The meatball bridge
17 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in Northern Trail Tags: dholes
The Martin Luther King holiday dawned sunny and mild, with temperatures climbing briefly into the 30s. My husband had yesterday off work and, incredibly, hadn’t seen the zoo since last summer’s renovations. So I took him on a two-hour tour of all the new stuff. He got a good glimpse of the shy new dark-gray wolf, and we lucked out even more when we arrived at the dhole exhibit.
Blyger and Prosit, the two boys from Sweden, have joined Piri and Fanni, the two girls from Hungary. As soon as we stopped on the viewing platform, a zookeeper came by to a conduct a canine-training session with meatballs and a whistle. He said he was “building a bridge” — by summoning the pack with his soft whistle and then tossing meatballs, he was teaching the dholes to associate the sound with obedience and reward. (A primary training goal: to get them to come off exhibit into their holding area at night, which apparently has been a bit of challenge these first few weeks.) Our friendly zookeeper also explained that this kind of training (also used with coyotes on the Minnesota Trail) was never conducted with Mexican gray wolves, the dholes’ predecessors in this space, because of U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service guidelines for their management — in a program geared toward eventual release into the wild, the wolves weren’t supposed to get too comfortable with people. These Asian canids don’t belong in the North American wild and would never be released there, so training helps them adjust to their permanent zoo home while keeping their minds active. Because they communicate with whistling sounds themselves, the zookeeper’s whistle must seem friendly and familiar to them. And for carnivores, it’s always more tempting to do as you’re asked when there’s a big juicy meatball waiting at the end.
The new guy: shades of gray
13 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in Minnesota Trail Tags: wolves
So yes, as I mentioned in last week’s post, a dark new gray wolf has come from Canada to live with the silver girl on the Minnesota Trail. I heard he was skittish and shy after barely a week in his new home, but I headed out in yesterday’s sudden shocking cold (from 50 degrees down to 10, in 48 hours) on the off-chance I might get a good look. Let’s see if I had any luck.
In that spacious exhibit with all those concealing trees, he was right by the window! I saw him before he saw me, and I edged slowly around the corner from the cabin-like viewing room to improve my vantage point. When our eyes first met, he showed his skittishness by leaping sideways and back a few paces. But then he staked out a spot and returned my gaze — until the silver girl came even closer and he transferred his serious gaze to her.
In the 1940s, wolves were so endangered that northern Minnesota was their only wild habitat in the lower 48 states. Last month, they made news again by coming off the threatened species list. (The Minnesota DNR details their return from federal to state management.) Of course, the world still needs wolf pups, and wolf-breeding season (late January to early March) is nearly upon us. I wrote all about Wolf Watch two years ago, when the silver girl was a 2-year-old living with a 12-year-old, and volunteers camped out with clipboards in the cabin-like viewing room, watching in half-hour shifts for signs of a May-December romance. That handsome old fellow has retired to a Michigan zoo, and the new dad-in-waiting is less than 2 years old himself. Like the silver girl in 2010, he might still be too young this year. But Wolf Watch resumes three days from now, and soon we’ll see if jet-black and silver-white shades of gray meet somewhere in the middle.
Chobby makes his move
06 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in Russia's Grizzly Coast Tags: leopards
It’s been two years since I’ve written here about Chobby, the male Amur leopard from the Czech Republic who had just joined two females in Grizzly Coast as a potential kitty daddy for his nearly extinct species. It’s been all quiet on the Chobby front since then, until he recently shifted into closer proximity to fellow leopard Polina. Murmurings since then suggested that Chobby was not entirely motivated on the reproduction front. In his defense, female Amur leopards spend only a week in heat each year, in January or February. For Polina, that week was this week, and starting Tuesday, Chobby figured it out.
Yesterday was Day 3 of frequent brief breeding episodes, as I learned over lunch in the volunteer lounge. Hurrying out to the exhibit, I passed fellow volunteer Bob, who said he’d just witnessed three quick encounters. A few minutes after arriving, I witnessed another. I discreetly confined my photos to “before” and “after” for reasons both obvious and complex (I was the lone human at the window just then, and leopards surely have no sense of intimate privacy, and it’s all just part of nature, and yet…). As anyone who’s seen cats mating can guess, this “immediately before” shot implies a tenderness that simply wasn’t there. About 10 seconds later, Chobby bared his teeth on Polina’s neck with a loud snarling growl, then stepped off and strutted away.
