Relativistic Engineering

Introduction

When the theory of Relativity was first announced to the world in 1905 and published in its general form in 1916 it was hailed as an astounding breakthrough by the scientific community. The general world subsequently marveled and acclaimed it in 1920, with the majority without a real appreciation of its impact, or even relate to it as easily as Newtonian mechanics. It was once said that when Albert Einstein met Charlie Chaplin he praised him for not speaking a word and had the whole world understood his silent movies. In reply Chaplin said it was even more amazing that the general world marveled and praised Einstein’s discovery without understanding what the discovery meant. Since Newtonian-based engineering solutions involve space-time Special (SR) and general relativity (GR) render them as approximations because most terrestrial applications involve moving frame relative velocities negligible compared to the speed of light. Purists however would want to know what if engineering solutions include relativistic effects, in particular applications of communications in deep space, interstellar observations, or even the effect of gravitation on time-based internet applications.

SCARF15

The coyote bandits at Liberty Gate

There lies within the hearts of men and women a mean streak that must be suppressed – that of bullying those weaker than us or at the least, hold them in disdain. Why do I say this? Because warring nations in the past exerted themselves in subjugation of weaker nations, and behavior of such rogue national leaders are no different from behavior of individuals as they seek whoever to exploit. Look no further than the political adventurism of contentious countries today. What about animals? Do they bully?

Far in the wild west of the Sahara Desert is a place called Liberty Gate. Within the compound is a mansion belonging to an animal lover. David Burns decided to plough his fortune to show kindness to whatever animals that come to his gate. The wild animals are free to come and go, and every time they would leave well fed, or carry some food back to their young or their herd. He started with a wounded lioness who could not hunt because of an injury or illness. Then apes or gorillas would come by in times of drought and David would share his crops from his well-tended fields. A lone bull elephant once wandered through his gate weakened by something wrong he ate had to be treated for digestive troubles and given antibiotics. He also kept livestock of chickens or small animals as offerings to emaciated refugee carnivores. David’s Foundation is also well supported the world over and not a few volunteers and veterinarians would help out in the animal halfway-house. This went on well for a year. Then word went round among the wild animals, or rather the smell of food went around.

The unusual event started when a young chimpanzee was set free after having its broken tail bandaged. The Liberty staff was generous enough to give it a bunch of green bananas as a parting gift. As it sauntered out the gate suddenly two large animals confronted it. They were African golden wolves – similar to the North American coyote (family canidae) but they were hungry and ferocious. They snarled and snapped at the diminutive chimp, causing it to drop his parting gift to escape with his bandaged tail. The bandits sniffed at the green bananas and took several bites at it. Then they abandoned it and slumped back to the shadow of the large gates to await better viands. Later they spotted another patient leaving the hospital. This time it was a young hyena, with a bandaged rear leg, torn as a result of a fight. Better still, in its mouth was half a chicken breast – a recuperation gift from Liberty. The wolves leapt into action – one standing in front and another snapping at the rear of the wounded hyena. It was no match. As it ran off tail between its hinds, the bandits started sparring over the dropped chicken – pulling it between themselves. Satisfied after consuming their booty they cowered back in the shadow of the gates, as if talking to themselves – “Hey this is not a bad idea – free food for the taking…” Then for several days nothing happened – none of the patients were going home. Even the gates were closed. Then on a rather hot day, suddenly the gates opened remotely. The wolves sat up suddenly, saliva dripping from hunger. When they looked earnestly past the driveway they saw a large object slowly approaching the gate. Eventually the animal came into view – a female elephant was slowly lumbering home – in her mouth she held a corm of ripe bananas. The bandits discreetly parted way for it to pass – maybe not today – they seem to mutter in their breath. They slumped away in the shadows panting in the heat, oblivious even to the couple of ripe bananas that dropped behind the lumbering gait of the elephant. They were famished for the next two days, drinking only from the meagre pond of stagnant water next to the road. Then it happened. A young bear trotted slowly out the gate – in its mouth was a large piece of venison. The wolves stood up, dribbling from the mouth with hunger. Rarely would wolves contest with a bear for food – but this time they outnumbered it two to one. The bear growled in anger when the two approached it, jaws slashing here and there. As it dropped its food, the bear stood up full height in defiance. The wolves momentarily cowered from the threatening stance. As one of them gingerly approached the dropped meat the bear swung his large paws and almost mauled the whimpering wolf. But no – just at that time the accomplice managed to sneak in from behind to grab the meat. Then the wolves retreated together – their prize safely in one’s jaws. The bear could only protest in loud growls, before disappearing into the woods. Then weeks passed – no patients to rob. The bandits were hungry and angry.

Then on a hazy Thanksgiving day they were in luck. With the setting sun, out of the gate strolled a Fennec fox, a sizable turkey leg in its mouth. Its back was bandaged due to a wound sustained by an arrow. As it walked nimbly forward the two monsters jumped in front of her – like nightmarish ghouls about to swallow it up. The fox calmly sidestepped the wolves and ran quickly to escape. But the monstrous wolves were fast and before long surrounded the fox front and rear. Helpless the fox yelped in anguish for losing its precious meal, dropped the turkey and trotted off. The bullies licked their licks and wolfed down the turkey meat, growling with insatiable estacy. “Did you see her?”, one wolf said to another. “Its like taking candy from a child!”. Just then two shots rang out in the falling darkness. The bandit wolves fell almost together, with bloodied wounds from their necks and head.

Up till today nobody saw, knew why or what actually happened. No witnesses. But for all the victims of the robbery at Liberty gate they knew one day justice would prevail.

Donkey Butterflies

Gandalf, the wizard in the book Hobbit has an unseen companion which appears only in distressed times of great danger and adversity. When he was about to plunge into the eternal depths a pair of butterflies appear, reassuring and comforting. Many of us face untold obstacles, whether a physical or mental debilitation, limiting our growth and progress through life. A character, Jabez in the biblical book of Chronicles, was said to have problems at birth and growth. He had to call upon God to bless him to keep him out of pain’s way and to extend his reach in life. There’s the creature today that can be a source of great reassurance and calmness – the unobtrusive butterfly.

