What's That Smell?

Man, the truth can get pretty ugly when you corner it... though to be honest, if I was doing what the keeper in the photo below was doing, I think my smell would be my significant other's least concern.  The fact that my face had been peeled off would probably be the bigger turn-off.

My Girlfriend's A Zookeeper And She Absolutely Stinks of Animals - I Don't Know How To Tell Her, But It's Grim

Bathroom Break

It wouldn't be hurricane season without #birdsinbathrooms.  Florida's zoos and aquariums are hurrying to keep their birds safe from Hurricane Ian, and one tried-and-true housing option for your larger birds is to put them in public bathrooms.  Good luck to our colleagues down south as they ride out what looks like a pretty brutal storm.  Here's some footage from St. Augustine Alligator Farm getting their larger birds tucked away from the worst of the weather.

The Bird Inspector

Parrots are among the most intelligent and behaviorally complex of birds, and right up there alongside primates in the intensity of the care that they require, in my book, anyway.  Unlike primates - and other mammals - however, their care is not especially regulated by the federal government.  All of that may be about to change.

For years, the US Department of Agriculture has said that their inspection office would be expanding its purview from just mammals to cover birds as well.  Most of us never believed that it would happen.  USDA was stretched thin enough as it was, and I went years without seeing our inspector, as far back as she was in her caseload.  The last two years of the COVID pandemic didn't help either, of course.  Now, it looks like things are changing.  USDA has announced that they will start inspecting bird care at licensed facilities as well.  For many zoos and aquariums, this will dramatically increase the number of animals, enclosures, and paperwork that is subject to inspection.  For a facility like the National Aviary, which currently has a tiny number of mammals, previously inspected by USDA, it will be an enormous change.  Other facilities which have birds but no mammals will be inspected for the first time.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote, "The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.," and here's my stab at that.  

1.) This is a good thing.  This will lead to increased standards of bird care - maybe it won't make much of a difference at good zoos which are already providing excellent bird care, but it will force facilities which are not doing right by their birds to either improve their practices or phase those species out.  For too long, birds have been considered "lesser" animals in the eyes of regulating authorities.  USDA requires regular enrichment for primates, and proof of its implementation.  Why should parrots be any different?

2.) This is also going to be a huge pain in the butt.  I don't think that a lot of inspectors are well-versed in the care of exotic or wild mammals, let alone birds.  I've had many frustrating exchanges with USDA inspectors who don't know what "normal" is for an animal, and as such are unable to determine if something is appropriate/adequate or not.  Besides, birds are such an amazingly diverse group of species, from hummingbirds to ostriches, penguins to falcons.  Even within the individual orders - parrots, waterfowl, raptors, etc - there is a lot of variation in lifestyle and requirements.  Coming up with standards of care for so many species with different needs will be a daunting challenge.  Regulating them will be even more so.   Is USDA really up to the task of doing this properly?  Or is this just going to add another level of bureaucratic red tape to the already complicated business of running a zoo or aquarium? 

Time will tell.  At the moment, I have noticed that our bird staff doesn't seem too concerned.  They're heard that USDA was going to start inspecting birds for years now.  At this point, I don't think they'll actually believe it until the first inspectors come in.

Pets and Pollys

Whenever I read up on a species of parrot, doing some research either for work or for this blog, there's usually a decent amount of mention of how suitable it is as a pet.  There is no other group of birds - raptors, waterfowl, pheasants - where the consensus seems to be that, if you're bothering to look it up online, you either have one as a pet or are looking to get one.  And, to be fair, almost (not all, but almost) every species of parrot I can think of is represented in the pet trade.  Those that aren't are often the most endangered, most stringently protected species - species which are, in many cases, primarily endangered because of the pet trade.

The defining factor for whether or not a parrot makes a good pet (besides its legality) seems to be how well it tolerates people.  Some parrots, such as rosellas, are very flighty, best suited to being kept in an aviary rather than in close proximity to people.  Others, like the hawk-headed parrot, can be somewhat surly and aggressive.  That said, there are a lot of parrots that I see (often as surrenders) pets that I really question the wisdom of keeping.  The large cockatoos come to mind readily.  I'm pretty sure they guard the gates of hell.  Every time one screams, I can feel the blood vessels in my head exploding one by one.  Their beaks are a sadistic cross between a nutcracker and a set of hedge clippers, wielded with malicious glee.  They have all of the respect for personal boundaries of a toddler who's just swallowed its body weight in sugar.  They are as emotionally-stable as a Jenga set in a hurricane.  In other words, they are not to be trifled with.  And yet some people insist that they make great pets and bring them into their homes.

It isn't just the people who can suffer from living in these associations - parrots, more often than not, are the ones who come off worse.  They are often kept in unsuitable enclosures and fed unsuitable diets, without enough opportunities for exercise and socialization.   Parrots are capable of living for decades, and can be surprisingly forgiving of all but the shabbiest of care.  But they may not thrive under such circumstances.