Here he is afterward at the smudged reflective window, looking mighty reflective himself. If this week’s activity pays off, Polina could give birth to 1 to 6 kittens after three months of gestation. It’s far too soon to know whether this will occur, of course.
While zoo felines were mating, two species of zoo canines were getting acquainted with future intended paramours during their own breeding season. Two male dholes from Sweden joined the females in the new Asian wild dog exhibit yesterday; one male trotted along the fence line with the two girls, approaching and retreating and, just once in my sight, flashing a momentary snarl. (Visually, the scene differed little from the photos in my previous post.) On the Minnesota Trail, a dark new male gray wolf from Canada joined our silvery female at the very back of their exhibit; through concealing trees, I caught glimpses of their contrasting fur as they circled and sniffed and frolicked a little. It was a day of record January warmth in some parts of Minnesota, and on these two zoo trails, the air felt warm with the possible promise of pups and cubs. But only time will tell.
New year’s dogs
01 Jan 2012 2 Comments
in Northern Trail Tags: dholes
I got a new camera for Christmas, the zoo just added a new species of wild dog on the Northern Trail, and now it’s a new year. The moment for my dhole post has arrived!
Two female Asian wild dogs, or dholes (rhymes with “holes”), came here from a zoo in Hungary and officially went public Friday in the former Mexican wolf exhibit. Unofficially, they were out there for a few hours Thursday, trotting around their new home, sniffing and making little squeaking noises. I hiked out to look at them — first from the cozy interior of the former wolf gazebo (now redesigned to resemble an Asian yurt), then from a new trailside viewing platform at the exhibit’s opposite edge.
Several guests stopped on the platform to check out the new canines. A child or two asked me if the dholes were foxes, which they clearly resemble. With their lean 45-pound frames and their springy gaits, these two girls remind me of my own petite female Belgian Malinois shepherd dog, who also weighs about 45 pounds, with a black and mahogany coat, and who frequently gets compared to a fox. But instead of the Malinois’ black face and ears, these canids have a bushy black tail– in fact, the puppies are entirely black at birth.
And puppies are part of the plan for this species, endangered throughout its range in Thailand, China, India and Russia. Two males are coming from a zoo in Sweden and will be introduced gradually to the girls, who turn 3 years old in the spring. Dholes have litters of up to 12 pups, so if even just one pair mates, family life in this exhibit could get very interesting.
Feathers on the walkway
23 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in Tropics Tags: birds & owls
I am not a patient person or a frequent birdwatcher. These two traits are directly related. On any given Thursday, I generally stride through the Tropics aviary with my eyes front and center, focused on my next destination. Last week, however, I froze in my tracks when confronted by a Malay great argus pheasant on the path.
This type of brazen encounter isn’t unheard-of, but it’s not usual, either. Fellow volunteer Michele, who was already on the walkway with the pheasant when I arrived, says her shins have been wing-slapped by a Victoria crowned pigeon who sometimes frequents the path. (Michele says the pigeon targets the khaki pants worn by most staffers and volunteers.) When a small flotilla of moms and strollers arrived, Michele helped them form a line to one side of the pheasant, and the moms discouraged their toddlers from actually touching the bird, although they wanted to. Eventually, Mr. Argus fluttered up to perch on a railing and show off his plumage some more.
The pheasant convinced me to linger on the path and peer deeper into the dark recesses of foliage on either side. It was an extremely dark and gloomy day, but splashes of color and life dotted the branches.
This nesting Nicobar pigeon seemed oblivious to the commotion just a few feet from her perch; nothing was going to startle or dislodge her. Nearby, black-naped orioles, with their bright yellow coloring, fluttered within easy sight of the walkway. Looking them up online, I realized that their tropical Asian range includes the Nicobar Islands (Great and Little Nicobar), northeast of Malaysia and south of India. So they’re close to the pigeons in the wild, as well.
