Many shorebirds are fairly poorly-represented in zoos and aquariums. One group of birds which does enjoy some popularity (though in my opinion nowhere near as popular as they should be) is the puffin clan. How well do you know these sea-parrots? Find out with our newest quiz!
As of now, very few zoos and aquariums are working with sandpipers and other shorebirds. Most of those that do have birds from this family are providing forever homes to injured, non-releasable specimens of local species. Does it matter that not many zoos have experience or expertise caring for shorebirds? It's not like sanderlings are going extinct any time soon.
True. But other sandpipers may not be so lucky.
Consider the handsome, bizarre-looking spoon-billed sandpiper of northeast Asia - not to be confused with the much more familiar, more commonly-kept spoonbills, which are themselves related to ibises and pelicans. These critically endangered shorebirds are in decline primarily due to habitat loss, as well as trapping on their migratory route. Compared to many endangered bird species, they've been somewhat under the radar of many folks. About a decade ago, the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust at Slimbridge in the UK joined with Russian partners to try and save these funny-looking little fowl.
On the subject of migrating shorebirds, worth remembering the fall migration is upon us, and shorebirds, songbirds, raptors, and other birds are winging it towards their winter homes. Many of these birds fly at night, and can become disoriented and confused by bright lights at night, as was the case of this woodcock. Help a bird out, try to keep the lights out at night as best as you can during this time of year. Feathered transients will thank you!
I've always felt that photo and video displays are crucial in zoos for highlighting behaviors that visitors aren't likely to see from the animals on display, because of their infrequency, brevity, seasonality, or because they might not be desirable to show (such as threatening an animal to make it show an anti-predator display). One behavior that I've always wanted to see in person, but never have, has been a male jacana carrying its young.
You ready for some eldritch horror? It's like a glimpse into the private aviary of H. P. Lovecraft.
Wattled Jacana
Jacana jacana (Linnaeus, 1766)
If my knowledge of sandpipers is a little patchy, especially before reading Mr. Beehler's Flight of the Godwit, it's not entirely without reason. Most of my animal knowledge is driven by my observations and experiences working with wildlife in zoos, as well as my private reading and research - and, for reasons which are understandable, I expend most of that reading and research on animals that I work with in zoos, so I can care for them better. Sandpipers have largely been off my radar, because as a group, they aren't super well-represented in zoos.
Native bird exhibits in the United States tend to be dominated by two groups of birds - waterfowl (which have a strong private hobby behind them, and breed very well) and raptors (especially beloved of the public). A smattering of larger wading birds - pelicans, ibises, herons - and that's often it. A visitor from another country could visit a US zoo and come to the conclusion that those were the only birds here... provided they never looked up when walking from exhibit to exhibit. There's a few localized species which have some special visitor appeal, such as roadrunners in the west and puffins on the northern coasts. Songbirds are starting to make a push for a seat at the table, spearheaded by the efforts of a few zoos, but largely that's it.
Sandpipers and other shorebirds, when they are present, are usually only seen as the odd non-releasable rehab bird... and you can't really plan exhibits around the availability of an unpredictable supply of rehab birds, many with old injuries that explain why they can't be back in the wild.
Which is strange to me, in a way, because the two actual shorebird-specialist exhibits that I've seen are really quite excellent. There is the shorebird aviary at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and the relatively new Delaware Bay habitat in the Bird House of the Smithsonian National Zoo. Both feature a diverse array of native species in attractive habitats. Birds are elevated to eyelevel with visitors, so it's easier to appreciate their patterning, the differences in their size and shape, and their behavior as they skitter about, much as they would on the beaches where many visitors at either coastal facility would see them.
Ironically, even though they aren't exhibited very often, some zoos are very active in the conservation of their local shorebirds. Several zoos, for example, are active in efforts to conserve the piping plovers of the Great Lakes. To be fair, I did see an exhibit of this species - well-designed to highlight the conservation story - the McCormick Bird House at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago, but so many zoos that are involved in this project don't feature the species. They may have a sign somewhere (and we all know everyone reads the signs...) or make a facebook post now and then, but that's a far cry from actual showing people the animal that they are saving and helping visitors form an in-person appreciation.
One could certainly make an argument that many visitors live in coastal areas, and so sandpipers can readily be seen in the wild, and that some species are still fairly abundant. Perhaps, it could be said, they aren't a top priority for zoos... and perhaps they aren't. Still, like many birds, their numbers are declining due to a variety of anthropogenic factors... and that's not also considering the educational potential for introducing visitors to one of the most extraordinary families of birds and some of the greatest travelers in the animal kingdom.