I wouldn't go so far as to call for a ban on parrot ownership - but I would like to envision a dramatic reimagining of how people keep parrots.  They should be kept in appropriate social groups (the definition of which does vary from species to species) in enclosures large enough to allow flight, or at least with regular access to opportunities for flight.  

Zoos have two responsibilities towards the goal of promoting parrot welfare.  First, their educational materials should be clear about the negative role that the pet trade can have on parrots, both in endangering wild species and in providing compromised welfare for captive birds.  Secondly, their facilities and presentations should highlight optimal welfare for parrots under their care, be they exhibit/breeding birds or educational ambassadors.  The facilities and care practices at the zoo should demonstrate best practices in parrot care for the public, providing a model of what care for these birds should look like for anyone who chooses to go down the road towards sharing their home with a macaw, cockatoo, or other psittacine.

Species Fact Profile: Hawk-Headed Parrot (Deroptyus accipitrinus)

                Hawk-Headed Parrot (Red-Fan Parrot)

                          Deroptyus accipitrinus (Linnaeus, 1758)

Range: Northern and central South America, east of the Andes

Habitat:  Lowland Rainforest, Tropical Savannah

Diet: Leaves, Buds, Fruits, Seeds, Pollen, some Insects  

Social Grouping: Pairs or Small Flocks (usually about 4, but up to 20)

Reproduction: Monogamous, possibly for life.  Breeding season varies across range, but primarily from December through February, nesting January through March.  Lay 2-4 ovate/elliptical eggs (3.6 x 2.6 centimeters) in a tree cavity, incubated for 25-26 days.  Often use the same cavity for several years in a row.  Very few nests have been observed in wild, both with only 1 chick.  Female sits on eggs while male forages. Chicks are blind and helpless at time of hatching.  Fledge at 9-10 weeks, independent shortly after.  Both parents care for the young.  Sexually mature at 4-7 years old.

Lifespan: 30 Years

      Conservation Status: IUCN Least Concern, CITES Appendix II

•       Body length 35 centimeters, weight 190-280 grams.  
•          Sexes look alike.  Upper parts, lower underparts, and wings are green.  Bare black patch around the brown (juvenile) or yellow (adult) eyes.  The breast and abdomen are dark red, scalloped with blue.  The head may be cream colored or brown with some streaking.  Underside of tail feathers black.  Sometimes there is a red spot under the base of the tail
•       The feathers at the back of the neck are long and red, tipped with blue. When angry, agitated, or otherwise excited, the feathers at the back of the neck will stand erect, making the parrot look larger and more threatening, usually accompanied by swaying from side to side and vocalizing.  This is the source of the other common name for this species, the red-fan parrot
•       Will enter farms and plantations to eat guava and other crops.  Primarily forage in the canopy
•       Two subspecies – nominate, or blue-crowned (north of the Amazon) and D. a. fuscifrons (south of the Amazon, sometimes called the Brazilian), differing in coloration of forehead and crown and the base of the tail (nominate has white crown and maroon band at base of tail, fuscifrons has a brownish head and no maroon on the tail).
•       Primary threat is deforestation (have some tolerance for disturbed habitats), coupled with some capture for the pet trade (tendency to roost alone or in small groups makes them more difficult, less worthwhile to trap than many species).  Not particularly common in pet trade, primarily due to aggressive nature, both towards humans and other parrots (becoming less predictable and more antisocial as they mature), but sometimes kept as an aviary bird
•       Reported tendency for males to try to kill chicks in pet trade, so chicks often handreared

Not a Pet Rock

There were a lot of exhibits that I enjoyed at Aquarium of the Pacific, but the hellbender exhibit was a special treat for me.  I've seen this species in many zoos - it's easily one of the most commonly kept salamander species these days.  I'd just never seen one active before.  Usually, all you see is an amorphous green-brown mottled blob protruding out from under a rock - which, to be fair, has also been representative of all of my encounters with this species in the wild.  To see one swimming was very cool.

Part of it, I'm sure, was just luck - me happening to be at the exhibit at the right time.  Even more importantly, though, may have been the animals having an exhibit that actually lets them move and be active.  There's a certain set of animals - most invertebrates, fish, and herps, but also some mammals (like sloths) and birds (like frogmouths) which are pretty inactive by nature.  As a result, they are often given enclosures that don't really provide opportunities for animals to be as active as they might be.  It makes it all the more impressive when those animals do come out and get moving.