No bird-feet were strolling the walkway when I passed through yesterday, but the Nicobar pigeons were more active, and one took the pheasant’s previous spot on the railing:
I’d been looking hard for a fairy bluebird the previous week, and yesterday I managed to capture one in my lens during the 90-second window he gave me. I didn’t see another oriole, though. Sustained birdwatching requires more patience than I possess, but even a little bit of lingering can pay off.
Hedgehogs, snakes & gender
10 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in Minnesota Lodge: Animal encounters Tags: hedgehogs, snakes
Last week, I demo’d an African hedgehog; this week, a bullsnake. These hands-on encounters last no more than 15 minutes, to avoid stressing the animal. Not every creature gets touched, and not every creature reacts when you touch it. This varies not just from species to species, but also from individual to individual. The three African hedgehogs I’ve handled vary widely in sensitivity: Tulip, a girl, starts pooping after the first five minutes; Aspen, also female, is more mellow but curls up into a ball of spikes when lifted — a standard protective measure for the species. Then there’s this character:
We were told he’s male, though he doesn’t have a name yet. Both my demo partner and I picked him up last week and got this wonderfully nonchalant yoga-pose response. Everyone wants to touch a fuzzy-looking hedgehog when they see it, but the one time my bare finger grazed one by accident, I bled a little. Don’t confuse it with a baby porcupine, though! These guys are native to Africa and southern Europe, where they hibernate at temperatures below 45F. What we know as Groundhog Day started in Europe as Hedgehog Day. I don’t know if Nameless is less sensitive because he’s male; my sample size here is too small, and I dislike gender stereotypes in any species. But last week’s demo revelation led me in a similar direction: William, always the calmer of our two bullsnakes, has turned out to be Willa.
The revelation, according to Zoomobile staffer Chris, came a couple of weeks ago when “William,” now 4 years old and nearly 5 feet long, laid 20 eggs. S/he had always been labeled “gender unknown” — for that matter, so is Draco, our more wiggly and challenging bullsnake. Draco, like Willa, could still join the ranks of regendered reptiles in my world, including fellow volunteer Darlene’s male box turtle, Sally, and Roger the alligator — the real-life female that got loose in Minnesota and found a zoo home this week, not the animated movie character from “Madagascar.” In the meantime, I’ll keep trying not to anthropomorphize the animals. It’s hard to say whether I’ll succeed at this, of course.
Weekend update, with zookeepers
20 Nov 2011 1 Comment
in Northern Trail, Penguins of the African Coast Tags: penguins, tigers
A couple of years had passed since my last all-day volunteer update at the zoo, a situation remedied Saturday. Seventy volunteers emerged at 4 p.m. from the new blue Ocean Classroom into a suddenly snowy wonderland, our minds packed with a fresh arsenal of animal facts shared by a series of funny, articulate zookeepers. I’ll share as many fun facts as I can in the weeks ahead. But one revelation seemed especially time-sensitive: The Detroit Boys are splitting up.
Here are brothers Molniy and Vaska, previously of Detroit, in warmer times. It seems Vaska soon will be heading to Glen Oak Zoo in Peoria, Ill., to make way for two new female tigers. Elderly male tiger Sergei will be matched up with Anya, our young but procreation-challenged tiger, for companionship and optional cubs. Molniy will presumably get his pick of the new girls. My husband, who took some Russian classes in college and had tiger-stripe handlebars on a boyhood bike, claims Molniy is his favorite of the pair because “Molniya” means “lightning bolt.” I can’t always tell them apart, but this exceptionally handsome fellow snoozing below is one of them, as seen by me about a year ago. (And yes, there’s a window between us.)
Speaking of windows, the Ocean Classroom, a new addition last summer, was a charming but distracting place to learn about the Detroit Boys and everything else that’s new at the zoo. The new blue room, also used for children’s classes and certain meetings, sits across from the volunteer lounge in a corridor behind the penguin exhibit, also new last summer. The room’s curved penguin-viewing window offered an almost-continuous view of one to five birds as they slipped away from the public viewing area to see what all the talking and laughing and PowerPoint slides were about. I scored a seat with two other Thursday volunteers within 20 feet of the window. This nonThursday volunteer was one of several to approach during break time and beckon the birds.
