You can always count on zoos and aquariums to jump on a good social media bandwagon. The latest fad is the #dollypartonchallenge, started by the Southern music star. Basically, it consists of four photos, depicting the profile pictures that are used on four social media platforms - serious, professional LinkedIn, casual Facebook, goofy Instagram, and sexy Tinder. Here's the original:
Naturally, it didn't take zoos and aquariums long to get in on the act, and I've seen dozens of spoofs from animals around the world in the last few days. Here are some of my favorites:
This last month or so, my Facebook feed has been a happy one, because it's overflowing with zoo babies! The recent stars have been a lion at Audubon Zoo, a polar bear at Columbus Zoo, an Andean bear at the San Diego Zoo, a chimpanzee from the Maryland Zoo in Baltimore, and Binder Park Zoo's adorable black rhino calf, but there are so many others to choose from. That's a whole lot of cuteness.
Currently unnamed female chimpanzee, from Maryland Zoo in Baltimore (credit: Maryland Zoo)
Historically, many zoos kept quiet about their newborn animals until they were a few weeks old, sometimes even months. Partially it was to allow the keepers and vet staff to work in peace and quiet during the delicate time, without being swarmed by media and visitors. There is also a PR element - a newborn animal is a delicate animal, and they don't always make it, especially with an inexperienced, first-time mom Some zoos didn't like to people's hopes up only to crush their hearts. Starting off in the field, I knew a litter of snow leopards and a polar bear cub that never made the news for that reason.
Now, there is a lot more focus on zoos being open about everything - evidence: anything related to the early days of Fiona the hippo at Cincinnati Zoo - and sharing the stories of newborns almost from the get-go. Sometimes, that even means live-streaming the birth, a la April the giraffe. Even when a week or so of privacy is given, many zoos still share photos or videos of the babies long before they are on public view.
Which brings me to my TED talk:
Whenever such images are shown, of babies in the den building or holding barn or whatever, someone who probably hasn't been to that zoo in ages, if ever, will start making comments about unnatural it is, how little space there is, how miserable the animals must be, etc.
Big cats and bears, in the wild, do not drop their tiny, vulnerable, and oh-so-edible-to-larger-predators young in the middle of the forest or the savanna. Instead, the female sequesters herself in a den - maybe a cave, or a hollow log, or under the roots of a tree, where she can raise her infant in relative safety. This is for the welfare of the cub and her own mental well-being. A highly-stressed mother, in the zoo or in the wild, may kill and eat, or at the very least abandon or neglect, her young. It's nothing personal. It's just that she doubts that the young will survive anyway, why invest the effort in raising them? Better to cut losses and start fresh.
In zoos, that feeling of security is often replicated by keeping the mother in a den building. She'll be snug and secure, safe from visitors and exhibit-mates (such as the father, in many cases), with staff access restricted to essential caretakers. These buildings don't look like much - no waterfalls, no planted areas, no rocky outcrops. Honestly, they look like jail cells with straw or shavings on the floor. That doesn't matter to the mother - it's exactly what she needs.
Taking care of animals in a zoo - and especially the delicate business of breeding and rearing shy, secretive animals, means doing what is in the best interest of those animals, whether or not it's what we think we might like in their circumstances. If you see a baby animal in a zoo, and the setting doesn't look necessarily ideal, ask yourself - would you, as an adult, like living in the nursery room that you spent your first few days in?
Probably not - but it's what you needed at the time. At this fragile stage, what these babies need is peace, quiet, security, and a chance to bond with mom. Let's just enjoy the sneak-peeks that we're given, and await the day when baby takes the first steps outside to play in the big, wide world, shall we?
In world health news, the big story as of late has been the outbreak of the deadly coronavirus, which has already spread widely and claimed 50 lives. While scientists are still learning more about the disease, right now it appears to have had its origins in wild snakes from China, which spread the disease to humans when they were brought to market. If this is true, it would prove to be very similar to the SARS virus, which originated in Asian civets that were likewise being traded.
If its implementation is a success - and if it proves to be lasting - the closure of Chinese wildlife markets would be a gamechanger for many species. Discussing China in relation to conservation has always been something I've found awkward, mostly because there is so much overt racism that many westerners heap on China as the supposed source of all of our environmental problems, while downplaying out own contributions. Still, the fact remains that China is the world's most populous country with a large middle class and the purchasing power to satisfy their demand for wildlife products. Their impact is hard to overestimate.
In this Jan. 9, 2020, photo provided by the Anti-Poaching Special Squad, police gather outside a store suspected of trafficking wildlife in Guangde city in central China's Anhui Province. The outbreak of a new virus linked to a wildlife market in central China is prompting renewed calls for enforcement of laws against the trade in and consumption of exotic species. (Anti-Poaching Special Squad via AP)
Wildlife markets, bringing medically-compromised species into extremely close contact with potential buyers, who then go home to their families and friends, are a natural breeding ground for zoonotic diseases. Coronavirus certainly isn't the first disease to come from these places, and I doubt that it will be the last. Still, if this measure taken by the Chinese government proves effective in reducing or halting the spread of the disease, hopefully it will (in addition to saving lives, which is the primary desired outcome) cause people to re-evaluate the role of the wildlife trade in society.
Range: Previously
found on Socorro and Revillagigedo Islands off the west coast of Mexico Habitat: Lowland forests, up to 500 meters elevation Diet: Fruits, Seeds, Berries, InsectsSocial
Grouping: Solitary outside of breeding. Pairs split up shortly after
their chicks fledge.
