{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
My Experience with Home-Repair Projects as Illustrated by an Elephant Playing with an “Enrichment” Item
“I have it…I have it…”
“…”
“I don’t have it.”
“…”
“I don’t have it.”
{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}
Friday, February 4, 2011
Flamingo Friday: Flirting
As I mentioned a month or so ago, even in the chill of winter, love is in the air for flamingos. While I haven’t yet witnessed anything as explicit as the peacock interlude I saw last spring, I have observed all kinds of exciting and bizarre behaviors.
Last month, I stopped by the flamingo enclosure to see all of the flamingos with their necks extended—an extreme rarity, since these are not synchronous birds—and, even more surprising, with their heads tilted upwards towards the skies.
At first I thought they were responding to a hawk or other potential predator—they’ve stuck their necks up in the past over such perceived threats—but this was different. The weird angle of their heads was new—as was the way they all kept turning their heads from side to side as if presenting their best profile for a feature in Vogue .
As it turns out, this behavior is called “head flagging.” It’s generally accompanied by several other courtship behaviors, including wing salutes and twist preens (both featured in the photo below):
Then there’s the inverted wing salute, which is like a bow with wings extended:
And finally there’s the wing-leg stretch:
As you can see, these intrepid, hormone-crazed flamingos will continue their mating rituals even during snow showers.
And you thought the singles’-bar contortions of humans were impressive!
[P.S. - Speaking of mating rituals, don't forget that you can view/purchase my Valentines at this Zazzle link.]
Last month, I stopped by the flamingo enclosure to see all of the flamingos with their necks extended—an extreme rarity, since these are not synchronous birds—and, even more surprising, with their heads tilted upwards towards the skies.
["Look, it's a bird!"
"It's a plane!"
"No, it's a...bird!"]
"It's a plane!"
"No, it's a...bird!"]
At first I thought they were responding to a hawk or other potential predator—they’ve stuck their necks up in the past over such perceived threats—but this was different. The weird angle of their heads was new—as was the way they all kept turning their heads from side to side as if presenting their best profile for a feature in Vogue .
As it turns out, this behavior is called “head flagging.” It’s generally accompanied by several other courtship behaviors, including wing salutes and twist preens (both featured in the photo below):
Then there’s the inverted wing salute, which is like a bow with wings extended:
[sorry it's sans-head; but note
the startling pink behind:
a mating-season phenomenon?]
the startling pink behind:
a mating-season phenomenon?]
And finally there’s the wing-leg stretch:
As you can see, these intrepid, hormone-crazed flamingos will continue their mating rituals even during snow showers.
[note the inverted wing salutes]
And you thought the singles’-bar contortions of humans were impressive!
[P.S. - Speaking of mating rituals, don't forget that you can view/purchase my Valentines at this Zazzle link.]
{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Benefits of Thinking Small
I considered using this title as a lead-in to a rant about the over-emphasis placed on the supposed “Big Picture” in science these days, where researchers are forced not just to set their work in an appropriate framework but make extravagant claims about the over-arching, world-changing importance of every study and result, thus making liars of us all—but I decided to talk about the zoo instead.
Usually, when I visit the Amazonia exhibit, I’m looking up—checking the trees for birds and monkeys, peering up at far-away blossoms (and cocoa pods), and trying in vain to find the elusive sloth (as far as I know, it’s only ever been sighted by the people who work there).
But the last time I went, it occurred to me that I was falling into the typical vertebrate-centric pitfall, focusing all my energy on the big, the flashy, the creatures who flit through trees. But this was Amazonia—a place full of layers of life, and surely I would also find organisms of interest that were smaller and closer to the ground. So I started paying more attention to what was at and below my eye level—and although I didn’t find any land snails (as I’d been rather fervently hoping I would), I did see more than enough to interest me.
Early on, I had spotted the belligerent resident spoonbills high up in the trees, but it took me a little while longer to spy one of their feathers on a bed of leaves:
And though I didn’t see snails, by looking for the first time along the cracks in the cement-molded-like-rock ledges, I did discover this cute little millipede:
I admit that I wasn’t as thorough about lifting up and looking under fallen/rotten leaves as I might have been, since my fondness for invertebrates has its limits, and I was afraid I might come across a cockroach and be scarred for life. But my new perspective did help me notice flowers and plants that had been literally beneath my notice before. It was nice to be reminded that there’s always more to an environment than first meets the eye.
