume. Species name refers to the giant sizes
Collection from the wild both for meat, for the aquarium trade, and for their shells, used as decoration. In Chinese Traditional Medicine, the muscle is believed to have aphrodisiac properties. May be increasingly vulnerable to loss of both coral reef habitat and photosynthetic algae due to climate change (ocean warming, photosynthesis. Programs in place to develop sustainable aquaculture, and there have been restocking efforts in the Philippines
Zookeeper's Diary:I'll admit, when I saw my first Tridacna, labeled simply as "giant clams," in a zoo, I was a little... underwhelmed. Not being especially knowledgeable about invertebrates, I didn't know that there were many species of giant clams, the ones I saw being the smallest of them. I've seen museum species of the shells of T. gigas, which can stretch over a meter across and produce some tremendous pearls. These shells dwarfed the actual specimens I later saw. Contrary to legend, giant clams pose little safety risk to humans, and they cannot slam their shells shut, trapping and drowning divers
We're grateful that we get to work in the company of some of the world's most fascinating animals, to share our passion for them with the public, and to help bring about conservation action to secure a future for them both under human care and in the wild. (Art from Peppermint Narwhal Creative)
In most mixed-species exhibits, the best you can really hope for is animals that are willing to share the same space while largely ignoring one another. After all, that's how it usually goes in the wild - if another animal isn't a predator or prey, you're likely to simply just let it be. Sometimes two animals of different but closely-related species will cohabit and strike up a close relationship, maybe sometimes even mating; while the former can be encouraged, providing companionship for animals, the later is generally discouraged, as it results in hybrids.
I don't think I've ever seen a video which has ever given me such strong "pet" vibes as this recently-shared video from the Kansas City Zoo and Aquarium. I've seen mixed primate-otter exhibits before at a variety of zoos, though I've also heard a few horror stories about less-pleasant (sometimes lethally so) interactions between the animals involved. In this video, however, it really seems that there is some mutual affection going on here.
You can almost imagine a gibbon sitting on the couch with a book and a glass of wine, absent-mindedly petting the otter that's curled up next to her, perhaps gnawing on a fish-flavored chew toy.
There's a story that I was told once of an aviculturalist (bird keeper) at Sylvan Heights Bird Park, who was determined to successfully breed African pygmy geese. He'd found an article about a facility in southern Africa which had bred the species and read over it religiously, soaking up after nuance and detail in it, and then fretting about how to best replicate it. One day, after being pestered about the minutiae of this facility's breeding program for the hundredth time, the director of Sylvan Heights, the late Mike Lubbock, finally said that he wasn't overly impressed to hear that a facility in Africa had managed to breed African pygmy geese.
"If you can't breed African pygmy geese in Africa," Lubbock said, "you probably can't breed them anywhere."
The lesson was simple. In its native range, a captive specimen has the same temperature, humidity, light cycle, rainfall patterns, and other environmental factors as it would in the wild. Natural food sources are much more easily obtained, including those which might be very difficult to replicate in a foreign zoo, either having to be imported at great expense or replaced with pellets or substitutes.
I was thinking of that story when I visited the Seattle Aquarium and marveling at its collection of wildlife from the waters of Puget Sound, which the facility literally abuts. Specifically, I thought of it as I read that the Aquarium was the first to breed giant Pacific octopus - literally being able to pump water from the natural habitat outside would be an asset. Facilities with an emphasis on native wildlife, such as Seattle Aquarium (pre-Ocean Pavilion expansion) - or, plugging down the coast, the Oregon Coast Aquarium, Monterey Bay Aquarium, or Cabrillo Marine Aquarium - may not have all of the most popular species that aquarium visitors might flock to, but they do have a unique ability to study and specialize in creatures that are found locally, in some cases species that aren't able to successfully or practically be kept outside of their native range. At each of the aforementioned aquariums (except Oregon Coast, which I haven't been to yet), I've seen fishes that I haven't seen elsewhere.