Reproduction: Breeding has
never been studied in the wild. Believed that breeding season peaked in
March and April. In captivity, 2 white eggs are laid in elevated nest boxes.
Eggs are incubated 14-17 days, chicks fledge at 14-20 days
Lifespan: 15
Years (for closely related mourning dove) Conservation
Status:IUCNExtinct
in the Wild
Body length 26-34 centimeters, weighing 190 grams on average. Differ from many doves in having longer legs, characteristic of a more terrestrial lifestyle
Males are cinnamon-colored on the head and underparts with a
blue-gray neck. The head has an iridescent pink patch, most prominent
just after molting. Females and juveniles resemble males, but are duller
The call is a two-syllable “Coo-oo”, followed
by three shorter coos and then another long one (“Coo-oo, oo, oo, oo,
coo-oo”)
Very terrestrial, feeds mostly on the
ground. Mammalian predators were traditionally absent from the
island; avian predators included hawks and frigatebirds.
Genus name Zenaida honors
the niece of Napoleon Bonaparte, Zenaida Laetitia Julie Bonaparte, a Princess
of Canino and Musignano, by her ornithologist husband, Charles Bonaparte.
The species name graysoni
honors the American ornithologist Andrew Jackson Grayson
Although the species was common on the islands as late as the
1950s, the last sighting of a specimen in the wild was in 1972. Several had
been collected for aviculture in the 1920s, forming the basis of captive
populations in Europe and North America
Some birds in the captive population were later found to be
hybrids with the closely related and much more common mourning dove (Z. macroura) and
had to be excluded
In 2013, several captive-bred doves were transferred to Mexico’s
Africam Safari Park to establish an additional captive breeding colony in that
country, with the aim of eventual reintroduction
to the islands
Primary cause of decline believed to be the introduction of
invasive species – cats, which predated on the doves, and sheep, which
overgrazed and destroyed their habitat. Efforts are underway to clear
invasive species from the island
It's not every day that a tortoise features on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. It's even less often that the subject is that tortoise's sex life.
Still, such is the fame of Diego, a Galapagos tortoise from the San Diego Zoo, that he earned such an honor. Diego has been all over the press lately, having achieved a two-fold immortality. The first part is for helping his species (or subspecies - Galapagos tortoise taxonomy is confusing as heck) pull back from the edge of extinction through his... ahem... Herculean efforts in a captive-breeding program. The second has been through the endless headlines he's been able to generate, all of them effectively saying "Tortoise retires after having enough sex." Hell, he even made the New York Times a few years back.
Diego has recently been returned to the wild from which he was taken decades ago, having done his part to help save Galapagos tortoises from extinction. I wish I could say that he'll probably enjoy this "retirement," but after decades of living what really is a male tortoise's dream existence, I can't say that with a straight face.
A frequent criticism launched at zoos and aquariums by those who are philosophically opposed to them is that they are anachronistic. Back in the Victorian Era, sure, zoos had a place for education, they argued, but today, with the internet and virtual reality and animatronics and nature documentaries, we don't need them. This argument ignores perhaps the most important reason why a zoo might need actual, live animals - for conservation breeding and research - but sure, we'll take this argument at face value for a moment.
Now, I have absolutely nothing against Sir David Attenborough. Actually, I'm a huge admirer of his work, from his earliest episodes of ZooQuest to his Life on Earth series (Life of Mammals, Life of Birds, Life in Cold Blood, Blue Planet, and, of course, Planet Earth, among others). In fact, I really don't mind if they producers use a little zoo footage here and there. Why stress out a pregnant female polar when you've already got a zoo female, habituated to humans, using a cubbing den with built in CCTV?
There are limits to it. I'd hesitate to show staged predation, though my feelings on that are flexible. Offering a grasshopper to a chameleon so that it's tongue-shooting can be displayed? Sure, why not. Siccing a wolf on a camel in an enclosed setting? Hard pass. Also, for full disclosure, I think the producers should acknowledge what scenes are filmed in a zoo or sanctuary setting and which are in the actual, unrestricted wild. If animal's are not truly free of human agency, you can't be 100% sure how natural the behavior that you see is.
There's a long history of using semi-wild (or straight up captive) animals to film nature programs. The entire Belize Zoo originated from animals that had previously been collected from the wild for use in a nature documentary, and could not be released back into the wild. Gerald Durrell, the British zoo director, animal collector, filmmaker, and author, was once scolded fiercely by a woman who was outraged that he was "faking nature" by filming a brief clip of insects in a recreated setting in a parking lot. There's an equally long history of filmmakers (including Disney in their earliest nature documentaries) manipulating animals to try to make for more dramatic viewing. That, for example, is where the legend of lemmings throwing themselves into the sea came from.
Studying animals in the wild is hard. I know, I've tried it. Filming them - especially getting footage that is extensive enough, clear enough, and interesting enough to hold the interest of increasingly fickle audiences, can be much, much harder. So yeah, I can understand taking a short cut to get a shot or two. I just think that the zoos and aquariums that work to care for those animals should get proper credit - especially if they are being held up (without credit) as facilities that are allowing for display of truly natural behavior.
"Were still sorting out why some bird species seem smarter than others. Because they've had to solve problems around them - ecological, technical, or social? Because they've had to sing their hearts out or whip up a beautiful bower to win over a choosy mate? Intelligence as we understand it may vary among birds but no bird is truly 'stupid.'"