With autumn just around the corner, and the chill already setting in the air, one of the telltale signs of the changing season is here. Birds are on the wing, heading south. Much of the public attention focuses on songbirds, seen at our backyard feeders, or waterfowl, subject of much interest among hunters. But of all the seasonal migrants traveling the length of the flyways, few if any have journeys as incredible in their scope as the shorebirds.
In Flight of the Godwit, Bruce Beehler engages in a series of long-distance road trips in pursuit of some of his favorite birds, the sandpipers - a tribe of shorebirds (a larger family that also includes the gulls, puffins, and their kin) consisting of the familiar beach scurriers, such as godwits, curlews, and knots. From his homebase in Bethesda, Maryland, he seeks to travels the length and breadth of the US and Canada in pursuit of all American sandpipers, from the US-Mexican border through the heartland to the frozen reaches of Alaska. In doing so, his travels not only emphasize for the reader how tremendously long and difficult these journeys are for birds which, for the most part, are not exceptionally large, but how many jurisdictions and habitats they cover - each a crucial layover stop in their migration, and each in need of some degree of protection to ensure the safe passage of future generations.
Beehler's book is interspersed with concise but detailed sidebar profiles of each North American sandpiper, providing a wealth of information about the species. I appreciated that these were spread throughout the book, not tucked away into an appendix at the back where they would be more easily overlooked. Also accompanying the narrative are delightful illustrations by Alan Messer, depicting the various species.
If the book has a weakness, it's that sometimes Beehler's travelog can lose interest for the reader. There are parts that are fascinating, highlighting the author's commitment to completing the journey, but some stretches can get a little over-detailed and tedious, focused on the minutiae of the trip, the campsites, the meals, the road conditions; you almost get the sense that there are places where he just copied and pasted from his journal. I suppose part of the problem is - and I base this off my own experiences watching sandpipers in the wild - that while there is a lot of drama in the migratory saga of the shorebirds, once you actually are where they are, there's not a lot of challenge in finding them. They tend to be (with the exception of some species) in big open spaces where they are easily seen and in decent numbers, so you lose the drama of searching for birds in dense forest, hoping for an elusive warbler to flit into sight (Beehler also wrote a similar book about warblers, North on the Wing, which I have not read yet).
Taken as a whole, I found Flight of the Godwit to be a fun, interesting read on a group of birds which I must admit I've seldom paid too much attention to. Perhaps because I don't encounter them that often, either in the zoo or in the wild. Still, next time I'm at the beach and see a sanderling or a dunlin scurry along on the edge of the waves, I know that's a bird that I'm going to feel that much more respect and admiration for, having a new insight into what their incredible annual journey actually consists of.
Flight of the Godwit: Tracking Epic Shorebird Migrations at Good Reads
I'd like to introduce you to Jessica Radcliffe, an orca trainer at SeaWorld... but I can't, because she doesn't exist.
The fictitious Ms. Radcliffe is the subject of an AI video that was going viral a few months ago, purporting to show the trainer being brutally killed by orcas in front of an entire stadium of viewers. A lot of folks have been taken in by the video and are convinced of its accuracy - though if you look at it, and the accompanying images, it's easy to see things aren't quite right. Like the picture above, for instance - she's standing up, in the water, with two orcas right next to her. Are her legs really twenty feet long? Are the orcas stumped off below the surface with no tails? Is she standing on a very thin podium in the middle of the tank?
You know what, never mind. It's one of the least egregious sins of this stupid video.
Lies on the internet are nothing new; they're as old as the internet itself. What does bother me is that they're starting to get smoother, more polished, more plausible. In cases like this, they draw on real events, then exaggerate and dramatize them to make a point. Often, the people who tell these lies convince themselves that either its harmless or that they are serving some sort of greater good by doing so (in this case, I suppose, by opposing the keeping of orcas in SeaWorld).
There was a news clip I saw recently of podcaster Joe Rogan mocking a video that was supposedly of Minnesota governor and former VP candidate Tim Walz, acting like an absolute fool. The video was actually AI, but Rogan swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker. When he was confronted with the proof that it was fake, he dismissed it by saying that it felt real, that he could easily believe Walz actually would behave in such a manner, so who cares if this specific video was fake?
Well, it does matter. Truth matters, in animal care as in all areas. When we decide to start cutting corners to get to the truth and simplify it, we often end up veering wildly off path from it.