Kissmo was only 2 months old when he was with his mother on work. Their master works at an apiary delivering honey to the market daily on the backs of donkeys. They had to trek through some valleys on the way, passing through patches of Malayan farmland and flower-fields. Kissmo was energetic, with no load on his back and wandered to the flowers, sniffing as he went like the scent of spring. But what fascinated him was not just the flowers. Butterflies of all shapes and colors would flutter over his head. Kissmo, enthralled would jumped at them hoping for a game of catch. But soon he tired, realizing that they were too quick for his tiny legs. Kissmo grew in strength while his parents aged to a point where they could not carry much of the weight of honey-filled canisters. So Kissmo began his duty of hauling honey. Such was his daily life – hauling honey on a pull-truck and taking breaks resting with his beauties on the hillslopes. Until one day an incident made him homeless. He was reaching the town where his load was to be offloaded when the cartwheel hid a large stone on the side. Suddenly the cart turned over, spilling honey over Kissmo’s back and canisters on the track. But what fell along the track was other stuff besides honey canisters. The local constabulary was at the scene and picked up what appeared to be sachets of some powder hidden between the canisters. Kissmo’s driver was taken to the local police station and the police sergeant confirmed that Kissmo’s owner was transporting banned drugs. Charged with contraband, the driver as well as Kissmo’s owner was arraigned and detained. With no one to claim ownership Kissmo was left to wander in the hills. He had no more than a hut for home as his owners were so impoverished that they had to turn to contraband to supplement sale of honey for survival. But Kissmo knew where the best grass were to feed himself – and where his favorite friends can be found.

Then his leisurely life wandering the hillslopes of Gunong Tahan took an interesting turn. That same afternoon of the cart accident the wandering Kissmo realized many butterflies of all shapes and colors flying about his rump. They were attracted to the honey than had spilled from the truck. He was delighted. But everywhere he went to look for his beautiful friends more and more butterflies gathered and landed on him, sucking up the honey from his back. Besides, bees also found the scent to gather around. Kissmo didn’t mind the curious daily attraction on his back but soon humans noticed it too. Some trekking tourists started taking photos and selfies with him and soon their postings on social media went virial, headlined “Curious butterfly donkey at Mount Tahan”. As weeks went by more and more international tourists saw Kissmo’s collection of butterflies. The Malaysian Tourist Promotion soon took notice. They found Kissmo a home and tended to his daily needs – feeding him supplements of food other than grass. He even appeared in a picture posting as an ambassador in the “Welcome to Malaysia” travel brochure. Who would have thought that such luck would follow Kissmo’s misfortune of loosing his job as a honey delivery donkey?

But Kissmo’s joy continued. One day out of nowhere a man came from behind and hugged him over his head. Overjoyed from seeing him again Kissmo couldn’t help braying that his Master was finally released from jail. But he could not find back his job at the apiary, being an ex-convict. So he volunteered to be Kissmo’s keeper in his tourist duties. He would try his best to explain the flowers and butterflies that encircled Kissmo whenever they meet them. Once, just to be an interesting guide, he tried singing for the visitors. To everybody’s surprise, Kissmo tried accompanying his master’s voice, grunting and braying as he sang. Soon the duo became a hit at the tours. “Come see the singing donkey and butterfly tours!”, the TV ad would appear. Who says anyone who’s a failure in life should be called a donkey?

.

Cicada has spoken

Truth be told, there’re times I wish that I had kept insects than dogs for a pet. If they die I just throw them out where some bird will eat. They are great survivors if I forget to feed them. And when I felt like leaving the house, even for long trips, I don’t feel guilt of abandonment. But dogs show allegiance and responds to love. From birth puppies are programmed to bond with humans. That’s enough for some out of loneliness. The cicada however in their large numbers may have a purpose. They proclaim the significance of events to come. This is the story of Mamy and Ken – a couple that had a long time wanted a baby conceived of their own. They were well loved by their friends, family and community. Even the nation wanted people of their caliber to produce children, believing that well-endowed parents provide the hope of future generations to ensure the country’s future. Despite all the public hype and financial windfall, the prospect of the couple’s natural off-spring was as bleak as ever. And even bleaker as they grew older. But they became busier with age, because their background, training and performance drove them to even greater responsibilities. And even lesser time for family-creation. Then when she passed her late forties, Mamy had already given up, with more time for even greater professional pursuits, foregoing the psychological burdens from expectant parents. What about Ken? He’s no less illustrious in his career but the tensions from a deficient family life at retirement was starting to creep up upon him. As they say, a man is always ready to start a family and a successful man with all his fortune makes a prime candidate to do so. But human relations are more complicated – both Ken and Mamy were hopelessly dedicated and true to each other. There was a similar story of this in the biblical character of Abraham and Sarah. Sarah was barren into her eighties and yet Abraham believed Sarah would be the source of the God-promised son. Then in a moment of madness, Sarah suggested Abraham take on a mistress to fulfil that role, which he duly complied. And probably instantly regretted. For Ken there was no such cure. He loved Mamy until the day of her death and even after. Still he remained the most eligible widower in the universe, or so he thought. And perhaps the most desirable. But no, there’s no break from the past and a life of loneliness was part self-imposed. Until a veterinarian friend suggested adopting somebody’s unplanned puppy.

Man and dog became inseparable, like a lost love transferred. Ken’s loneliness seems cured – temporarily. As the beloved puppy aged frequent visits to the vet became necessary for the besotted owner, hoping to have the companionship for life. It was not to be. At the last visit to the vet, even she could not help feeling sorry. Ken became alone, crushed again by separations that wrecked his life. After his first dog died Ken continued to visit the vet looking at possible re-adoption. But he couldn’t bring himself to outliving the wonderful pets even shelter dogs provide. Then a friendship blossomed – with the vet. Those daily visits for the puppy and adoptions had finally taken their toll. Who would have known that that became the Sarah cure? Anyway Ken finally did not have to be alone the rest of his life, plus the pleasure of a body and soulmate missing for a decade. Yet the memory of his first love stayed unsettled and the romance did not end in thoughts of marriage. In fact it did not end anywhere. Until…

One rainy day Ken’s vet lover announced the prospect of a new arrival. Ken was esthetic. Finally a complete family! He was so joyful with the fulfillment at such an advanced age that he couldn’t sleep that night. Trashing about on his bed he thought he heard a strange sound outside on the still night, after the rain. When he opened the window the sound was deafening. It was the buzz of cicadas, thousands of them, enough to cause deafness. Like mayflies they have this divine plan of survival of the specie. The force of procreation is so great that millions of them would mature about the same time furiously looking for mates to ensure satisfied union and reproduction. Turns out that the new baby is not his. And the truth would not be revealed by her, even if he cares to find out. The cicadas have spoken. Even with the truth out they would remain intimate friends – he’d care for her baby and she his dogs. Quit pro quo.