Usually, when I visit the Amazonia exhibit, I’m looking up—checking the trees for birds and monkeys, peering up at far-away blossoms (and cocoa pods), and trying in vain to find the elusive sloth (as far as I know, it’s only ever been sighted by the people who work there).
But the last time I went, it occurred to me that I was falling into the typical vertebrate-centric pitfall, focusing all my energy on the big, the flashy, the creatures who flit through trees. But this was Amazonia—a place full of layers of life, and surely I would also find organisms of interest that were smaller and closer to the ground. So I started paying more attention to what was at and below my eye level—and although I didn’t find any land snails (as I’d been rather fervently hoping I would), I did see more than enough to interest me.
Early on, I had spotted the belligerent resident spoonbills high up in the trees, but it took me a little while longer to spy one of their feathers on a bed of leaves:
And though I didn’t see snails, by looking for the first time along the cracks in the cement-molded-like-rock ledges, I did discover this cute little millipede:
I admit that I wasn’t as thorough about lifting up and looking under fallen/rotten leaves as I might have been, since my fondness for invertebrates has its limits, and I was afraid I might come across a cockroach and be scarred for life. But my new perspective did help me notice flowers and plants that had been literally beneath my notice before. It was nice to be reminded that there’s always more to an environment than first meets the eye.
{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
And Then You Remember
I happened to stop by the lion enclosure today just as the cubs were let out, and I was lucky enough to grab a prime spot for viewing and photographing the cubs—all of whom, in a fine mood, gamboled about like crazy. I also spoke briefly with one of the other camera-toting zoo visitors as we watched the cubs’ antics; he commented on the astonishingly loud snarl emitted by one of the cubs, a noise that seemed too big to have been produced by such a (relatively) small body. “Amazing, isn’t it?” I agreed. “I catch myself thinking, ‘Oh, they’re so cute and little and fuzzy…’”
“…And then you remember they’re lions,” he finished.
Yeah.
This is not to say that the cubs aren’t capable of being completely adorable and/or acting absurd—here are just a couple of examples:
But it’s worth remembering that the winsome expression I ooh and aah over is on the face of an animal who’s licking its lips after gnawing on the meaty bone of some large creature.
And even the silliest-looking sibling antics, like this:
—Are just practice for more coordinated attacks, like these:
Which in turn would become, if these cubs grew up in the wild, the kinds of attacks that would bring down wildebeest.
The cubs are certainly growing up; they defend their food much more violently now:
And, while they can still be intimidated by their mother (see below),
They will fight even her if she tries to take their food:
It’s not that they’re less fun to watch now, or that I like them less than I would an herbivorous species. In truth, I somewhat cherish the chill that runs through me as I see the cubs behaving in a particularly predatory manner: it helps remind me that they’re not like us—and they’re not our pets, either. Even as they cavort in this snow-dotted enclosure across the ocean from their native habitat, even born and raised in captivity as they are, they’re nobody’s stuffed toys; they’re as wild as you can get.
“…And then you remember they’re lions,” he finished.
Yeah.
This is not to say that the cubs aren’t capable of being completely adorable and/or acting absurd—here are just a couple of examples:
But it’s worth remembering that the winsome expression I ooh and aah over is on the face of an animal who’s licking its lips after gnawing on the meaty bone of some large creature.
And even the silliest-looking sibling antics, like this:
—Are just practice for more coordinated attacks, like these:
Which in turn would become, if these cubs grew up in the wild, the kinds of attacks that would bring down wildebeest.
The cubs are certainly growing up; they defend their food much more violently now:
And, while they can still be intimidated by their mother (see below),
They will fight even her if she tries to take their food:
It’s not that they’re less fun to watch now, or that I like them less than I would an herbivorous species. In truth, I somewhat cherish the chill that runs through me as I see the cubs behaving in a particularly predatory manner: it helps remind me that they’re not like us—and they’re not our pets, either. Even as they cavort in this snow-dotted enclosure across the ocean from their native habitat, even born and raised in captivity as they are, they’re nobody’s stuffed toys; they’re as wild as you can get.
{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}
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