Maybe it's because visitors are so used to these animals being inactive, to the point where some refuse to believe that they are even real/live, that when they are doing something, even something as mundane as crossing their enclosure to have a drink of water, it can draw quite a crowd.  I've seen sloth exhibits with crowds four or five people deep when a sloth is climbing through the branches.  At Zoo Atlanta's reptile house, I stood transfixed watching an alligator snapping turtle swim along the underwater viewing window - I'd seen them in dozens of zoos before, but never saw one swim.  I had the same reaction to watching a tawny frogmouth, a bird that spends most of its life pretending to be a branch, grow irritated at other birds in its aviary and swoop down and fly across the aviary.

Most animals, including (or even) the "dullards" are a lot more active and complex that we may give them credit for being.  Many can survive in a smaller, less developed habitat and not show any outward signs of distress or discomfort - no pacing or other stereotypic behaviors.  But they won't be able to show and express the full natural range of their behaviors.  And we won't know what we're missing unless we give them more room to roam.

  

A Gibbon and His Otter

Mixed species exhibits can be a tricky thing.  They have a lot of benefits to offer, for sure - more efficient use of space, larger and more complex habitats, and providing a more educational and interesting experience for the zoo-goer.  There always remains the potential, however, of something going wrong, be it as seemingly minor as animals snacking on each other's diets to the worst case scenario of actual conflict and violence.  The best you can usually hope for, in my experience, is two species that share the same space and generally ignore one another.

Every once in a while, however, you get a moment like this, recently shared by Chicago's Brookfield Zoo:

 

The Superb Sea Otter

For reasons that I never understood, visitors to pretty much every zoo I've ever worked at or even visited have always insisted that the otters are sea otters.  Never mind if the animals in question are the North American river otters which are among the most common of zoo mammals, or Asian small-clawed otters, which aren't much bigger than guinea pigs, or the far-less commonly displayed giant otters.  It's always "come look at the sea otters!"  No idea why.  When you see a sea otter for the first time in real life, you know it's something different.

Sea otters are huge, massive compared to North American river otters, even more so compared to the small-claws.  Their fur is luxurious and shaggy, their whiskers long and prominent.  Their feet have a ore than passing resemblance to flippers.  Whereas river otters are very much terrestrial animals which have evolved for a more aquatic lifestyle, sea otters are very plainly marine mammals.

Since their unmistakable from other otters when you see them in the flesh (or fur), I can only assume that most visitors who call river otters sea otters never saw one.  Which is reasonable - they're fairly uncommon in zoos and aquariums... though not nearly as uncommon as they once wore.  The species was once considered impossible to keep alive under human care, both due to its need for clean, cold water and its seemingly insatiable appetite for expensive, high quality seafood.  As is the case with many species in zoos and aquariums, enormous progress has been made in the management of these animals.  You can now find them in a number of facilities across the world, some in the US that are pretty far removed from the northern Pacific coastlines where they live, such as the Georgia Aquarium, Minnesota Zoo, and Pittsburgh Zoo and PPG Aquarium.

Of course, part of the reason that the numbers of sea otters in zoos and aquariums are increasing is that the numbers of sea otters in the wild are increasing.  The species, once hunted almost to the edge of extinction for its incredibly soft, warm fur, has rebounded and is now a common sight along much of the Pacific coast.  As a result, there has also been an increase in the number of orphaned or abandoned pups found every year.  Many of these youngsters are unable to be reintroduced back into the wild, and these are the animals that you see in zoos and aquariums.  There is no breeding of sea otters in American zoos and aquariums so as to ensure that there is sufficient space to take in rescued animals.  Even with the increased number of holders, there still is need for more space to take in non-releasable otter pups.

Photo Credit: Monterey Bay Aquarium

The feel-good science behind sea otter surrogacy

In recent years, the Monterey Bay Aquarium has spearheaded an effort to take some of the rescued pups which are found every year and return them to the wild.  The program, launched in 2002, takes lost or orphaned youngsters and pairs them with wild-born adult sea otters living at the aquarium, who teach the youngsters how to swim, forage, feed, and, most importantly, maintain their fur coat, which is essential for keeping otters warm and dry in the cold waters (unlike seals, sea lions, and dolphins, sea otters don't have blubber).  When the pups are deemed ready, they are reintroduced into the nearby waters of Elkhorn Slough to resume their lives in the wild.  Recently, the Aquarium of the Pacific has also joined the sea otter surrogacy program with a new facility on their campus.  Surrogacy is work that takes place off-exhibit to help limit the exposure of the animals to people, but it is some of the most important work that the aquariums do.

Sea otter surrogacy and reintroduction does more than give individual otters another shot at life in the wild.  It can help change the face of their ecosystems.  Sea otters are now recognized as keystone species, which play an outsized impact of their kelp forest environment.  They are the most important predators of sea urchins, which, left to their own devices, multiply out of control and mow down the kelp forests, depriving other species of food and habitat.  By controlling the number of urchins, otters help maintain healthy kelp forests which support a tremendous variety of marine life.