Don't let Jennifer Ackerman catch you trying to insult someone by calling them a 'bird brain.' On the other hand, if you do, she probably won't mind. In fact, she might think that you are paying a compliment. In The Genius of Birds, Ackerman, a renown science writer with a keen interest in the bird world, explores the mysteries of avian intelligence. Traditionally, scientists have been largely dismiss of bird intelligence, a belief I've seen reflected in more than a few zoo professionals (most notably the ones who don't actually work with birds). Their undeniably complicated behaviors are largely attributed to instinct. Ackerman, citing an endless stream of studies both in the lab and the field, shreds this belief. Birds, she reveals, are a lot more the pretty faces.
When I picked this book up, I was expecting to read a lot about those birds which most people think of as the avian brainiacs - the parrots. I was surprised to see that they were barely mentioned. Ackerman does devote considerable space to the rival claimants for the title of "World's Smartest Birds" - the corvids (crows, ravens, jays, and their kin). After the first chapter or so, however, even this undeniably clever birds take a backseat to a host of other, less-celebrated species, most the various small songbirds, such as chickadees and sparrows. I'll be honest, these are birds that I had never considered to be particularly bright. Then again, I realized, I'd never actually them much thought. The realization that there are lots of very small, very intelligent animals flitting around is mesmerizing - but also a little unnerving.
How do we know how smart birds are? Ackerman regales the reader with a host of anecdotes and experiments, describing how birds use their intelligence to solve the many challenges in their lives. Actually, she details the many different kinds of intelligence that birds display. Spatial intelligence is useful for navigating tremendous distances for migration, or remembering where food is cached for the winter. Social intelligence is important for managing complex relationships in flocks or family groups, or keeping track of your neighbors and rivals. Bird song is a very complicated process to master, with few displaying more intelligence in that regard than the mockingbirds. Some birds, like the New Caledonian crows that she writes about so much in the early chapters of her book, are geniuses at tool use. Others, like the ubiquitous house sparrow, are master pioneers of new environments, often to the detriment of other species. Rather than solely relying on instinct, she often describes how birds prove themselves capable of adapting to extremely novel situations, as an increasingly human-dominated planet forces them to do so with great regularity.
A point that she brings home often is that ever bird is the product of its environment, and that its intelligence is, like speed or camouflage, an adaptation to surviving in that environment. Great problem solving skills are more beneficial (even necessary) for some species than others. Whenever we talk about animal intelligence, we usually also end up talking about stupidity, often in a "har har har, what a dummy" tone about animals that strike us as less bright (in bird cases, these might be the ratites, like the ostrich and emu). The truth is, as Ackerman emphasizes in the quote I've put above, no bird is "stupid." All are well suited to their environment... or at least, they all were until we started mucking things up.
This is a book that I really feel should be required reading for anyone who takes care of birds, either professional (zookeeper, breeder, even farmer) or personally (pet owner). If you are going to be responsible for an animal physically, you are going to have to be responsibly for it mentally and behaviorally. For too long, people have been dismissive about how intelligent and complicated bird minds are. If we don't recognize this - and adjust our care accordingly - we will not be providing them with the quality of life that they deserve.
As much as I love studying the biology and natural history of the animals in our care, one of my favorite topics is learning about all of the ways in which they intersect with our history, our culture, and yes, our day-to-day language. Consider the Anseriformes, the order of birds that contains the ducks, geese, swans, and screamers. There are an amazing number of idioms that we use that refer to these birds - I don't think a day goes by without me hearing or reading at least one of them.
How well to do you know your waterfowl-themed sayings? Play our latest quiz and find out!
I’m not going to share the video, because I see no benefit
in giving it more traffic on social media.A screen shot will have to suffice, though if you find yourself highly
motivated, I’m sure that you’ll be able to find it without too much
difficulty. I's blurry, but essentially, it’s a clip of
a man – wearing two super-thick gloves – running down the sidewalk with his
leashed pets flying in front of him.That’s right, flying – because they are macaws.
I see posts of this ilk fairly often, and usually I just
roll my eyes and move on.This one stuck
in my craw a little bit, however.That’s
because I saw it being shared on a social media page for zookeepers.And most of the commentators seemed to find
it funny or cute.
It wasn’t.These
macaws aren’t so much “flying” as they are “desperately trying not to fall, all
while wearing harnesses that aren’t made to bear this kind of pressure.”They can’t control their speed or their
direction, which a dog or other terrestrial animal out for a walk at least has
some control over.They are basically
being swung until they flap their wings.This is not good welfare.
Forget about orcas and dolphins, which relatively few institutions
have.Forget about bears and elephants,
which we are constantly doing better by, both in terms of our facilities and
our husbandry.I’ve become increasingly
convinced that the biggest welfare disaster that zoos and aquariums have, and
which not enough people are seeking to address, are the large parrots, like
macaws and cockatoos.Almost every
facility has some, either as exhibit animals or as educational ambassadors.Unlike dolphins or elephants, they are
readily available as pets – expensive, far more so than a cockatiel or a
budgerigar, but not unaffordable by any means.They appear frequently in TV and movies.I worry about these guys a lot.
Way too often, I see people treating parrots as little
feathered buddies, or as a silly toy.Something that exists solely for comedic or aesthetic purposes, whether
it be to liven our lives with silly antics, such as brightening up a garden, or
repeating comically inappropriate things at just the right time in a deadpan
voice.I once worked with two keepers
who would spend hours each day “enriching” one of their birds – only the
enrichment was more for them.They would
dress him up in costumes, pose him for pictures, and put him in ridiculous situations,
like push him around in a baby carriage.I knew these ladies – they were good keepers, and took good care of
their other animals.I wondered, what
made them decide that this bird should be managed in this way?