If you see something on online, especially something sensationalist that seems to confirm what you already really want to believe already... try to confirm it.
Minnesota Zoo feeding animals unwanted pet goldfish dumped in a local lake
Maybe I'm being optimistic about this, but here's a hopeful take: maybe people will be less likely to abandon their pet fish in the wild if they know that this might be the outcome. It's one thing to release ol' goldy in the pond, thinking that he'll have a long, happy life in the wild (where he is an invasive species). It's a different matter entirely to do so knowing that there's a decent chance that he'll end up as grizzly bear chow at the zoo...
Of course, that leaves being flushed down the toilet as an option, so maybe the real message here should be, don't get a pet goldfish unless you're sure that you can care for it...
Paul was very excited to start his first day of work at his local zoo, having waited years for an opening on the small, tightly-knit staff where no one ever seemed to leave. When a job finally opened and he was able to start, he was over the moon. That first day, he enjoyed every minute, up until the moment that he joined the rest of the staff in the breakroom for lunch.
The other keepers were all sitting around the table, eating their sandwiches or salads, when one keeper, at the end of the table, cleared her throat and, once she had everyone's attention, called out "Fourteen!" Just that. Nothing else. To Paul's confusion, everyone at the table burst out laughing, then began chattering excitedly among themselves, before settling back to their lunch.
A few minutes later, another keeper chuckled and said "Eight." Again, the entire staff broke down laughing.
"I don't get it," Paul admitted. The keeper who had been training him that morning turned to him with a smile.
"Sorry," he said, "I forgot that you were new. The thing is, we've all been working here for so long and have been telling the same jokes and stories for so many years, that to save time we just numbered them all. Now, all one of us has to do is say the number and we all remember the story."
"Oh, really?" said Paul. Eager to fit in, he cleared him throat loudly, and then blurted out "Twenty Five!"
Dead silence. Everyone stared at him for a moment, then without a word went back to eating.
Awkwardly, Paul turned back to his trainer. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Oh, don't worry about it," his trainer said, patting his shoulder. "It's just a talent. Some people can tell a joke, some people can't."
"Kumbolaland had been peaceful for over three thousand years... They had even long since put their weapons down. The last real fight had occurred in 1952 between a drunken ox-drover and an equally drunken ox-thief, and it was still a popular topic of conversation."
- Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, Good Omens
I've worked at some of the largest zoos in the country over the course of my career, but most of my time has been spent at smaller places, often being a big fish in a somewhat shrinking puddle. Working in small zoos is a lot like living in a very small town. For one thing, everyone knows each other very well - sometimes, better than you'd like, to the point where it's an absolute relief to have someone knew to talk to, and the rare occasions when there is a new staff member are treasured. Everyone also tends to wear several hats and do several jobs, again like a stereotypic small town where the barber is also the sheriff and the mayor is also the dentist. And, also, if often seems like nothing ever happens.
And when something does happen, it becomes the defining trait of your facility's history.
Sometimes it's a minor (or major) scandal. Sometimes it's a point of pride and success. Either way, it's the main story of your facility, and it seems like it's the only thing people know you by. "Aren't you the zoo where...?"
Big zoos don't have that problem. They absorb past scandals, even recent ones, and drown them out in other events. Past triumphs are lost in the past, overshadowed by more recent events. It's a lot harder to make a reputation when you're a small zoo, and once you made even a tenuous one through even a single event, it becomes surprisingly hard to change it.
Continuing the tour of Springfield, Missouri's Dickerson Park Zoo...
From the Missouri Habitats, we cross into Tropical Asia, a somewhat grandiose name for an exhibit area that consists of three exhibits. There is a habitat for siamangs with indoor and outdoor viewing, as well as a habitat for Malayan tigers. The largest habitat is for Asian elephants. Dickerson Park is in that nebulous space in which I'm not sure if they plan on maintaining elephants following the passing of their current animals. The habitat itself was fairly unremarkable, though not inadequate for the current occupants, I can't imagine that the zoo would want something larger and more complex if they wanted to continue with the species.
Incidentally, I first heard of Dickerson Park in 2013, when John Bradford, the zoo's elephant manager, was killed by Patience, the elephant (who still resides at the zoo). One of Patience's companions had been euthanized for health reasons shortly before, and there had been some speculation that Patience blamed Bradford for the death of her herdmate.