In saving sea otters, aquariums can do their part to maintain diverse, thriving ecosystems along the Pacific coast.

Photo Credit: Monterey Bay Aquarium

Zoo Review: Aquarium of the Pacific, Part II

Continuing onto the second floor of the Aquarium of the Pacific, visitors are given the option of which gallery to explore first - the Northern Pacific Gallery, or the Tropical Pacific Gallery.

While coral reefs and tropical fish are popular staples of aquariums, many of the most charismatic species in the aquarium can be found in the Northern Pacific Gallery.  Foremost among these are the sea otters, which have a beautiful, lengthy enclosure with rows of seating to accommodate views of the animals.  Like Monterey Bay Aquarium, Aquarium of the Pacific takes part in a sea otter surrogacy program, though the otters are not naturally found this far down the coast.  Another popular exhibit showcases tufted puffins, common murres, and crested auklets in a pool backed by a rocky cliff, which the birds use for nesting and perching.  Giant Pacific octopus and Japanese spider crabs are among the other impressive residents of this cold-water gallery, as well as jellies and anemones.

The tropics are best represented by one large reef habitat, bisected by a tunnel, which houses two species of sea turtle (including my first ever olive ridley turtle) in the aquarium's largest tank, 350,000 gallons (though it doesn't look as massive as the Blue Cavern at the aquarium's entrance.  Smaller tanks around the edge of the gallery feature sea horses (and their bizarre relatives, the sea dragons) and other smaller, more fragile species which cannot be managed effectively in the big tank.  

Tucked between the northern and tropical galleries is a small collection of amphibians, Frogs: Dazzling and Disappearing.  It's an attractive set of small habitats representing amphibians from around the world and is one of the aquarium's few breaks from its Pacific theme.  I wasn't entirely sure if this is a permanent display or a traveling one.  The collection wasn't too unique in terms of new species I hadn't seen before, but I must commend the quality of some of the enclosures, especially the hellbender display, which was much larger and better furnished than what I often see for this usually immobile species (perhaps a coincidence, this is the only exhibit in which I've seen a hellbender actually swim).

The newest addition to Aquarium of the Pacific is one of its more unique aspects - in part because it has almost no animals.  This is Pacific Visions.  After two trips through it, I'm still no entirely sure what to make of it.  It included a 4D theater, an art gallery, and a series of displays about lessening our environmental impact, both individually and as a society.  From outside the aquarium it is certainly the most striking feature, an enormous oblong structure of blue glass panels, gleaming in the California sun.  I liked the conservation messaging and the focus on some non-living displays - but I wonder how many visitors may cut this section out of their visit because there really weren't animals to see (I will admit I spent less time here than in other areas for that reason).  If everything were being done over again, I wonder if it might have been more effective to intersperse these elements among the rest of the aquarium exhibits, or if this is, in fact, the best way to curate this section.

Aquarium of the Pacific could be said, in some senses, to be in Monterey Bay Aquarium's perpetual shadow.  It's true, its more famous colleague does have a more striking signature exhibit (Kelp Forest) and the scenery is even more spectacular (though I suspect some laypersons may favor AoP for it's inclusion of seals and other aquarium favorites absent from Monterey).   Having visited both in the space of a few months, I found the two to be complimentary, not competing.  Monterey gives an in depth view of the surrounding ecosystems, while Long Beach puts it in a more global perspective.  Both are excellent facilities making important contributions to marine conservation, and I'd love to pay another visit to each of them.   

Zoo Review: Aquarium of the Pacific, Part I

To my immense surprise, Los Angeles, California - second largest city in the US, after New York - doesn't have an aquarium.  Shocking, I know.  Fans of fishes, however, don't have to travel far from Hollywood to see a spectacular collection of aquatic animals.  A relatively short drive away in the nearby city of Long Beach stands the beautiful Aquarium of the Pacific.  Opened in 1998, this is one of several "newish" aquariums which opened in the late twentieth centuries to draw visitors to downtown waterfronts.  In this case, the location hardly needs an additional draw.  The aquarium overlooks Long Beach's beautiful harbor, home to the famous ship Queen Mary, along Shoreline Village.

As the name would suggest, the aquarium is (mostly) focused on the life of the world's largest ocean, offering it a far broader palette of species and habitats to draw from than the two more-geographically-focused California aquariums reviewed recently, Aquarium of the Bay and Monterey Bay Aquarium.  Aquarium of the Pacific may lack Monterey's fish-cannery charm, but it has its own aesthetic - sleek and modern looking, inside and out.  The first thing most visitors will notice upon entering the atrium is the enormous, life-sized model of a blue whale suspended from the ceiling.  The whale looks out over the aquarium's signature habitat, the 140,000 gallon, 3-story Honda Blue Cavern.  The graceful, beautiful leopard sharks and enormous giant sea bass (a critically endangered species which this aquarium was the first to breed) are the most readily seen residents of this tank, which depicts the sealife off the Catalina Island coast.  Nearby displays feature additional residents of southern California's coastal waters, including a kelp forest habitat and a series of smaller tanks.