A big part, I suspect, is that many of the macaws and
cockatoos in zoos, especially those that serve as ambassadors, are rescued pets.They are filled with issues and don’t know
how to behave like birds… so rather than try to manage them like birds, we
treat them little neurotic, feathery little people.Many of these birds are also unable to fly,
either through actual restriction or through atrophy and disuse of their
muscles.If they are surrendered to a
zoo, they may be placed out on a perch instead of in an aviary.
It reminds me of people with little dogs being carried in
their purses.Your dog would be much
happier chasing squirrels, rolling around in horse dung, and eating things it
shouldn’t eat.The difference between
dogs and macaws, of course, is that the former has been separated from its wild
form by thousands of years of selective breeding.A macaw or a cockatoo has not.
What worries me is that in part we are, even unwillingly,
feeding this narrative by taking in these former pets and managing them this
way.We’re providing better husbandry
than they probably had as pets, but not treating them as full-parrots.A pair of hyacinth macaws or palm cockatoos
managed as a zoo-based breeding program is given a natural aviary, an appropriate
social group, and enrichment that tries to recreate wild behaviors.Former pets are treated as… well, pets, but
dressed up as rescues.
The handler in this video is wearing gloves that are used
for working with eagles and other large birds of prey.They shouldn’t be necessary for working parrot
that are comfortable being handled.If
someone were to pull a video like this with a bird of prey, or a duck, or an
ibis, or literally any other kind of bird, I know my colleagues would be upset
and disappointed.
We should remember that when we see things like this.Parrots aren’t toys that resemble birds.They are birds, with all of the needs that go
with that.They should be respected
accordingly.
Bill was a keeper at the city zoo, but he was never very happy with it. He felt like he never got the respect that he deserved from his boss and his coworkers and his ideas were never given enough attention. Also, he constantly felt like he was being passed over for promotions that he deserved.
One day, the indignity of it all got to be too much for him. Fed up, he announced his resignation in a huff and stormed out. Then, taking out a loan, he bought an empty plot of land, started scouring for animals, and opened up his own zoo, with himself as the director.
About a year later, one of his old coworkers was out at a bar after work one day when he spotted a disheveled Bill sitting on a bar stool. Walking over, he struck up a conversation and asked how things had been.
"Not that great," Bill admitted. "The zoo was doing great for a while, but after the first few months, I guess the novelty wore off and the crowds stopped coming. I've had to downsize, keepers and animals. First I sold off my giraffes, then my grizzly bears, and then my baboons. Last week, I sold off the peacocks. Now, all that I have left is a single group of lions."
"I'm sorry to hear that," his coworker said. "I know this was a dream of yours, to go off on your own. Would you ever consider coming back to work with us?"
"What?" Bill exclaimed, "No way! I still have my pride!"
It's small wonder the people feel the need to make up stories about the Australian bushfires. For some, it helps give some explanation to the unbelievably terrible. For others, cute feel-good stories (like saintly wombats selflessly rescuing other animals) makes the sharers feel like there is still hope. In that, at least, they are right. There is hope. The flames will eventually die out, if only because there is nothing left to burn. More likely, the rains will eventually calm them.
After which, there comes a question. Lots of questions, actually, but many of them can be lumped under a single umbrella-question, "What next?"
The fires have killed an estimated one billion vertebrate animals, possibly threatening to drive some species into extinction. They have also left untold numbers orphaned or injured, some without the possibility of release back into the wild. What happens to them? As in America, Australian zoos often take in animals that can't be returned to the wild, but are they - and the rehabbers, and the rescue centers, and the sanctuaries, all combined - ready for the scale of this?
I'm speaking of this as if it were the future tense. It's already happening.
Mindful of the enormous quantities of animals that are in need of help, the government has already issued euthanasia recommendations as guidelines for some species. Very newborn marsupials aren't much more than fetuses of placental mammals, and poorly developed ones at that, not meant to see the world outside the pouch for months after birth. Their hand-rearing is extremely difficult and labor-intensive. In the interests of triage, of limited manpower and limited resources, some recommendations have been brought forth calling for the euthanasia of these animals in favor of individuals that are more likely to survive and recover. Similarly, the guidelines also give priority to some rarer species over other, more common ones. It can be a heartbreaking decision for a rehabber or biologist in the field, having to decide which animals are spared and which are sacrificed to improve the odds of the others.
(Equally controversial to many animal lovers have been the call to destroy hundreds or thousands of feral dromedary camels - introduced to Australia over a century ago to facilitate desert exploration - to keep them from drinking up water that the native wildlife needs)
There is the chance, perhaps, to export some specimens to American, Asian, or European zoos for placement, but that has its limits as well. How many koalas or wombats can these zoos absorb? What of the cost and difficulty of shipping them? Traditionally, the Australian government has been reluctant to allow exportation of its native wildlife. In recent years, perhaps motivated by the increasing frequency of environmental disaster, be it disease, drought, or fire, they've been loosening their rules. If you told me ten years ago that Tasmanian devils and platypuses of all things would be shipped out of Oz, I'd never have believed you.