The cicada spelled a life change on his love-life

When a serow meets a stoat – how the dancing stopped

It has been said that thunder never strike the same tree twice. Unless the mind plays tricks on you with dejavu, many will confess that apparent coincidences can happen multiple times.

Seve, a serow native to Japan lives in the woods of Hokkaido. They are like mountain goats, feeding on grass and tree barks in winter with the demon-like little horns on their heads. One winter while stripping out what nutrition he could find on japonica shrub he thought he heard a rustle nearby. Looking up there was a stoat (mustela erminea orientalis) with its long neck peeping out from a slender rock. Stoats or ermines are related to the weasel family and the species native to Hokkaido usually sports a white coat of fur. This one had shades of brown – with its paws hanging down it seemed Seve had found a willing friend. So they forage food together although ermines are carnivores, hunting small animals. That evening Seve had a dream.

He was a stone – a small one like the millions of stones scattered around the hillside. Being one of the millions around he was totally helpless – stones will roll whenever there is a lower level available. Not only that – whenever there is an injustice around stones remain passive, unable to protest or champion themselves to a cause. Seve was perplexed so he turned to his friend. The stoat had a simple answer – creation must wait for the Creator for justice. But meanwhile all will have to live within their means. Seve was somewhat unsure but the two ploughed on. Their search for food in the wintry months led them to the riversides to look for surviving shrubs and perhaps fish or turtles for the stoat. They stayed there past spring. When the heat of summer arrived it became easier for finding food as the river came to life. One sunny evening the water was calm and mist started rising from the surface from the noonday heat. Seve stood for a moment staring across the riverbank. Then they appeared – only a few at a time – rising from the river surface and fluttering around. Mayflies. As if on cue groups of them starting appearing together like tiny helicopters struggling out of the river depths. And on and on they grew in numbers. You could hear the fluttering of their tiny wings as millions of them came across like the roar of a typhoon wind. Then suddenly the cloud of flyers collapsed together onto the water surface. But only momentarily. Again from the collapsed sheets of wriggling insects emerged some taking off from the water and rising high above the river. Then came the predators. On the river a splash broke out on the surface as fish jumped on the hapless male mayflies fulfilling their last rites of copulation. Birds swept around and snatched the females, loaded with eggs, in midair. But their sheer numbers would not be consumed completely. Scores rose higher than the overhanging branches and disappeared into the foliage, carrying their fertilized cargoes into the future. Seve and his friend turned to go – just another mystery of life. But the story repeats itself since creation for all living things:

Swarms of females at some time of their lives would seek to be mated. Their sexual fulfilment with males driven to copulation completes a death-like mission with the force of progeny. Surely this must justify that all living things, male or female must eventually march to the end of their lives.

One day the stoat said to Seve – “Let me show you a place where we can hunt many fowl”. He led the Seve through many strange forest paths and came to a riverside. In the darkness they came on a scene of many water fowls moving together.

Flamingoes breed in large numbers near where bountiful crustaceans and small riverbed fish lives. But they are constantly moving – as if in a group dance. It is just a survival tactic. By constantly moving about their predators would have trouble focusing on a single individual as prey. Watching them you would have thought they were doing a dance – the likes of a samba or mamba – moving their heads here and there and kicking their legs in a confusion of moves. The stoat and Seve approached slowly, ready to pounce. But as soon as their feet hit the water’s edge the entire herd flew – taking off in droves. Well we tried, said Seve, turning round to look for easier food like the shoots growing at the riverside. But the stoat persisted. He slowly approached the flock further up the bank, hoping to snatch a young unsuspecting chick. Then just before he rush forward came a sound of rushing wind. From the sky an eagle swopped toward the flock.

Again the dancing troupe scattered, splashing water around. The stoat ran back toward Seve, who was already in the forest shade. The dancing stopped and a calm fell onto the sunset.

The curse of anonymity

Snakes are not all bad. If you’d stopped in your tracks on hearing this perhaps you might not know that only about 600 of the 3000 species of snakes are venomous (to humans) and you may have to look for them. Then there’s their movement. Hearsay conditions us to think that all silent attacks are stealthy. Not with a rattlesnake – it’s warning rattle is perhaps to not waste their venom on a human-being. But true to form few people like slithering, crawly creatures and snakes do not demonstrate polite dining manners – most swallow their meals whole and to do that for large fares they have a jaw-dropping habit.