Various penguins came and went from their Ocean Classroom mini-exhibit, swimming through this narrow passageway to rejoin the larger gang visible to zoo guests. We have about 30 penguins in all, including the dozen from Minot, N.D., who are camping out here while their flooded facility is repaired. Jimmy Pichner, the zoo’s always-entertaining bird guru, says the Minot birds might be with us for as long as a year, and that their keepers can usually tell one bird from another by their color pattern and personality. Of the birds who swam to our window, I noticed that one seemed a little hyperactive, while another pair seemed extremely interested in the series of zookeeper presentations.
Doesn’t this look like an impressionist’s painting of a penguin? (That’s what I keep telling myself as I figure out how to adapt my camera settings to the reflected light and constant movement swirling within this exhibit.) This is the penguin most fascinated by the zookeepers. Each time a new staffer’s voice came through the microphone and the lights went down so we could see the slides, this penguin came to a floating, bobbing halt, beak pointed toward the presenter. Sometimes his mate joined his side and gazed into the classroom, too. For the penguins’ sake as well as my own, I was relieved that the window’s curtain wasn’t drawn — a measure that can be taken, I suppose, when children in the classroom need to focus on the teacher. Yesterday, the zookeepers had some stiff competition for volunteers’ attention. Fortunately, though not quite as cute as the penguins, the keepers were even more interesting.
Coyote training: search and sniff
06 Nov 2011 1 Comment
in Minnesota Trail Tags: coyotes
Midafternoon Thursday, I strolled into the Minnesota Lodge and saw a knot of volunteers clustering around zookeeper Adam. In rubber-gloved hands, he held a tray of snacks: frozen whole white mice (micicles, he called them) on a bed of raw meat chunks. When he explained that he was heading out to the Minnesota Trail to train the coyotes, four of us followed him. We were coatless in mid-50s temps, but we didn’t want to miss this.
Once Adam arrived, complete with volunteer entourage and a gathering crowd of guests, the four male coyotes seemed to know the drill. They fanned out across the exhibit as he entered. With his back to the viewing window, Adam pointed to each coyote in turn with a blue-gloved hand, established eye contact and tossed a mouse, which each coyote caught midair. He explained that this routine comes in handy when the coyotes need heartworm pills or other meds and the keeper wants to make sure that no single coyote is scarfing it all up. And mouse bones are a fine source of calcium for coyotes.
The meat chunks had a different purpose — enrichment, the mental stimulation created for zoo mammals who need something to hunt, or at least something to play with or think about. Adam went around the exhibit tucking pieces of meat into crevices and smearing bits of it on trees. Then he left the coyotes to find it all. They trotted about, lightfooted and curious, sniffing and probing and double-checking their home for the hidden treats.
One spectator, a little girl, expressed great concern about a large toad crouching at the exhibit’s edge, near the walkway. What if a coyote found it and ate it? Adam’s no-nonsense answer: “That’s nature in action!” (This made me remember the time my late, great golden retriever mouth-smuggled a toad into the house, leaving it battered but alive in the basement.) After Adam and most of the guests had left the scene, the coyotes continued to search and sniff as a couple of us lingered behind. One coyote’s probing muzzle came within two feet of the toad but either failed to detect it or just didn’t find it that interesting. His zookeeper session had left him sufficiently enriched for now, thank you very much.
Monorail rider: a view from the top
27 Oct 2011 Leave a Comment
in Northern Trail Tags: pronghorn
It had been far too long since I’d ridden the monorail, two years at least. Last week’s conditions were perfect: full sun, with enough fallen leaves to uncloak ponds and meadows but plenty of color still clinging to trees. I hopped aboard for the 25-minute trek around the Northern Trail and beyond, into the zoo’s undeveloped woodlands.