Speaking of zoos, it has made me extremely happy to see how many American zoos have contributed money and resources to the fire relief and rescue efforts. No zoo operates in a land of immense surplus, so those thousands of dollars chipped in here and there represent a sacrifice on their part, one that could be spent on their own animals and facilities. I'm sure that they wish that they didn't have to do this, but it's not just Australia's wildlife heritage that is burning up in the fires, it belongs to all of us. And it requires all of us to chip in.
I've seen this picture circling the web without attribution. If anyone recognizes it and knows where it's from, let me know so I can credit it. Thanks!
Between the dual top stories out of America - tensions with Iran and the ongoing impeachment - it's been tough for the environmental crisis du jour - the Australian bushfires - to break though the noise and get the attention that they deserve. It isn't helped that a lot of what does make the news isn't entirely helpful. Some people spread conspiracy theories, like the one where environmentalists set the fires to scare people about climate change. Some people share wild exaggerations. And some people share cutesy feel-good stories that may or may not be true. Like this one:
So... are they? The answer so far appears to be, "Doubtful"... or at least, "Half-True." Like many burrowing animals around the world, from aardvarks in Africa to gopher tortoises in North America, wombats dig burrows, and those burrows may be used by a host of other species for shelter. I can easily imagine that, in the fear of fire, many small animals would rush into wombat burrows. As for actively herding animals into them for safety, that seems a lot less likely, and so far has not been documented.
This story might be based on a misinterpretation of behavior. Perhaps someone saw small animals like lizards and rodents rush into a burrow. A startled wombat might run out, suddenly remember, "Oh yeah, the world's on fire," and then run back in. Maybe someone saw this in-and-out action and thought that the wombat was showing other animals where to go for safety.
More likely, it's wishful thinking. The world can be a pretty terrifying place lately. It would be nice to think that someone is looking out for everyone else.
Continuing from yesterday’s review of Zoo Atlanta, we’ll
backtrack a little bit through the Ford
African Forest to a side path which leads to one of the zoo’s newest
exhibit areas.
For many years, the zoo’s old World of Reptiles was simultaneously one of Zoo Atlanta’s biggest
strengths and one of its biggest weaknesses.The strength came from its magnificent collection; the weakness from its
poor infrastructure.The situation was
remedied recently with the opening of Scaly
Slimy Spectacular, a state-of-the-art new reptile house, tucked away
between the African Plains and Ford African Forest.The exhibit is actually a compound – a main
reptile house and a smaller reptile house, focusing on Georgia natives (most
visitors will be fascinated by the outdoor pond turtle habitat with underwater
viewing, while I was most excited to see the critically endangered bog
turtles).Between the two are grassy
yards for Aldabra tortoises, radiated tortoises, and Asian forest tortoises.
Inside the main building, visitors pass a pool housing a
slender-snouted crocodile and sunlit habitats for arboreal lizards (beautiful
habitats and with lots of natural light, but the glare does make things a
little difficult to see).From there,
they may pass through a desert gallery, home to Gila monsters, pancake tortoises, and other reptiles of arid lands, before entering the main exhibit
hall.The building’s collection was very
impressive and it featured some species which I had never seen before, such as
Papuan python and Jamaican iguana.What
impressed me the most, however, was how spacious many of the habitats
were.There were a few small stand-alone
exhibits set into the lobby of the gallery, and I never particularly enjoy
those because I feel they provide too much viewing exposure.For many of the reptiles, though, the
habitats were some of the biggest and best I’d seen.I particularly enjoyed the habitat of the
alligator snapping turtle, which was swimming tranquilly when I saw it.
Rejoining the main path and passing through the African
forest, visitors then come to what could loosely be described as the Asian
Forest/Predators region – mostly Asian wildlife, but with a few outliers thrown
in, such as the pool of giant otters and the small house of naked mole rats.Habitats of Sumatran and Bornean orangutans, rivaling the gorilla exhibit in their excellence and naturalness,
can be seen here, adjacent to the old reptile house.In an unnatural but very innovative feature,
this exhibit is home to the Learning Tree Project, which uses touch-screen
technology to allow the orangutans to demonstrate their problem-solving abilities.A habitat of red pandas can be seen nearby;
at the time of my visit, the panda(s?) were curled up in an air-conditioned,
glass-fronted nest box in their habitat, stationed at eye-level with the visitor
boardwalk.
Cutting through the Asian forest is Trader’s Alley, a themed pathway that explores how different Asian
animals are impacted by the international wildlife trade.Some of the animals seen here were actual
rescues from the trade, including some endangered tortoises (Burmese stars and
impressed tortoises) and a pair of Malayan sun bears.Other animals seen along the trail are Komodo dragons, rhinoceros hornbills, and one of the only exhibits in the US of
tanuki, an East Asian canine that is sometimes called the raccoon dog for its
appearance and omnivorous diet.Signage
relates how each of these species are impacted by the demand for their parts,
whether it be bile for sun bears, casques for hornbills, meat for tortoises, or
fur for tanuki.The path terminates in a
small sub-area called Complex Carnivores¸
home to Sumatran tigers, clouded leopards, and fossa.
For most visitors, the stars of the Asian forest area,
outshining even the orangutans and tigers, are the giant pandas.Now that San Diego Zoo has repatriated their
pandas to China, Zoo Atlanta is one of three zoos in the US to house the famous
black-and-white bears.Over half a dozen
cubs (including two sets of twins) have been born since the pandas arrived in
1999.They can be seen in their outdoor
yard or in their air-conditioned holding buildings.Compared to the other three US zoos where I
have seen giant pandas, the exhibit here is rather simple and basic… which I
actually kind of respect.It meets their
needs, but takes into account how active giant pandas really are, whereas some
zoos devote enormous chunks or real estate to the usually-sleeping bears, to
the loss of other zoo residents.