Our story concerns the bigeye whip snake – one that might pop up in your garden bush occasionally. It did so at Mrs Damselsmith’s rose garden. Her husband is an avid composer and would be at his piano most of the day, letting out his music through the open window to the garden. He had been doing it for years, but fame eluded him all the time as none of his compositions hit the right note for excellence and celebrity. Sometimes he would play his favorite pieces thru the sound system while accompanying on his piano. One day his repertoire of dance music was particularly lyrical and lilting that he did not realize someone was enjoying his music. On the rose bush was Snipes. One look at him would make you laugh – the bigeye whipsnake had this comical look about it – as if it was enjoying some kind of joke all day. But Snipes is special – he loves to dance. And the dance music that day was particularly infectious. Swaying slowly this way and that he followed the rhythm wafting out of the window. It came to pass one day the composer was seriously writing out a new piece – a samba dance. But Snipes had a problem – there was another snake which visits the garden – a cobra whose appetite favors other snakes. One day a terrifying thing happened. The weather was fine and the gardener was out weeding and trimming the bush. Mrs. Damselsmith was collecting flowers for the dining room when she noticed Snipes – shaking away and turning its head here and there to the music’s beat. So charming, she said to herself and went towards a tree to pick some apples for the living room. Little did Snipes knew that he was being stalked. Then abruptly the music stopped. When she turned back she let our a muffled grasp. On the grass was the cobra wriggling, its head missing. Seems that the gardener did not notice and accidentally snipped off its head when it was about to strike Snipes. It was easy to do so because the color of the cobra matches the brown dead leaves of the bush. The gardener came near, shaking his head to his mistress and apologetically collected the dead cobra in a bag for disposal. The composer poked his head out the window with a puzzled look. Mrs Damselsmith turned to her husband to explain the commotion. “Funny…”, he replied – “when the gardener snipped its head my mind went blank and I couldn’t continue at all on the piano!” But Snipes was alive – hidden deep within the bush, waiting for the music to come out. When the composer resumed his recital Mrs Damelsmith saw Snipes at the top of the bush. “What a likeable fellow!”, she said. “Would you like to come hunt some of those pesky lizards in my house?” So the gardener put Snipes in a chicken-gauze cage and transferred him to a corner of the house in the porch where lizards abound. Snipes was given free-rein on a bush planted beside the corner and from where he could go in and out to the garden. Once in a while he would crawl up the tall bush, which reaches almost to the ceiling, stretch out his head and pick off the lizards that feed on the moths swarming around the lamp. That’s not all – Mrs DamselSmith got the electrician to run a loudspeaker that pipes her husband’s piano music for Snipe’s enjoyment. Visitors to the house at dinner would look curiously out to the corner, enjoying not just the Master’s dance pieces on the piano but the sinuous twisting of the house entertainer, which in a moment of joy would give the visitors a happy-snake look. Finally the composer had found fame – in the form of a dancing snake.

The king that learned to swim

There are dozens of birds that can swim. Those that stay for long in or underwater are water-birds like ducks, geese, swan, penguins, puffins, cormorants, loons or grebes. Birds however that dive underwater momentarily to hunt are different – they do not have the breathing mechanisms to live comfortably under the water surface. This is the story of the oriental dwarf kingfisher Jarro. Jarro likes to sing and sometimes you can hear him in his signature cries ringing through the forest. But he can’t stay that way for long – hunger pangs drive him to hunt. He would stand silent on a riverside branch for a while choosing his target and dives in for a kill. Often he would catch small fish that came to the riverside. One day the fish in view was larger – and quicker. Jarro dived – but missed. The fish returned and Jarro missed again. I need to pursue it underwater, Jarro thought to himself. So when bigger and faster fish come alongside Jarro would pursue for a longer time underwater. Soon he began to last longer underwater. Jarro was happy that he did not have to make those repeated dives he did before – larger fish he caught lasted longer before he needed to hunt again. Until one day a sea-eagle came to visit. Jarro was singing on a branch and his repertoire attracted the predator. Swiftly the eagle circled down towards Jarro – a kingfisher would do if there are no fish around for lunch. “Dive Jarro! dive!”, Jaro’s friends seem to scream from a nearby bush. Jarro jumped – just escaping the eagle’s talons. Then the pursuit. Jarro dived into the water. The eagle was stunned for a moment. Never before it had to catch his prey going into the water surface – mostly all it needed was to lift a swimming fish out from under the water. It circled away from the water surface, its talons swung aimlessly. Jarro emerged on some rocks at the shore. The eagle spotted him and swung into action. Jarro dived again into the water. The eagle followed then dived towards the water surface its talons swinging slowly like a pendulum would. As Jarro emerged again in the opposite bank, he saw the eagle flying off, a large fish caught within one of its leg’s talons. Crap! – that was my lunch – Jarro swore within his breath. But it was a close escape.

Then another day it happened again. Jarro was catching a fish underwater when he sensed a commotion coming from above. As he landed on his favorite branch he saw them.

They were frolicking around having ran in from the seaside some distance away. Jarro dived again for a second catch and soon he sensed a disturbance in the water. Two otters had entered the river too and swimming strongly towards him. Not again! Jarro abandoned his target and turned away from the invaders hot in pursuit. Jarro had no match in speed-swimming like he had against the eagle. “Fly-up! Fly-up”, he heard himself shouting. He flapped his wings to leave the water and this time the otters were stunned. As he landed on his branch, empty-handed Jarro looked in anger at the splashing from below him. The otters had began to clean up his fishing grounds. Time to look for another river he thought. What’s a king without a kingdom?

The elephant with no name

His was a cheerful birth. At that time both mother and the bull were so happy to welcome him into the world. And already he had two other siblings – running and splashing around the lush lakeside. An elephant’s birth can be quite a splash. Mother would cradle him with her trunk near the sac and pushed his relatively tiny legs to walk pass the amniotic fluid. And dad – what a delighted father. He would often lie down to within his reach and allow the wriggly pachyderm to crawl all over his massive hide. So the baby grew – in size and curiosity. Every individual in the herd was his play-fellow.

You would wish baby elephants are forever. But he grew up, at a time when the elephant camp in the Thai resort needed help in reconstruction for the growing tourist industry. So the keepers came and took him away from the herd to train as a logger. Normally an elephant takes 16 years to be weaned from its parents and the first 2 years of its life is fragile – it is said that more than 30% of calves in the wild do not survive. Anyway at 5 years old Sottai was given a name. So started his variegated life. Though stressed when separated from his playfellows Sottai became a sturdy worker – and sometimes tourists would come by and pat his hairy hide – still not enough compared to the love received from his herd. For 16 years he had to work between dragging large logs or impress humans and their children who had never seen a live elephant up close. Still he was never far from the chains that enslaved him. What happened to the cheerful and playful side nature endowed him with? He would say to himself – the harder my fortunes the stronger and kinder I would become. But his hard early life was not entirely sterling. One day he refused to drag the chains anymore – regardless of the pain from the goads. Then under labor he let out loud cries of anguish trumpeting through the forest and unsettling visitors and other elephants. Yet heaven did gave him a kind respite. His mahout was a kindly old Thai, who felt sorry for him and intervened to have him learn painting and entertain tourists. Elephants are amazing creatures for their trunks. A human being has 600 muscles in our body – an elephant has 40 000 in the trunk alone. Still he was en-chained like all the other working elephants, and of course they are not born artists. After a coupled of years he could hold his own palette and made some repeated strokes that delighted the crowds. He was given another name and earned his keep for a year. Then the pandemic struck and tourists dried up. He was alone again. And unemployed. By now Sitchai, a name more suited to being an artist is a full grown male, and restless for a mate.