One of the most popular exhibits of California wildlife is the enclosure for two species of pinnipeds - California sea lions and harbor seals - which swim over the heads of visitors as they pass through a tunnel through their habitat.  Immediately outside, guests trade the underwater view of the marine mammals for an eye-to-eye above water view, perhaps from a small amphitheater from which they can watch training demonstrations.  

The outdoor courtyard that houses the seals and sea lions also features a ray touch pool (an almost obligatory feature of any aquarium these days), as well as a small pool for young bamboo sharks and a very interesting, multi-tank set up for steelhead trout.  Larger sharks - zebra shark, sand tiger shark, blacktip reef shark, gray reef shark - as well as a sea turtle and stingrays occupy Shark Lagoon and can be viewed above or below the surface of the water.  At most aquariums, the shark exhibit is the signature display - it was a little odd seeing this one (admittedly one of the less impressive of the aquarium's habitats) tucked away in a forgotten corner of the campus.  Another strange feature was that this shark tank is outside - one of only two that I can remember seeing, though there may be more that I'm not familiar with.  I imagine maintaining sharks in a large, open-top outdoor habitat poses some challenges, be it from the weather (does heavy rain mess up the salinity?) to native wildlife (to ducks every land in the pool?).  I was at the aquarium for an evening event, and I will say, the biggest impression that I had of the exhibit was standing a slight distance back from the underwater viewing and watching the sharks silently cruise by beneath a full moon.

The courtyard also holds Lorikeet Forest, a very large walk-through feeding aviary for rainbow lorikeets.  Lorikeets are found in New Guinea and other islands of the South Pacific, so I guess they don't not fit, but it still seemed like a shoe-horned exhibit.  I might have been more interested if they'd made it a more general "Birds of the Pacific Islands" aviary... or done pretty much anything else with at least some of the large space that they devoted to this, which could have been any other outdoor attraction (this is one of the few major aquariums I've been to without a single species of crocodilian, for example - saltwater crocs?).  

Up the path is a habitat for a modest colony of Magellanic penguins from South America's Pacific Coast (though I think of them more often as the penguin of South America's Atlantic Coast).  It's a decent enough habitat with above and below water viewing, if lacking the panache and grandeur of some of the newer penguin exhibits such as those of Baltimore and San Diego.  I was more interested in the shorebird aviary nearby, which contained a diverse and interesting collection of ducks, shorebirds, and the only grebe I've ever seen in an aquarium, sharing their habitat with coastal fish.

A nearby set of doors leads into the second floor of the aquarium, and it is there that we will pick up tomorrow...

Aquarium of the Pacific

The Well-Dressed Jackass

They say that a person should never meet their heroes.  I sometimes feel like a similar caveat should exist about meeting your favorite animals - at least, if you aren't prepared to have some illusions shattered.  Few animals behave as we might be lead to imagine they will through popular culture.  I feel like this is especially true about animals that we might think of as sweet or friendly.  

Sloths don't especially enjoy being cuddled, in my experience, and there are few displays that are as simultaneously unnerving as they are ineffective as an irate sloth swiping at you with its claws.  Koalas also don't enjoy cuddles very much and are more than happy to leave the scars to prove it.  More than a few keepers may been mauled by giant pandas over the years (well, ok, it actually only has been a few... but when you consider how few zoos have giant pandas, the numbers look more impressive).

One group of animals which, in my experience, is definitely not as friendly as advertised are the penguins.  They look so silly and sweet with their awkward waddle and their formal-attire feathers.  Don't be fooled.  I'm convinced that the reason that the warm-weather penguins are called the "jackass penguins" has less to do with their vocalizations and everything to do with their personalities.

Penguins bite, and their beaks are amazingly unpleasant, even discounting all of the raw fish juice that you know is on them.  They'll slap you (well, from the knees down) with their flippers with surprising strength.   When they aren't picking fights with you, they're happy to bicker with each other in a loud, braying, squabbling mass.  True, they do have their admirable qualities, and pairs can be quite affectionate.  I guess it's a "You and me against the world" mentality.

A penguin keeper I knew had constant cuts - some scarified - from her wrists to her elbows, the result of years worth of meddling in the affairs of pugnacious little seabirds.  One summer afternoon, when she was wearing short-sleeves on her day off, she stopped off at a gas station and went in to get a coke or something.  The cashier saw her arms, criss-crossed with red lines, and tried to talk to her about getting professional help.  After a few confused minutes, the keeper (again, on a day off and so out of uniform) realized that the cashier thought that she'd been cutting herself.

"Oh, no, don't worry," she explained cheerfully.  "It's not me doing it.  It's the penguins."  The cashier looked at her like she was crazy, gave her back her change, and backed away.