Circling back towards the entrance of the zoo, visitors pass
through the Children’s Zoo, home to goats, pigs, alpacas, and other domestic
species.The area was originally
Australian in theme, and still maintains an exhibit of southern cassowary.Other bird exhibits scattered around the
Children’s Zoo include milky eagle owls, wattled cranes, and lappet-faced
vultures, the later possibly seen perched on their recreated zebra carcass, as
well as a few mixed-species habitats of small birds.Visitors interested in experiencing birds in
an entirely different manner can attend a free-flight show in a nearby amphitheater.It’s
an impressive show that highlights natural behaviors, exercises and enriches
the birds, and allows visitors to truly be awed by the speed, grace, and
intelligence of some amazing birds.
Geographically, the Zoo Atlanta campus isn’t very big, which
makes it all the more impressive how much they manage to put in there without
becoming overcrowded. Years ago there was some talk of moving to a newer, more spacious location, but nothing came of that. For its small size, it has some truly
impressive exhibits – the primates all coming clearly to mind – and highlights
many important (though sometimes unpleasant) conservation messages.And all of this from a zoo that was once
considered America’s worst.As I walked
out the gates of Zoo Atlanta, I reflected on how with the right commitment of
resources and the right leadership, any zoo or aquarium can turn around from a
local embarrassment to a world class facility dedicated to conservation and
education.
Early January is often a time of year for celebrating new beginnings. In the zoo community, there is no better story of a new beginning than its most famous Cinderella-story, Zoo Atlanta.
The oldest zoo in the American South, the Atlanta Zoo (as it
was then known) in Grant Park was founded with the animals from a bankrupt
circus, which were then donated to the city.Like many zoos, it enjoyed periods of success alternating with periods
of decline, until it became infamous for its antiquated, inadequate facilities
in the 1980’s.The Humane Society rated
it as one of America’s worst, and it was cited as a civic embarrassment.Fortunately for the zoo, the community
decided to rally around the embattled institution, and under new leadership its
rebirth was begun.Today, the rebranded
Zoo Atlanta is one of the most respected zoos in America, famed for its
commitment to great apes and its wellness-based animal care.
Improving a zoo isn’t a one-and-done project; it requires
constant commitment to keeping facilities upgraded and making better habitats
for the animals.Evidence of that can on
the zoo’s African Plains.Originally opened in 1989, the exhibit
underwent a recent renovation, with the newly improved, expanded elephant
habitat opening in 2019.The yard houses
a small herd of African elephants, who can wander among boulders, splash in
pools, snack from puzzle feeders, or bathe in the red Georgia soil which gives
them a somewhat distinctive color.The
adjacent elephant barn provides visitors with a behind-the-scenes look at how
zookeepers and vets care for the world’s largest land mammals, complimented by
interactive devices and video displays.I really admired the educational component of African Plains, which put visitors in the position of animal
caretakers or researchers, while encouraging them to consider the adaptations
of the animals and how they help those species survive in the wild.
Outside of the elephant barn, a new habitat for meerkats was
under construction during my recent visit (but should be open by now).The former elephant habitat, located nearby,
was being refitted for white rhinoceroses (which should also be ready by now)
and, like the new elephant habitat, features a barn that provides for viewing
of the animals when they are indoors, as well as insights on their care.Up the trail from the elephants, giraffes,
zebras, and ostriches occupy a grassy yard, which also features a giraffe
feeding station.Nearby, a pride of
lions sprawls across the rocks on the kopje which dominants their exhibit.Kori bustards and warthogs round out the African Plains experience.
No animal better exemplified the story of Zoo Atlanta’s
transformation than its famous silverback gorilla, Willie B.Willie B may have since passed away, but his
legacy can be seen in the Ford African
Rainforest.Over twenty gorillas
have been born here since its debut in 1988, some of them fathered by Willie B
himself.The gorillas can be viewed from
several vantage points, including from across moats and through the windows of
a viewing bunker.What appears to be one sprawling habitat,
resembling a forest clearing, is actually several, which allows of different
troops to be maintained.Sometimes,
males can be seen displaying to one another from across a hidden barrier, which
allows each male to feel like he is successfully defending his troop and
maintaining his territory.The habitats
are spacious and well-planted, with several climbing structures of wood and
rockwork scattered around to promote natural behavior.For many visitors, the most popular feature
is the bronze statue of Willie B, which is popular with photo ops.
I rated this as one of the best gorilla habitats I’ve ever
seen; I just wish that there had been some way to preserve (or recreate) Willie
B’s original tile-and-glass cage, perhaps complete with another life-size
statue and a flickering TV set for company, that visitors could enter.Then, they could truly understand how far Zoo
Atlanta, and zoos in general, have come in their approach to animal care.