He found his comfort in an older female. She actually worked longer dragging logs than him but because of her size she was given lighter loads. Still, at the end of the day Sitchai would lumber up to her in their enclosure and found relief and friendship. Elephants have a distinct way of bonding. Their trunks would constantly be probing and caressing and they would even look each other in the eye. As the pandemic dragged on for another year the resort owners decided that maybe the pair can join the circus – traveling to audiences than having them come to the resort. Sitchai was trained again for circus acts. In the old days cruel things were done to animals for circus but Sitchai took it in his strides. But still if you are hardworking and earnest in this world you may still be abused and bullied. Sitchai and his female companion had to endure the unnatural way circus elephants were made to march and walk – on hind legs and on balancing balls. Elephants are very sensitive to the surroundings and to the living things they interact with. Sotchai (that’s his new name given by the trainer) reacts very differently to his care-taker and the trainer. Sometimes he would scream with joy at the end of the day on meeting the one who feeds him and prepared him for performances. But at the sight of the trainer he’d often look away or flaps his ears in disgust. Then after a few months into the pandemic his destiny changed again – this time instead of being kept it was decided it would be less costly to release him into the jungle and training him to fend for himself. It was a tough call again – Sotchai had not been with a herd for over a decade – how’s he going to learn to live in the wild? His female friend was also released, but in a different part of the country. Sotchai was crushed – he had to be – elephants remember everything. So he was wandering in the jungle – a few weeks he was followed by a mahout for safety. It was a mixed fortune for him – gone are the chains but where is the daily feed of unsold bananas and fruits? Then another respite from heaven.

One evening he was approaching a waterhole deep in the jungle he met several individuals – a herd with a familiar smell. After a few moments of standoffish silence and trunk waving it dawned on him that he had found his long-lost family. His siblings had all grown up with their own calves. More trunk sniffing and ear-waving, then cries of joy ensued. Sotchai (or whatever humans called him) was home. No more chains and slavish human oppressions. He was free to be a pachyderm again. As the sun set that day its crimson rays fell on the herd heading into the jungle – a herd that had the healing of a lost son. But it wasn’t the last healing from the affliction of humans. Several weeks later he met her.

They were in the jungle. There was a familiar scent again – the scent of a woman. Then moving into a small clearing he saw her – the old log-dragging friend that suffered so much with him. But she was lying down on her side, her trunk turning here and there. He approached – tears oozing from his weary, crinkled eyes. She didn’t even lift her head or tried to get up. He crouched down wrapping his worn trunk around her head again and again, stopping here and there to sniff out his beloved fellow-sufferer. He let out a soft rumble from deep in his throat. Her trunk now turning in smaller circles as her body, wasted from years of labor and abuse began to cool down. When the tip of her trunk could barely quiver he got up and slowly turned to rejoin his herd. He knew that was the moment.

Welcome to my parlor

There are over 5000 species of ladybird (coccinellidae or ladybug) having various colors to their wings. Florists will tell you of how useful are they in keeping out harmful insects from plants – in particular aphids which suck out the juices of their host. The ladybugs would gobble them and quickly fly to another leaf or plant to keep out the almost invisible pests. The 7-spotted red and black ladybug is most seen and loved in N America. Their colors are a defense mechanism – warning predators of the repulsive secretion from their joints when attacked.

Her name is Borela and she’s a 7-spotted lady. Sometimes Borela would meet many of her friends – all with different colors on their favorite hibiscus branch. There they will clean up the aphids around the yellow flowers and find a nice cool spot to lay eggs.

One day while they were scuttling under a leaf to deposit their eggs all of a sudden a shadow jumped in front of her.

It was a jumping spider. (telemonia) And it cornered them into his lair by waving its long, hairy legs. With a booming voice and a sneaky laugh he proclaimed – “Welcome to my parlor!” Borela turned to her friends saying, “That sounds familiar, wonder where is that from?” “Enough!”, said the spider, “today we will have a conference of colors since all of you have decided to come together in one place.” “Nay”, said Corela the yellow-polka dot, “You have no web to ensnare us, so all at once we’ll stretch our wings to fly off.” As Borela stretched out her wings the spider jumped so that she had to move off to avoid his landing. “Fools! Don’t you know that we salticids don’t make threads but kill our preys by ambush?” But before he could pounce again, the entire colony of ladybugs stretched their wings and disappeared in an instance. Those idiots don’t know that socializing is, he thought to himself and crawled clumsily under another leaf to hide for another ambush. But not long afterwards the entire branch shook violently. The spider poked out its head and saw a yellow flash of color. It was a black-naped oriole, looking here and there surveying for insects.

Oh, oh – the spider now turned its head back – time to go, he thought. But the oriole already sensed its presence and flew instantly to peck under the leaf. The spider jumped again – into nowhere out of the tree. He got lucky, landing onto another leaf with three ladybugs. But this time the colony stood still and in unison oozed the repulsive smell of secretions from their joints.

The spider turned and scuttled clumsily down the underside of another leaf.

The magic arrow

The North American bison (species bovini) or buffalo is thought to migrate to the continent from 195 to 135 thousand years ago. It was estimated to number 60 million in the late 18th century but dropped critically to 581 by 1889, due to commercial slaughter and diseases brought on by domestic imported cattle. Recovery efforts in the mid-20th century then brought the numbers up to about 30 000 wild bison in 2019. However the genetic bottleneck remains a problem due to a lack of genetic diversity in its propagation. Native Americans had spiritual and cultural connection to the animal and today is the national mammal of USA.