"Great," thought my friend as she recalled this story to us later.  "Now they probably think I'm a cutter and a psycho.  That's one more place I can never go back to..."

Book Review: The Brilliant Abyss: Exploring the Majestic Hidden Life of the Deep Ocean

"... at the heart of deep-sea biology lies the ambition to understand how life is possible, how species survive and ecosystems flourish under extreme conditions.  Naming new and ever-strange life-forms is just the beginning of the story."

A few years ago, I reviewed Poseidon's Steed: The Story of Seahorses, From Myth to Reality by Dr. Helen Scales.  It's one of my favorite popular books on the subject of marine biology, telling the story of some of the ocean's most unbelievably enchanting inhabitants.  And so, when I saw another book by her on surreal sea creatures, I knew I had to give it a read.  The Brilliant Abyss: Exploring the Majestic Hidden Life of the Deep Ocean, and the Looming Threat That Imperils It takes readers to the furthest reaches of the seafloor.  Unlike the instantly recognizable, highly charismatic seahorses, however, in this book Scales' introduces us to a host of creatures that few of us have ever even heard of, let alone seen.

The book could roughly be divided into two parts, as shown by the subtitle.  In the first, Dr. Scales performs an overview of the life of the deep ocean, including the interesting history of how we first began to explore this most remote and inhospitable of ecosystems.  For most of our history, it was largely assumed that the vast stretches of the deep ocean floor were as desolate as the surface of the moon, and about as lifeless.  Now, we know that the ocean floor is home to an amazing diversity of species, whether scavenging whale carcasses and marine snow on the abysmal plains, lurking in canyons and crevices, or huddled upon seamounts.  Most of this is life that we are not able to observe directly - it's too difficult and dangerous for us to go to their depths - so they are studied remotely.  We're given the impression that for every faint glimpse we're given of life in the deep via a camera or a submersible, there are entire vistas that we are missing out on.

The second part of the subtitle refers to the looming threat that imperils the sea.  Spoiler alert - it's us.  Through overfishing (including dredging the seafloor), pollution, and the effects of climate change, we're managing to destroy a world that most of us can't even imagine exists.  It's hard for many people to believe that we can have such a big impact on a landscape that we'll never see and know so little about.  It's even harder for other people to imagine that we should care.  To them, however, Dr. Scales offers a lesson in how much the deep sea impacts the surface world, and how our survival as a species may be influenced by the underwater world.

I'll admit that I had a harder time getting in The Brilliant Abyss than I did Poseidon's Steed.  It was largely due to the subject matter.  Seahorses are just a much easier topic to focus on, a single group of fish verses the enormous diversity of the deep ocean.  They're much more relatable - half the creatures mentioned in Brilliant Abyss don't even have faces - and everyone loves them.  They have a long history of association with us - in art, religion, folklore, literature, and as aquarium specimens (I wish that Dr. Scales had dived a little deeper (pun intended) into the myths and legends of the ocean's depths to help remind her readers about what a hold this realm has had on our imagination).  Their conservation plight is much more readily apparent, with pictures of dried seahorses stretched out for sale in a market.  And we've all seen them.  Seahorses are a staple of public aquariums.  Most of the species of the abyss are out of sight, out of mind, which makes the peril they face that much easier for us to overlook.

But that, Dr. Scales reminds us, is exactly the danger.

The Brilliant Abyss: Exploring the Majestic Hidden Life of the Deep Ocean, and the Looming Threat That Imperils It at Amazon.com

Life at the Raw Bar

Some animals, it must be said, are cheaper dates than others.  This may be due to the frequency of what they eat (multiple times a day versus, say, every few weeks), how much they eat in one meal, and the cost of what they eat.  Put all those factors together, and there aren't many animals that rack up a higher dinner tab that sea otters... but darn it, they're just so fun to watch eat.  Enjoy this video clip from Oregon Zoo, where a hungry otter shucks some oysters and shows off some natural behaviors in the process.

The Purse Exhibit

London Zoo Places Handbag in Crocodile Exhibit to Make an Excellent Point 

It's an interesting exhibit and education technique, though I worry that it may be a bit oversimplified.  A lot of the leather used for crocodile-skin purses and boots comes from farmed animals - which isn't to say that there aren't conservation concerns there.  The major threat to Siamese crocodiles and other Southeast Asian species is loss of habitat.  Few of us are buying crocodile products these days.  All of us are, in some way or another, contributing to deforestation - and that's a much harder conversation to have than purse=bad.

These Boots Were Made for Waddling

 A San Diego Zoo penguin struggled with bumblefoot, but his new boots help him thrive

Bumblefoot is one of the more common veterinary concerns seen in a variety of birds in zoos.  For flying birds, such as raptors, prevention largely comes down to the quality and variety of the perching made available.  But what do you do when it's a bird that spends more time on the ground... say, an African penguin?.  Using special footwear to protect the feet is an solution, as the San Diego Zoo demonstrates with their handsome bird Lucas.