The largest of the geographic regions is Africa. Big cats are represented by cheetahs and lions. Ostriches, plains zebras, and red river hogs have separate yards. The centerpiece of the region is the giraffe exhibit, which itself is attached to a barn that provides not only indoor viewing of the animals (I've seldom seen an attractive giraffe barn interior, and this one doesn't make that short list) during the colder months, but also a few reptile habitats. Outside is a habitat for black-and-white colobus monkeys.
The remainder of the zoo is a small patchwork of exhibits, including ring-tailed lemurs, white storks, capybaras (occupying a comparatively-large habitat originally built for hippos), king vulture, and meerkats. Tucked into the corner of the zoo is a decently-large reptile house (Diversity of Life), a nice cross-section of exotic and native species, with outdoor habitats for American alligators and tortoises. Kids will enjoy the train ride and splash park.
I found Dickerson Park to a pleasant mid-sized zoo. There was little in it that was really exciting or extraordinary to me (but keep in mind I go to a lot of zoos and am harder to dazzle these days), but nothing that really struck me as very bad. The South American area struck me as a strongest section; some of the other areas were a little weak on cohesion, to say nothing of a big megafauna-heavy, especially lacking in birds. The departure of hippos and the likely (or so it seems to me) phase out of elephants may change the dynamic of the collection. It was a nice enough place to visit, and worth keeping an eye on if you're in the area.
For our next review, we continue to ramble through the south-central US with another big-town/small-city animal park. Founded in 1922, the Dickerson Park Zoo is located in Springfield, Missouri. For the first half of its history, it was a fairly small, ramshackle facility, coming close to closure more than once, before being reinvigorated in the 1980s. While I don't know if I would have gone too far out of my way to visit this facility, Springfield not being a location I would usually find myself in, I happened to be in the area and decided to make a detour to combine it with Wonders of Wildlife. I guess Dickerson Park also held some appeal to me simply because I knew very little about it (apart from it being in AZA), so I didn't know what to expect.
The zoo is broadly divided into geographic zones, the first which I encountered being South America. At many faculties, South America is synonymous with the Amazon, and is usually represented by a rainforest building with the same handful of free-flying birds, some small primates and sloths and turtles, and maybe a side exhibit or two for one of the larger (for South America) species. The area at this zoo was completely outdoors (as was almost the entirety of the facility). The trail looped pleasantly around a calm lagoon, fed by a waterfall, meandering through a wooded section of the zoo. There was an enclosed aviary for Chilean flamingos and other wading birds, yards for maned wolves and Chacoan peccaries, and a series of exhibits of varying size for different primates and parrots. The exhibits were nice enough, and made a good first-impression for the zoo.
South American gave way to Australia, the smallest of the sections, as it is in most zoos. Here, it consists of a paddock of kangaroos and emus, as well as a side-aviary of kookaburra. The area was then tied to a small petting zoo of goats. I'll admit, I have this area a pretty cursory glance before moving on.
Nearby are the Missouri habitats - decent in quality, but somewhat unsatisfying. The focus was almost solely on Missouri's larger mammals, and especially the carnivores. Included among these were black bears and pumas, gray wolves (the Mexican subspecies, not native to the area, but in support of the breeding program for this endangered subspecies) and North American river otters, with underwater viewing. There was also a paddock of white-tailed deer and wild turkeys. The exhibits were all nice enough, but I was disappointed at the exclusion of the smaller residents of the Show Me State. A little building with native herps and invertebrates? An aviary? An aquarium of Missouri River fish? Any of these would have been an excellent addition to the exhibit.
We'll look at the rest of Dickerson Park Zoo tomorrow.
Penguins refuse to eat cheaper fish after aquarium cut cost to fight inflation
As is so often the case these days, this story was circulating on social media with a misattribution when I saw it. Originally, it was framed to suggest that it was the recent bout of high tariffs which had caused the aquarium in question to cut back to cheaper fish, which the penguins refused to eat. In reality, this is a slightly older story - which isn't to say that a lot of zoos and aquariums won't be experiencing the tariffs in painful and sometimes unexpected ways in the near future, but just that this doesn't have anything to do with that.
Having a picky eater in a child is a headache. Having a picky eater in a zoo animal can be far worse. The child, of course, will grow up and either 1) get over it, or 2) move out and be responsible for their own neurotic eating habits.