In the early 17th century the Arapaho Indians routinely hunted a bison herd in the lowlands of the Tetons. One chieftain whose Indian name translates to “Broken Tooth” had to worry not only about meat but rain for the crops which the tribe ate with bison. One summer the rains were very late and despite all the medicine man’s machinations the crops were drying up quickly and the squaws had to walk miles to fetch drinking water. In desperation Tooth angrily pulled out an arrow from his quiver, stretched his bow to the limit and shot it straight up into the sky. Cowering in fear lest he had angered the thunder god, Tooth ran into his tepee to await his punishment. Sure, the thunder god must have been angry for a loud thunder ensued with streaks of lightning slowly building up on the mountainsides. To his amazement, several moments later sheets of rain began to fall. The rest of the tribe was ecstatic, some breaking into dance with spear, war-bonnets and other ceremonial head-dress. Tooth was partly amused, wondering if he had done the right thing, when a boy came to his side. In his hand he had retrieved the arrow that had brought the rain. Casually, he threw it in his tepee and joined the dancing throng. Months passed. But the drought in the following summer was far worse. The elders in the tribe was restless again and turning to Tooth for relief. Tooth was crestfallen. Then he remembered the arrow incident. He pulled out the arrows from his quiver and shot them in quick succession as high as he could into the blazing sun. Nothing happened. Then he asked his other chiefs for their quivers. Soon all the arrows were spent but the sun kept its blazing heat on the fields and tribe. As evening fell, Tooth retreated to his tepee in frustration, hot in anger. As he lay his head back he saw the arrow lying in the corner. He had forgotten about it. Wondering if he should even try, he raised himself wearily and grabbed the bow on the way out to the starry sky. Slowly he drew the bow. He didn’t even pull it to the maximum when he released. Soon storm clouds gathered in the sunset. A while later lightning and sounds of thunder gradually rolled in from the east. Shrieks of joy and loud chanting arose from his tribe. Again Tooth felt relieved. When the dancing was over he ordered his tribesmen to gather and find the arrow. Which one? Hundreds were shot into the sky earlier. In exasperation he turned to the boy. And he instantly recognized the magic arrow – the one with a reddish bloodstain on its fletching.

And so the Arapaho tribe had no drought problems for several summers and word got around to other neighboring tribes to have Broken Tooth help bring rain. Tooth took special care to ensure the magic arrow was found at each shoot and he kept it in a separate slot in his quiver. Until one autumn hunting season. He hadn’t used the magic arrow for a long time for the rains had been timely. Together with his hunting party they came upon a stout bison. He was bravely protective of his cows and calves. The native Indians needed to kill only one beast to have enough meat for a season. But Bravo the stout bison would protect by coming between the hunters and the chosen calf. All the arrows that missed their target was shielded off by Bravo. Broken Tooth had almost used up his quiver and it would take many strikes to take down a bull instead of a calf. In the heat of the moment Broken Tooth fired off his magic arrow at Bravo. It found its mark at Bravo’s hump. With a painful groan Bravo ran off back to its herd, several arrows embedded on his back. When Broken Tooth returned to his tribe with the vanquished calf he discovered with great sorrow that his magic arrow was now roaming the mountains with Bravo instead of bringing rain to his crops. Word began to go around to his tribesmen and other tribes to look for Bravo and the magic arrow. Meanwhile Bravo began to experience the magic of the arrow, still stuck fast to his hide. Bravo, still very much alive with the superficial wounds on his thick hide would go around with his herd looking for greener pastures and for waterholes. But one time when they ran out of edible greens, and encountered dried out waterholes, Bravo shook his shaggy back and a thundery shower would follow. Bravo soon learned that by as much as shaking the magic arrow on his back, rain would come. However one day a hunting party spotted Bravo with his signature clutch of arrows stuck on the center of his humped back. The attack was furious – retrieve the magic arrow by any means. Bravo ran for his life. Through tall bushes and overhanging branches he gave up all the life that remained in him. Suddenly the pursuers stopped and backed off the chase. He was spared only when the pursuers noticed all the arrows that stuck to his back had come off. Bravo limped back to his waiting herd and the group of hunters starting searching the brushes and the trees for that one arrow.

When Broken Tooth got back his arrow he was delirious. He brushed off the blood and dust and waited for the moment to test its power again. But no rain came – not even any signs of thunder or lightning. He tried again and again, pulling so hard to the breaking point of his bow. Nothing. The arrow was magic no more. Somehow Bravo’s blood had tarnished that blood on its feather that gave it its magic.

SCARF14

The world is now our oysters

Each oyster filters over 220 liters of sea-water a day. Imagine how much our ocean has been polluted – billions of tons yearly which includes 8 million tons (95%) of plastics and non-filtered fibers. The humble oysters can clear liquid pollutants but residues remain as giant gyres of rubbish deep in our ocean. Many marine mammals, including edible fish consume micro-plastics and many were threatened with breathing obstructions. It is predicted that there’ll be more micro-plastics than fish in the oceans by 2050. Even as the world needs oysters to filter our oceans it is anathema why so many oyster farms are producing oysters solely for human consumption. The good oysters that remove pollutants are precisely non-edible or non-marketable and one wonders if premium oysters must be grown in clean water to meet human pleasures the oceans would be losing a great friend. But good news – the other 85 000 species of mollusks also feed by filtering seawater. We meet two of them in this story – about the pearl of adversity. Call them Left and Right. Why? The reason can be seen from the top of the shell and watching the direction of spiral, you can see the left uses a left-hand spiral (sinistral) as opposed to the right shell (dextral).

Left shell spiral clockwise while right is CCW

Why is it different is now being explained genetically by scientists. Whereas originally it was thought that chiral molecular malformations caused this it became unlikely because amino acids and biomolecules are left-spiral in structure. Using the CRISPR genetic editor it has been shown that the rare lefty spirals are caused by a malformed gene. And what happened to Lefty and Righty as they languished off the Hawaiian coast of Oahu had a lot to do with this gene. Molluscs eat by filtering plant matter and lots of plankton from seawater. Hundreds of liters provide them with daily sustenance but their digestive systems would rather have less irritants such as sand, gravel or hard bony structures. Lefty tend to have more solids to filter than his counterpart. A look at the tidal movement explains this – the counter clockwise water swirls favor washing particulates into Lefty’s guts than Righty’s. Throughout Lefty’s lifespan his guts have to protect itself from the sharp edges of particulates. So Lefty spits out more and whatever he fails to dislodge his guts secrete a coating to protect against sharp edges. Righty however gets more through his system making him plumb and juicy. Envious though Lefty is he doesn’t complain but Righty cannot get enough of the ocean floor, often propelling himself upstream to catch more zooplanktons. Hey wait up!, Lefty would shout out, and often choke on the spits as he does. But Righty thinks only of himself. “Lazy weakling”, Righty would mutter under his breath as he chases a bloom of planktons. This went on for two summers and Righty became overgrown and bloated that he couldn’t chase the currents of plankton blooms. Lefty however was content to sit next to his friend to eat whatever he could extract from the sand and mud. But these are the moments that he wishes he doesn’t have to endure the constant irritations of life. Lefty was about to find out that he’s the luckier mollusk. Turns out that among the reefs lie several molluscivore – marine mammals such as walrus, seals, parrot or puffer fish that hunts shellfish. Even the octopus has a sharp awl that it uses to drill into succulent bivalves. So that bright sunny day a walrus caught sight of fatty Righty. It handily came by and took him between its flippers.