Dirty Jobs

I made a career-long pledge to never be embarrassed about the dirty parts of the job - and believe me, there have been some dirty parts.  I've gotten spider monkey poop in my hair, bear poop down the back of my shirt (don't ask), bird poop in my mouth, and those are just some of the poop stories.  I won't even get in pee, blood, vomit, and the revolting, vomit-inducing mess that is Nebraska Bird of Prey diet mixed with diced capelin after it's been sitting out overnight during a rainstorm in 80 degree weather.  I'll take the poop over that any day.  Though for reasons I've never been able to describe, it's always the human bio-waste which nauseates me the most.

The work of a keeper can be downright disgusting - though I think there's a psychological component as well.  I've definitely had occasions when I've gone to meet people straight after work and they've gagged and gasped and pretended they could smell poop - when I had been doing paperwork all day.

Still, I never really minded the gross parts.  To me, doing the dirty work is our admission ticket, the price that we pay for getting to spend our lives with amazing animals.  And after all, it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

Also, it would probably break some biosecurity rules, but I think any zookeeper who actually brought a bin of poop to a school career day would make those kids' days, and be remembered for years to come... though perhaps not earning an invite to come again for next year.

Species Fact Profile: Chestnut-Breasted Malkoha (Phaenicophaeus curvirostris)

                                            Chestnut-Breasted Malkoha

Phaenicophaeus curvirostris (Shaw, 1810)

Range: Southeast Asia, Philippines, Indonesia

Habitat:  Tropical Lowland Rainforest, Mangrove Forest

Diet: Small Vertebrates (Lizards, Frogs), Insects, Crabs  

Social Grouping: Pairs

Reproduction: Unlike other members of the cuckoo family, this species builds its own nests and raises its own young.  Breeding season varies across range.  Both parents build a cup-shaped nest of twigs and leaves and incubate the 2-3 eggs for two weeks.  Young cared for by both parents, fledge at 11 days.

Conservation Status: IUCN Least Concern

•       Body length 42-49 centimeters.  Large, curved beak has a pale upper mandible and dark lower one.  There is a bare patch of red skin around the eye.  Head is grey, wings are dark green, fading to a light blue with age.  The underparts and rump are chestnut color.  Both sexes look alike, though the male has blue eyes while those of the female are yellow
•       Six subspecies recognized from across range.  Nominate is from Java, where the species was first described
•       Genus name translates from the ancient Greek for "red face," the species name from the Latin for "curved beak"
•       Population appears to be stable, though may decline due to loss of habitat from deforestation

Fly Away

I was off-grounds when the excitement all happened.  When I got back to the Zoo from running errands, I was told I'd missed an escape.  It had already been resolved, the animal back in its enclosure.  Now, despite the fact that movies and TV might give the impression that zoos only exist to allow animals to escape from them, serving as a plot device (or for people to fall into exhibits), these occurrences are pretty uncommon.  So, with some curiosity, I went to the keeper involved and asked what I'd missed.

From her expression and response, I gathered that I was not the first or second... or twentieth... person that she'd had a similar conversation with today.

"It was not an escape," she replied, exasperation evident.  "It was just a fly off."

The incident in question involved a bird which was being trained for free-flight as part of education demos.  It's supposed to fly from the hand of one trainer to the hand of another trainer, usually some distance away, all without any restraining equipment, and all in the wide open outdoors.  These practices create an incredible experience for visitors, allow birds a lot of exercise and enrichment, and are all around wonderful.  They also scare the living hell out of me. 

That's because sometimes the bird doesn't come back.

In this case, the bird flew past the second trainer and landed in a nearby tree.  It sat there for a moment, during which, for lack of any other protocol, an escape was called.  Unlike a usual "escape," no additional staff were mobilized, no nets deployed, no other action was taken.  The keepers stayed with the bird and acted like this was a normal part of the routine.  The bird eventually agreed that it was.  It flew back down to them, and life resumed as normal.  By being calm and trusting the animal, and their own skills and relationships, the keepers were able to bring the bird back safe and sound.

A discussion was held afterwards, during which it was determined that no changes in the routine were needed.  Certainly there was no need to restrict the bird from future free-flights after this one incident.  It was felt that the occasional loss of control is just part of the equation when giving the birds this opportunity.  There is risk - that the bird could fly away, that a hawk could swoop down and grab it, than a sudden hurricane could blow it six counties over - but there is always some risk in doing anything with animals.  

We should plan for these possibilities - being selective in which birds are free-flown, being mindful of weather and other local conditions - to increase the likelihood of success.  That being said, the goal isn't to eliminate all risks.  Otherwise, we'd just encase the animals in bubble-wrap.  Instead, it's to maximize the quality of life that we are able to offer.