This pond runs alongside the Northern Trail, next to the exhibit space where the camels often hang out and where two giraffes spend their days when we have them on temporary summer exhibit once every few years. On the opposite side of the trail and the train, I got a rare zoom-lens view of an animal that can be hard to see well from the walkway:
Pronghorn have several special traits. They’re the fastest land mammals in North America at 45-55 mph, sometimes covering 14 feet in a single leap. (Worldwide, only the cheetah is faster.) They’re native only to this continent, while many other species crossed over from Europe or Asia on the Bering Land Bridge. And they’re the only animals whose horns are pronged or branched, a quality usually associated with antlers. Females have horns, too, but just tiny spikes; the group above looks pretty girlish. Pronghorn are a smallish prey animal, not much over 100 pounds and about three feet high at the shoulder. As prey, they have eyes on either side of their heads, not up front and close together like a predator’s eyes. Excellent eyesight gives pronghorn a long-range view of predators in their native prairie domain. As ruminants, they often lie around chewing their cuds. I’m not sure if they normally groom each other’s faces, or if the one in this photo just happened to feel kissy.
Sitting up front in the monorail’s only “quiet car” (no talking!), I could hear every word of the driver’s narration, and my ears perked up as we headed beyond animal exhibits into the wilds of Apple Valley. I knew that two-thirds of the zoo’s 500 acres was undeveloped, as she told us, but not that the acreage included twelve ponds. This one is Reflection Pond. I love its stillness and its carpet of lilypads.
I’m also quite fond of this half-hidden meadow. I wonder if it was once a wetland, or if it’s becoming one.
As we approached the end of our loop and returned to the zoo’s developed acres, I caught a backside view of the bridge from which I took all those swan photos a month ago. The two swans must have tucked themselves into some nook or cranny of shoreline.
And then we all enjoyed an aerial perspective on Central Plaza, just before the train slid back into the station and its riders came back down to earth.
Swine defined at the farm
19 Oct 2011 Leave a Comment
in Family farm, Russia's Grizzly Coast, Tropics Tags: pigs
As the outdoor crowds dwindle, the air grows cool-crisp and leaf colors catch fire, I make my occasional trek out to the zoo’s family farm. In the past month, scheduled repeatedly for a full hour on the Northern Trail, I hiked out there twice: once in sun, once in cloud. I’m not normally much of a farm girl (for one thing, I’m allergic to hay), but I’m drawn to the pigs and the informative signs. These two signs nicely sum up the farm’s mission and niche within the zoo:
This sign’s final observation got me thinking about domestic pigs and their wild cousins. But first, a quick and fuzzy digression:
I don’t have a whole lot to say about sheep, except look how cute they are! As a teen and twentysomething, I built up quite a gift collection of fuzzy stuffed sheep toys. The last one I remember receiving was a Lamb Chop puppet my in-laws picked up at a garage sale en route to my house. I never thought of sheep as endangered, and most varieties aren’t. But Shetland sheep, like the zoo-farm residents in this photo, actually are.
But I digress. Let’s talk about pigs — or rather, swine.
On my cloudy-day farm visit in early October (see how green the trees are!), I stopped by the swine barn and was momentarily flattered when its crossbred domestic pigs lurched to their feet on my arrival. (Two zoo staffers who’d come to feed them were right behind me.) Here’s the most informative sign of all: a guide to swine terminology!
If anyone had asked me the difference between a gilt and a barrow before this, I couldn’t have told you. I’m not sure I realized “swine” was the most general term possible, embracing every type of pig, boar or hog, and it’s good to know that the pig vs. hog cutoff is 120 pounds. I must note, however, that while a “boar” can be a male domestic pig, “wild boars” comprise nondomestic swine of either gender, including these residents of Russia’s Grizzly Coast:
Wild boar live all over the planet and range from 90 to 700 pounds. The ones in Russia’s Far East tend to be large because they feast upon pine nuts. A fact that cracks me up for some reason: In Russia, they keep to the southern forests because their short legs prevent them from moving easily through snow. And a funnier fact: The bristly hairs on their necks were used in toothbrushes until synthetic alternatives were developed in the 1930s. In Minnesota, the DNR considers wild boar a potentially invasive species.
On the Tropics trail, we’ve got the handsome red river hogs (above), weighing 100-250 pounds and native to sub-Saharan Africa. And we’ve also got Visayan warty pigs, weighing 50 to 90 pounds, whose range has shrunk to two small islands in the Philippines. Far from being invasive, they’re one of the few endangered varieties. Because of their mohawk-like hairiness, zoo signage describes them as “punk rock pigs struggling to survive” — sort of the Lisbeth Salander of the swine world. Just one more thing to appreciate about zoo signs. And swine.