Like an ice-cream cone it sucked Righty out of its shell and vanished as quickly, leaving Righty’s empty house to sink down to the ocean floor. Lefty shuddered as his friend’s shell landed askew next to him followed by a rush of sand-stream and bubbles. Choking and spitting out the uprush of silt, Lefty wondered what he should do now, being alone. “You can stay by me…I’ll be your protector from now.” – a raspy voice rang out. Lefty looked at the direction of the voice and sees a conch shell, no larger than himself, half-buried in the sand. The voice continued, “No human, walrus or fish would dare come by me as my harpoon carries enough poison to kill ten humans!” Lefty looked at the conch – it seemed like the most harmless, plain shell around but its reputation is infamous.

Death conch

And so Lefty sally forth each day, content to be next to Dreadnought the conch assassin. Until the day of the hurricane. The undercurrents were very swift and by the next day when the waves had calmed, Lefty found himself on the pristine beach. He was not alone. Next to him lying on the sparkling sand were other shells swept from somewhere. Then when he was enjoying the warm sunshine all of a sudden a hand reached down and picked him up. “Hey, look!” – the person exclaimed. “Aren’t those supposed to be extinct?” Lefty wasn’t sure what was that all about. Until he saw the other shells on the sand.

The Hawaiian tree snail was supposed to be extinct. The researchers excitedly collected them with Lefty and returned to their lab. But when they examined Lefty there was another pleasant surprise. They found several pearls within his body. Those were the fruit of months Lefty had to endure the hardship for being a lefty. Difficulties in his life had brought along pearls of great price.

Animal love

It’s been well documented that animals respond to human love. It comes mainly through touch and caresses. Unlike eye-contact, which can lead to aggression, humans and animals have learned to communicate by touch and sound throughout history. Though lacking in human vocalizations, animals confirm their needs with actions.

Tiffany, even at age 14 shows her love for all the animals in her father’s farm. If she’s able to get up early enough she’ll milk the cows and pats them with affection. Then before leaving for school she’ll take out the hay for the mares and donkeys. Obviously she caresses each one and talks to them. She can tell you how the pigeons coot in appreciation as she calls out to them for their feed. From young she knew her destiny was to be an animal trainer and her chance came after graduating from veterinary school. She was invited to Thailand on an exchange WWF program regarding the welfare of elephants. Coming from a country where elephants are not endemic, to Thailand filled her with excitement. Especially when she’s introduced to the calves and babies. And there’s something about elephants which she had no experience on.

Behu looking for females to adopt him

Tiffany met orphan baby Behu when he was brought into the elephant sanctuary. At such a young age, baby elephants need the herd to develop security and Behu was moving around to see if which female would adopt him. In the end Tiffany became closest to him. When Behu became stronger it was decided that he should work with the other elephants. These days they are not made to labor hauling logs but entertaining tourists at the camp. Tearfully Tiffany said goodbye as Behu was given to its handler, a mahout who promised her to take good care of Behu. Years passed.

Tiffany became the busy chief vet at the sanctuary, treating all wildlife besides pachyderms. She is also much fascinated by the variety of South-East Asian birds and her favorite pastime is to trek into the jungle, field glasses in hand with her bird manual. One day as she was peering through at a bulbul a trumpeting call rang out. A bull elephant broke out of the jungle, waving its huge ears threateningly. Tiffany had learned not to panic or run but wait patiently for the beasts to retreat, meaning no harm. But then a strange thing happened. The bull lifted its trunk again and again as if sniffing the air and bowed its head repeatedly. Tiffany couldn’t figure it out but the elephant remembers! For ten years Behu had served the sanctuary and was later released to the wild to start his own family. After Behu came near and caressed Tiffany with its bristled, tawny trunk that she realized it was Behu. What a tearful reunion! And the strange thing was that the rest of the herd was wild – some had never had encounters with humans before. Elephants seem to know who their allies are. Tiffany went right to work, examining Behu and his harem as well as little ones. She took notes and photos where wounds needed to be treated. When she waved goodbye to the herd she was determined that she had an unfinished business with Behu’s ex-mahout. It was to become another adventure in the jungle.

She got hold of the mahout along with the help of four others to track and treat Behu and his herd. After several hours searching in her jeep followed by hours getting to the elephants and treating them in the jungle she took them home. The drive was long – through several villages where the men live. After sending the last one home she was crossing a river when a storm came. As she was coming to the end of the flimsy bridge a river swell moved the bridge from its moors, overflowing her jeep. She struggled out of the vehicle and stumbled to the other side, but her vehicle remained stuck at the wooden bridge. How to get back to civilization? You’d have thought that an easy end to this story is where Behu and his giants will come pull Tiffany to safety with her vehicle. But this is not what turned out. She waited for a while trying to search a signal to her hand-phone without avail. Then she realized that the compass still worked, even without a WiFi signal – go figure how this was possible. With darkness descending and saving a map from her vehicle she decided that trekking to the nearest village was her best chance. After an hour in the jungle tracks she was almost engulfed by darkness – and near desperation as her torchlight battery began to wane. If only Behu were there! But nothing. Besides tigers, leopards and other wildlife abound in the jungle. She sat down on a branch to rest, praying help to come and slapping at mosquitoes. Then she saw the trunk through the moonlight, partly hidden by the trees. She almost cried. Then she thought – there’re many wild elephants in Thailand – how could this be her friend? She tried calling his name. Then a trumpet call followed. Behu slowly appeared in the opening, waving his trunk as usual. She hugged him, the muddy smell regardless. “Behu – you’ve got to get me to a village – anywhere with humans!” – and even before she finished speaking Behu’s powerful trunk lifted her to his sprawling back. Slowly the herd trundled through pitch-dark jungle – Tiffany had never ridden saddle-less on an elephant before. Still she sat pat because the tall grass below her hides pythons or other dreadful creatures. Then after a while the herd stopped and Behu refused to go further. Why? As Tiffany peered through the elephant grass she saw lights. The herd would not go nearer to civilization – they have been warned by the villages protecting their crops. With a parting hug, Tiffany trudged fearfully towards the light but the herd stood still watching. Then it hit her. Behu and his family had been following her silently all the way from the river, out of sight. The gentle giants had learn to avoid humans at all possible until she called his name.