Sometimes, that means letting them take off on a wing and a prayer.

Cincinnati's First Family

Among fans of the Cincinnati Zoo - or internet users in general - some of the most anticipated news of the year came on August 3, with the birth of a healthy male hippo calf to parents Bibi and Tucker.  The calf, named Fritz, is the half-sibling of the world's most famous hippo, Fiona, who is still in residence at the zoo.  Fiona became a social media sensation as viewers around the world watched, captivated, as the severely premature calf waged her unlikely battle for survival, eventually becoming the darling of the zoo.

Cincinnati's hippo exhibit isn't enormously large, nor is there a super abundance of off-exhibit holding, as is often the case with habitats.  As such, the staff have been trying to strike a delicate balance.  On one hand, introductions between animals can be a delicate process that shouldn't be needlessly rushed, especially when there is such a tremendous size discrepancy between some of the animals involved and considerable potential for injury.  On the other hand, as soon as everyone is introduced and integrated, everyone in the social group gets to spend more time in the habitat and less in holding, improving everyone's individual welfare.

Photo Credit: Cincinnati Zoo

Fritz, unlike Fiona, came out as a full-term calf, so his milestones have come much more rapidly than hers did.  He and Bibi are already out on exhibit for part of each day, him dutifully swimming by her side (baby Nile hippos are usually born in the water).  Introductions with Fiona have already begun.  Long-time Fiona fans have expressed some anguish watching the intros - the spunky young calf is obviously intimidated by her mother, who is trying to keep some distance between her two offspring, and probably doesn't completely understand why, it seems, she is being pushed away.  As Fritz grows and Fiona learns the rules of interactions, hopefully things will settle down a bit.  Eventually, Tucker may be added to the mix.

Lots of visitors love the hippos, but few really understand their social dynamics - they see what they project onto the hippos and what they want to see, rather than what necessarily is the case, or what natural hippo behavior is.  This will probably come painfully to a head when the time comes for a hippo - probably Fritz - to move on out and go to another zoo.  I can see a lot of anguish at the thought of the hippo family being separated, though that's how life goes for most animals.  Few species have parent-offspring cohabitation for life.

Of course, that's nothing compared to the outcry we'd see if Fiona ever left the zoo.  I really think Cincinnati might burn to the ground in that case...

Take the Time to Talk

I was walking down the path in our zoo one day when I saw a visitor standing at the railing of our leopard exhibit.   I slowed down as I passed by to see what she was looking at.  It honestly hadn't occurred to me that it might actually be the leopard.

Our leopard, you see, is something of a ghost.  I'm not her keeper, nor do I go to her holding area often, so I can go weeks at a time without seeing her, no matter how many times I walk by.  Usually, when I do see her, it's as a shadowy figure half hidden in the the doorway of her holding area.  Not this day, though.  She was out and about, active, engaging with enrichment, and all around looking perfect and beautiful.  The visitor, who looked to be in her late teens, looked entranced.

Popping up next to her, I joked, "Well, I hope you feel honored.  Only about one guest in one hundred actually gets to see her at all, let alone like this."

The girl smiled and said she did feel honored... but also a little sad.  Ok, I think, I know where is going, but I pretended that I didn't and asked her why she was said.  She said that she was always a little sad seeing animals in zoos.  That it reminded her of a fish in a fishbowl.  She wished they could be free.

Fair enough.  Not an unreasonable opinion.

Fortunately, I had one of my 500 prepared elevator speeches ready.  I told her about how critically endangered Amur leopards are in the wild, and how close to extinction they are.  I told her about species which only exist in zoos, but which are being reintroduced into the wild.  And I told her about our regularly welfare assessments to evaluate their care, of the bonds that develop between keepers and animals, and about the constantly evolving standards that we hold ourselves to.

All in all, this took about five minutes.   It might have gone longer, but her father(?), already way down the path, was yelling down to her to hurry up, that they had to keep moving.  Even within those few minutes, though, I really felt like it was getting through and helping to dispel some of her concerns.  Not all of them, perhaps, which is valid - I never knew a really great keeper who didn't have at least occasional pangs of doubt or concern - but enough to encourage her to keep an open mind, which really is all that I can ask for.

It took five minutes.

We're all busy, and five minutes can really add up.  There's always something else that we can do with those five minutes.  For many of us, public engagement isn't part of our main job description.   It's not like there is a magic sign that tells you which visitors to engage with that will lead to some positive change and which might not be worth the time.  But, if you take the opportunity whenever you get a chance to talk with people, listen to them, and offer some honest insight into the world of animals, every once in a while you can walk away from that encounter - however brief it might be - and feel like you might have changed the way that they see the world.  Or at least, how they see one leopard.