Some animals, of course, are just picky by nature, only in their case it may be a species-specific dietary issue that can't really be helped. Koalas aren't ornery in their food preferences... they aren't trying to be difficult, they just don't really eat anything besides eucalyptus. If that's the case for a species, perhaps your zoo or aquarium doesn't take on that species unless you are sure that you can feed it. Sometimes, however, you do wind up with animals with very strong - and not nutritionally necessary - food preferences, and in those cases, you may find yourself in a struggle.
Ideally, you want to get your animals eating a wide variety of foods to form a nutritionally complete diet. Part of this is to enhance the health of the diet - nutrients lacking in one food may be found in another, and vice versa. Part of it is the enrichment and stimulation of the diet. And part of it is the reality that sometimes, supply chains fail and a preferred food item may not be available, in which case, you may have to adjust. If you have an animal that stubbornly refuses to eat anything except one food, and so for ease and convenience you indulge that whim, you'll find yourself in major trouble if for some reason that food is off the market... or if you're experimenting with something else, for economy's sake.
- Men Without Hats, Safety Dance
With their impressive height, regal bearing, and trumpeting call, it's no surprise that cranes are some of the most heraldic and impressive of birds. Their real beauty, however, is only half-glimpsed when seen strutting through the marshes of their pen at a zoo. The true majesty of cranes is far more seasonal. There are the great annual migrations they make, which for obvious reasons are not replicated in a zoo-setting (nor can their semi-social nature be duplicated - cranes are socially schizophrenic, being found in large flocks when on the move, but being savagely territorial during the mating season). The other part, however, can be seen by visitors - up close and personal. That's the dance of the cranes.
Cranes have long been held up as a symbol of romantic love and fidelity, largely inspired by their monogamous nature and their intricate courtship dances. The dances are truly something to behold, and perhaps not what you might expect from a bird which might otherwise appear so stately and reserved. Birds may run along in an ungainly trot as the build momentum. The dancing consists of wild leaping in the air, wings spread, legs akimbo. The head is thrown back with a raucous cry. Small objects, such as sticks and leaves, may be seized in the beak and tossed in the air. It's a spectacular display of exuberance and joy.
Sometimes too exuberant. One sandhill crane that I worked with had an annoying habit of doing his dances right next to the fence at the front of his exhibit. Every once in a while, when he was at the top of one of his leaping displays, a breeze would catch him, and send him over the fence - into the public area. He could never seem to figure out how to get back on his own. Thankfully, he never seemed inclined to go far, instead wanting to keep as close as possible as he could to his lady.
Cranes dance for courtship and for pair-bonding; youngsters will also do it sometimes as a sort of practice for later in life. In the case of birds imprinted on humans, such as the famous Walnut from Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute, keepers may dance with the birds to prepare them for assisted reproduction. Visitors can't always be sure that they'll be able to see dancing cranes, which is where video displays can be helpful (always nice for showing behaviors that either can't be replicated in a zoo, shouldn't be replicated in a zoo, or are highly seasonal). Another option is to have zoo staff demonstrate the dances and lead visitors in their own exercises of it.
Of course, that option was a lot more popular with zoo staff when I was younger, before everyone had a tiny video camera in their pocket and immediate access to the internet...
Demoiselle Crane
Grus [Anthropoides] virgo (Linnaeus, 1758)
- Green Day
I know I make a post similar to this every year, but I always feel like it bears repeating.
There really is no more magical month to be working at the zoo than in September.
The heat has just broken, and the weather is cool and pleasant. Not too cold, though - the grounds are still green and lush, and you have maybe two months before taking on the onerous task of packing up the cold-intolerant animals into winter housing. Instead, the animals are at their best, rejuvenated by the more pleasant temperatures, active even in the middle of the day.
And you can actually see them, as well - without having to ram your way through the crowds. You're in that sweet-spot between the departure of the summer tourists and the start of the fall school groups. Sure, the weekends are still busy, but you'd be surprised at how many kids are starting their extracurricular activities, like sports, and have that on the weekends, and you still have five days a week of peace and quiet to amble about the grounds.
It's not just a time of year for pleasant strolls, though. It's also a time of action. You can finally take five minutes to look at your project list and start making progress on it. The weather is ideal for moving animals, so new faces are coming in and out of the collection. There's a flurry of construction, trying to get work done between the summer, when you don't want portions of the zoo shut down or obstructed, and winter, when it may be too cold to work.
It's a wonderful time of year, a mixture of peaceful and pleasant yet also invigorating and bustling. And yet you know that the calendar will turn, inevitably, and soon winter will be here, and so you find yourself wishing that September would last forever.
I cooked gourmet meals for the world's most popular animals