Completing the Ford African
Rainforest is the Living Treehouse,
a walk-through aviary that features birds from rainforests across the
world.Pied-imperial pigeons,
hamerkops, scarlet ibises, and superb starlings are among the species flying
about.Visitors view the birds from an
elevated boardwalk; along the other side of the boardwalk is a mesh-enclosed
habitat for ring-tailed, black-and-white ruffed, and crowned lemurs.These were some of the best lemur exhibits
I’d ever seen, though I will say that the mesh made viewing a little difficult
at some points.Exiting through the tree
house, visitors find themselves in the Monkeys
of Makokou, where they can observe four species of African monkeys.Among these are drills, black-faced relatives
of the mandrills more commonly seen in zoos.As of now, Zoo Atlanta is the only zoo in the United States to house
these primates, though I had seen them before at other facilities that no
longer have them.The other monkeys
featured are Schmidt’s red-tailed monkeys, Wolf’s guenons, and an endearing
family of Angolan colobus monkeys, which had recently welcomed a baby at the
time of my last visit.
This photograph depicts an exhibit from the Bronx Zoo's Great Ape House back in the 1960's. It might have been the earliest use of this display that I've seen, but I've certainly come across many versions of it since. I've never actually seen one at a zoo, but I've heard about it from others, as well as having read a fictional account of one in Yann Martel's Life of Pi.
From the (human-caused) fires that have ravaged the Amazon and Australia, to the very real possibility of war between the US and Iran, to the countless acts of relatively minor malice and stupidity that confront us every day, this sign holds true a half-century later.
Still, if humans are the only species that can willfully imperil the survival of entire ecosystems, we are also the only one that can strive to save them. For every poacher, there is a conservationist. For every carelessly tossed match in the Outback, there is a firefighter, or a wildlife rehabilitator, or someone a world away who is willing to donate money they can't easily spare to help the rescue efforts. I see a lot of people get too self-satisfied on the "human = trash" train, as if they themselves weren't human, and they could just wash their hands of the whole mess.
The world does not need your despair, and it certainly doesn't want your smugness.
Range: Africa, Western Arabian Peninsula Habitat: Freshwater :ales. Wetlands, Flood Plains, Lagoons, Coastal Bays Diet: Primarily fish, some amphibians Social Grouping: Large Flocks, Colonial Breeders (up to 500 pairs) Reproduction: Breed year round, pairs forming shortly before nesting. Nest colonially in trees (which may be used for several years in a row, sometimes until the tree collapses) or on the ground. The nest is a heap of sticks. Lay 2-3 eggs, incubated and care for by both parents. Fledge at 10-12 weeks, independent at 3-4 months. Lifespan: 10 Years Conservation Status: IUCN Least Concern
Body length 125-155 centimeters. Wingspan 2.15-2.9 meters. Weight 407 kilograms. Bill 30-38 centimeters. One of the smaller pelican species
Plumage is greyish-white. The back has a pinkish hue (never achieving the deep pink coloration of flamingos). The upper portion of the bill is yellow, the pouch is gray
Primarily forage alone, but sometimes fish cooperatively in small groups. Fish are approached, then seized in the bill, the pouch scooping up a considerable amount of water along with the fish. The head is then tilted, allowing the pelican to swallow the fish while draining the water. The beak can hold approximately 8 liters (2 gallons) of water
The pouch is also used by parents to hold regurgitated fish for their young to feed out of
Typically only one chick will survive due to aggression from siblings, competition for food. Chicks may require food as often as 30 times a day in their first week of life.
Adults have few major predators. Chicks - especially those that have been forced out of their nest by siblings, may be predated by leopards, hyenas, jackals, monitor lizards, and various other predators
May be nomadic in response to changes in local water conditions around range, but do not migrate long distances. When flying, they travel in a slanted-line formation (taking turns who is in the lead) with their necks tucked in close to their bodies
Overall common, in decline in some areas due to habitat loss (such as dam construction and the drainage of wetlands) and disturbance of nesting sites, as well as pollution and toxins building up in food fishes
In one of my occasional forays into supervisory roles, I was giving a performance review to a newly-hired keeper. It was not a job that I'd been looking forward to. I hadn't been too impressed with her so far. Neither were her coworkers. Neither, as a matter of fact, were the animals.
That being said, it had taken a long time for us to hire anyone, so I wasn't about to run her off just yet, let alone begin the logistical nightmare of termination (an act I have performed exactly once in my career... and I still feel bad about it some days). Instead, I tried to make it a learning experience, where we went over various things she could try differently. There was time management, putting tools away, being more observant, all coupled with specific examples.
More as an afterthought, I suggested she monitor how she talked to the animals. To that one issue, she raised an objection.
"But all of the keepers talk to the animals. I've heard you talk to them plenty of times."
I winced, slightly. "Yes... but not like you do."
Our tender-hearted yet slightly clueless newbie spoke to each animal with a super-high-pitched baby talk, the sort that would have made five-year-old me cringe with embarrassment. Lots of "Who's a cutie-patootie-agouti-booty?" or "Has you had a nice day, snuggly-wuggly?" Honestly, I'm grimacing now as I type that out.
I once watched her get on hands and knees in front of our jaguar and give a monologue that was basically three minutes of incomprehensible squealing. The jaguar - I kid you not - looked me in the eye and for that moment I felt like I could read her thoughts: "I am the beast that they call jaguar, 'She Who Kills With One Leap,' greatest cat in the Americas, and fiercest predator in the Amazon. I will not be spoken to in this way. Please remove this blithering idiot, my subject."
Granted, the baby talk was a minor complaint, one that mostly irked the other keepers (in part because she spent more time baby-talking than she did cleaning). The animals (jaguar excluded) didn't seem to know that they were being spoken to as infants, though I suspect that they did pick up on the fact that her efforts to communicate with them were slightly different than ours. One thing that I did object to was the possibility that visitors could hear her. I didn't like the idea of them getting the message that the animals were babies or pets, which might encourage them to do things that they would later regret, such as crossing the barriers.