The same can be true for some terrestrial animals to an extent. While I do still see a specimen or two out east, pronghorn, for example, are much more common in zoos that are within their natural range, being more tolerant of that temperature/humidity/other factors. Same could be said for moose and wolverine. Eucalyptus can be shipped, it's true, but it's a heck of a lot easier and cheaper to keep koalas in places where the tree is already growing.
None of this is to say that I think that zoos and aquariums should only keep native species - a major part of the joy of going to a zoo is the chance to see and experience wildlife from all over the world, including places that are very different from the world that immediately surrounds us. For a small child in, let's say, Minnesota, a trip to a tropical rainforest, or to a coral reef (both within the same building at the Minnesota Zoo) can be a magical experience that encourages further growth and discovery. Somethings, however, are best done locally, taking advantage of local environmental conditions, and there's always room for developing a local specialty.
From the Odense Zoo in Denmark, a novel enrichment feeder for lions. Big cats can be challenging animals to replicate hunting behaviors for (assuming your country does not allow the feeding of live large vertebrate prey), so this struck me as an innovative idea.
The exhibits that I described in yesterday's post covered all of the exhibits that I saw at the Seattle Aquarium during my visit, save for one. The remaining one was a small gallery of tropical Pacific species, consisting of one large tank and several smaller, jewel-boxes of tanks. The fish and invertebrates in these tanks were the sole representatives of species on display that were not from the waters of the Pacific Northwest, perhaps a small concession to visitors who wanted to see something a little more bright, more tropical, more representative of, say, a coral reef.
Since my visit, that gallery has since closed. It was obvious as I walked out of the Aquarium, however, that things were about to change.
Immediately adjacent to the existing aquarium was the construction site of the new Ocean Pavilion, which was rapidly taking shape even then. The structure opened earlier this year, and greatly expands the facility, both in terms of the size of its campus and the diversity of its collection. This exhibit gallery focuses on the tropical Indo-Pacific, but at a much greater scale than the small gallery in the old Aquarium did. More importantly to most visitors, this gallery introduces sharks to the facility, which had previously been limited to a few small dogfish in the iconic Underwater Dome exhibit.
Having not been able to see the final product, my impressions and review of the expansion will understandably be limited (and the pictures posted here are of the species that I saw in the old tropical gallery). Exhibit areas include a mangrove forest, where small rays fly underwater amidst the roots of the estuary trees, a gallery of smaller, themed tanks stylized as At Home in the Ocean (seahorses, cuttlefish, etc), a jellyfish nursery, and more. The main attraction, and the Aquarium's largest exhibit, is The Reef, which is home to a variety of elasmobranchs, black-tipped reef sharks, zebra sharks, bowmouth guitarfish, and spotted eagle ray, as well as morays, humpheaded wrasse, pufferfish, and many more. The final species roster of the exhibit hall is still being determined, with new species arriving and being installed.
The opening of Ocean Pavilion was a major change for the Seattle Aquarium, and one that wasn't without some local controversy about the deviation of mission and the introduction of non-native species. When I heard about the plan, I wondered if there would be much competition or overlap with the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium, which itself as a tropical Pacific aquarium. Again, not having seen the new exhibit I'm limited in my ability to comment, but it looks very impressive, and it's not as if the introduction of new species has resulted in the displacement of the native ones - it's addition, not subtraction. I'm not sure what's next on the Aquarium's agenda, though I've heard that there are plans to redo and expand the marine mammal exhibits, a project which I'm sure will be met with much approval.
It certainly sounds like an exciting time for the Seattle Aquarium, though I admit, I'm glad that my first visit to this facility was before the opening of Ocean Pavilion. It was nice to see the facility as it was, when it was almost 100% focused on the creatures that could be found in its own waters. From its handsome architecture (so different from the new addition next door) to the beautiful artwork (Chihuly glass, murals by the excellent Ray Troll) to its focus on species seldom highlighted elsewhere, particularly salmon, it was one of the most unique and special aquariums I'd ever seen.
Seattle, Washington, is a city closely tied to the sea, lying on an isthmus jutting out into Puget Sound, and famous for its fish markets, so it's not especially surprising that the city boasts of a fine aquarium. The current facility, located on Pier 59 on the waterfront (having also expanded into Pier 60), is the successor to early aquarium attractions. One of these earlier aquariums, located only yards away on Pier 56, was the first US facility to display orca. The current aquarium opened in 1977 and has had a remarkable, if short, history, focusing primarily on the sea life of the Pacific Northwest.
Visitors entering the aquarium are first treated to a handsome of the local fishes in Window on Washington Waters, a 20-foot tall tank that slants out over the visitors in the lobby. Modeled after Neah Bay's rock blades, the 120,000 gallon tank features a variety of creatures, from the anemones and sea stars that cling to the rocky bottom to the rockfish, sculpins, and wolf eels that swim about. Around the corner is a long (40 foot), thin tanks known as Crashing Waves; as the name would suggest, it represents the intertidal zone defined by the forceful movement of water. It's amazing watching the fish in this tank swimming in such a seemingly serene manner as water slams around them.
Next, the hall leads to a darkened room featuring jellies, touch pools, and, one of the aquarium's most popular exhibits, the giant Pacific octopus. The Seattle Aquarium was first in the world to breed this species, so it didn't surprise me that they had one of the finest habitats I've seen for them. It was large and complex, but also provided opportunities for the animal to demonstrate its remarkable ability to enter and navigate tiny spaces. The moon jelly habitat was likewise impressive, a tall, acrylic arch, lit up, which allowed visitors to walk through the jellies habitat. I'm not normally that interested in the touch tanks, being old and jaded at this point, but I was more easily able to appreciate them here in association with the rocky, tidal pool studded shorelines of the region - the concept just felt a little more authentic in Seattle. A non-animal component of the exhibit is the Caring Cove Play Space, which allows children to use plush animals and other toys to pretend that they are aquarists, vets, and other animal care staff, helping to build empathy in young animal lovers.
Visitors exit the building to enter the outdoor shorebird habitat, which consists of a walk-through aviary of sandpipers and plovers, as well as a glass-fronted habitat for tufted puffins and other alcids. It's exhibits like this which have left me wondering how its possible that puffins have never managed to match penguins in popularity - they might not have the strangeness of flightlessess, but their appearances are even more outlandish, and their personalities far more engaging (and besides, I think a bird that flies in the air and in the water an incredible concept).
A series of exhibits focus on the fishes of Puget Sound, especially that most iconic of Washington's fishes, the salmon. Visitors are able to see the life cycle of the salmon and learn how the fish traverse the boundaries between rivers and the sea. There are other tanks, small but handsomely furnished, featuring sculpins, lumpsuckers, and other small fish, but the most iconic feature of the aquarium is its great underwater dome. Set into a giant, concrete web-like frame, visitors peer through a series of windows into a 400,000 gallon that surrounds them on all sides, including overhead. Sturgeons and dogfish (sharks) are the stars here, but there's so much to keep track of. I'll admit the heavy concrete frame can make it a little difficult to track the fish as they swim around and I lost a few that way, but there's something special about this exhibit - whereas many aquarium exhibits look very similar, it's always a treat to see something very different and distinctive.
The weak point of the Aquarium are the marine mammal exhibits. Three marine (and one freshwater) mammal are exhibited here, and the habitats of the former three are kind of meh, a little on the dull and cramped side. The species featured are sea otter, harbor seal, and, a zoological rarity, northern fur seal. The sea otters are of note - this is the first facility in the world to have bred the species (zoos and aquariums no longer breed sea otters, keeping their spaces available for non-releasable animals). River otters fare better in a larger, more naturalistic habitat. A unique feature of the aquarium is an outdoor catwalk that provides vantage points of the Sound, from which wild marine mammals can sometimes be spotted swimming along.
The tour of the Seattle Aquarium will continue in tomorrow's post.
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