To her credit, yes, I do talk to the zoo animals, mostly when visitors are not around. My chats are more along the lines of thinking aloud, narrating my observations and actions, ("Alright, now if you'll just shift over, I can clean in there"), but sometimes they are more conversational. I try to speak to the animals as if they were human adult coworkers, not pets. As such, I try to be polite and professional... though there was one macaw who I told "You are such an asshole" to so many times that I am still amazed that he never started to repeat it (again, not too different from talking with some of my coworkers).
Some keepers treat their animals like therapists, telling them their secrets and feelings. Some treat them like colleagues. Some treat them as extensions of their own inner monologues. And yes, some treat them as babies.
My wayward keeper didn't make it six months at the zoo. It turns out that she liked the idea of animals, as cute playthings, but not the reality, in which they were complex beings who generated a lot of work, much of which was dirty. It took several months to hire a replacement, thanks to the powers of the great bureaucracy. I can't say I minded too much. Yes, we all had to pick up a few extra shifts, but boy, it was at least quieter
Walking around the zoo on a busy day (which, being the beginning of January, this is most definitely not), you'd think a lot of our visitors were familiar with Prelutsky and his poem. Walk by the monkeys or apes, and you are sure to hear a chorus of "Ooo ooo aaahs," all coming from the public side of the barrier. You may see people growl at the big cats or bears, or hoot at the owls. I seldom hear people try to make an elephant noise, but that's fair enough, because those are hard to make.
The giraffe exhibit, blissfully, is generally silent.
One of the first things that we typically learn as kids are the sounds that animals make. Looking back at this, I have no idea why this should be the case. Many children don't meet a pig or sheep until their first visit to a zoo, so why is it so ingrained our minds that they have to learn how to "oink" or "baa"? To take a page from one of my favorite fiction authors, where a character spends every night reading his son's favorite picture book, "That's Not My Cow,"
"But is this a book for a city kid? When would he ever hear these noises? In the city, the only sound those animals would make as 'sizzle.' But the nursery was full of the conspiracy, with bah-lambs and teddy bears and fluffy ducklings everywhere he looked."
- Thud! Terry Pratchett
Sensible or not, from an early age we are taught to talk to the animals, and it makes sense that we want them to talk back. Visitors try so hard to get a vocal response out of animals. The problem is, most of us stink at it. The wolves in the zoo know that your howl is not another wolf, so they would just as soon you stop trying. Ironically, they seem very keen on responding to the sirens of police cars and fire engines and ambulances rolling by outside the gates.
Perhaps because they aren't exposed to nearly as many human mockingbirds as their zoo-born counterparts, I've found wild animals to be slightly more gullible when it comes to responding to and falling for human voice actors. I once called in a wild barred owl while camping one night, luring it in with my weak rendition of "Who cooks for you, who cooks for you all?" And on safari in East Africa, I once stopped a spotted hyena dead in its tracks with a passable imitation of its whoop and chortle. Granted, it only stopped long enough to give me a glare that was equal parts puzzled and withering before loping back off into the savannah, but it did stop.
One special memory I have of zoo animals and humans talking came from watching an animal ambassador kookaburra do a meet-and-greet with a crowd of children. The kids were encouraged to laugh, which is generally easy to do for small kids (just mention the words "fart" or "poopy pants"). When they began to giggle, the kookaburra replied, belting out wild peals of crazed laughter. This inspired the children to laugh louder, and the kookaburra replied in kind.
For that moment, at least, a connect was forged. The kookaburra and the kids had a bond, and those children, I'm sure, would always remember laughing with the bird at the zoo.
Many people take a superstitious view for the New Year, hoping that whatever bad luck they had in the previous year is left behind on December 31st, while January 1st brings better things. Others resolve to make their own luck; New Year's Day is typically when people lay out resolutions to make themselves a better person for the following year.
I have been known to put too much stock into getting a new year off on the right foot. In 2018, half-an-hour into the new year, I remember thinking, "Well, that's it, this year is shot already."
If anyone is sharing that viewpoint this year, it's doubtlessly the keepers of the Germany's Krefeld Zoo, where a devastating fire (believed to have been caused by fire lanterns from a nearby celebration) burned down the primate house, killing many beloved animals (a tragedy eerily reminiscent of the Philadelphia Zoo's Christmas Eve Primate House fire several years ago). The anguish that they must be feeling now is unspeakable, and I feel devastated for them. I'm sure that they are already heartily sick of 2020, if they've even had a chance to breathe and notice what year it is now.
On the other side of the globe, the keepers of the Mogo Wildlife Park in Australia are breathing a cautious sigh of relief as fierce wildfires bypassed their own zoo, missing them by a hair. So fearful were they of the flames that the zoo director loaded up some of the smaller animals, including monkeys and red pandas, and drove them to his house for safety. Even though the zoo was spared, the surrounding wild animals weren't - the death toll on native wildlife must be extraordinary. Still, for the keepers who stood to lose all of their animals, their relief must be palpable.
Zoo and aquarium staff are always walking a line between disaster and miracle, and the balance can go either way. Things can change in a matter of seconds... whether it's the middle of the typical workweek, or minutes until midnight on New Year's Eve. The date on the calendar is meaningless... which, in a sense, means that there's nothing special about January 1st. Any day can be the start of a new year. Things can always get better. And for the keepers at Krefeld Zoo, I sure hope they do...