After returning to a safe home and fully rested Tiffany thanked her friendly villagers and days later got another convoy to retrieve her jeep and to repair the bridge. As she drove home that day she glanced at the jungle thoughtfully. She knew that her friends are there somewhere whenever they can catch her scent. Then she thought for a moment she could hear the faint shrill of Behu’s trumpet call.

The never-ending tail

There’re over 6000 species of lizards. The squamate family includes chameleons, skinks, iguanas, flying dracos, monitor lizards, anoles, geckos (house lizards) and the komodo dragon. Not all are able to drop their tails to escape predators and at least one – the crested gecko does not regrow them. Many are carnivorous and the Gila monster is a venomous specie. Most are quadrupedal but legless lizards are not snakes. Some have an extra third (parietal or pineal) eye atop their skulls to detect light and predators. And also amazing suction leg-pads.

Two Dewlap lizard species

But they are low in the predatory chain – hawks, snakes, cats, wolves, spiders and other lizards eat them and so escapades must be a skill for survivors. Our story of the never-ending animal tail begins over 150 million years ago – in the late Jurrasic period. A Stegosaurus (herbivorous thyreophoran) had been watching its eggs. They may be thought as the ancestors of lizards but this is disputed as the squamates are thought to have evolved even earlier from the Triassic epoch or even the Permian period. Its spiky tail and spinal flaps makes it distinctive. But a T-rex had already stumbled upon the doting mother as potential lunch. Flight for the stegosaurus was not an option even though the T-rex had already established itself as the top carnivore.

Stegosaurus (left) fights the T-rex

The Stego was wily. It selected its nest next to a steep cliff. Though lacking a killing jaw like the Rex it had two non-deformed forelegs and of course the formidable spiked tail. The T-rex went for the jugular with its sharp teeth and its enormous crushing jaw would do quick work for the kill. But Stego was also quick to deflect and it had its scaly defenses. So the T-rex struck again – this time on Stego’s back. The hideous jaws took hold and the tremendous neck muscles started to fling the lighter Stego around. Stego had one last weapon and so it flung its spikes crashing on the T-rex belly. The T-rex had a brief shock, but its tough belly-armor resisted the strike. It regripped the Stego on its back to paralyze it. While doing so it had to move towards the cliff’s edge for a better posture. Stego’s tail was then trapped temporarily under the T-rex belly, immobilized. The T-rex went for the final thrust by twisting its head. It was to be his undoing. It suddenly released Stego’s tail, allowing it to fling out of the way back for a backlash. With a mighty fling the tail went full circle, crashing it, of all places onto the rear leg of the T-Rex. Two of the spikes lodged on the leg. The force was enough to tip the T-rex over the cliff. Stego lay still for a moment as the weight of the falling mass dragged it over to the cliff’s edge, its tail spikes still imbedded in the T-rex rear leg. For a moment it looked like Stego was also about to tip over down the deep canyon. T-Rex instinctively flexed its torso in a bid to clamber back on the cliff. Then the tail spikes came off its leg. It fell. Because of the depth of fall only a faint thud was what could be heard from where Stego remained. Stego moved slowly to check on her eggs. As she looked over each one, she was sure that some had stopped trembling and feeling warmer. “Hurry up – get out of your shell and grow quickly. Today its the Rex, tomorrow it may be a raptor.”

Soje was a draco – a specie of gliding lizard with flaps between their jaws and legs. He had overcame his fear of heights and learned to glide from predators. Now fully grown and used to taking care of himself, Soje does not just stay up in his tree-hole but is hunting insects even on the ground. In fact he’s been staying on the ground more often these days because of the abundance of food near the water than on the tree. But a lesson of life awaits him. One day while picking up a colony of ants at the base of a tree with his spit something else was watching him. Hidden behind the trunk was a monitor lizard. It appeared hungry and even a lizard would do for a meal. Soje momentarily heard a rush of wind when the monitor lizard came at him. As he turned to run away it occurred to him using his parietal eye that he might not be able to get away fast enough. He turned to jump and glide away as usual – but he was at ground level! So he waddled away as fast as he could on all fours. The monitor lizard spit shot out. Missed! The second time he was bound to strike Soje. But instinctively something electric went through Soje’s body – all of a sudden he felt lighter and faster. The monitor lizard’s spit hit something wriggling on the ground behind Soje. Distracted by the appendage, the monitor lizard stopped while Soje scuttled away into a rock crevice. The act of self-severing their tails to escape predation is called autotomy where the lizard’s muscles auto-contract, so that the weakest point in their tail structure fails. Soje knew that he was safe and returned to his tree-hole. Not two weeks later a new tail emerged from his stump. He was ready again to descend to the happy hunting ground. Will his luck hold?

Again he was at the river-bank feeding all the ants that gathered there for water. Then without warning a plover burst through the reeds towards him. They normally eat insects but it seems this time it wanted something bigger. Soje turned and ran. But the plover doesn’t have to run to catch him. It could fly faster. Before long it was right over Soje descending quickly to peck at him. Panic stations again! Again he felt a weight dropped from his rear as he quickly entered a hole. His wriggling tail had saved him again. The plover picked it up with its sharp beak, still wriggling as it swallowed it whole. Soje could even be smiling at himself saying, “well that was worth losing for all the fat ants I picked at the river-bed.” But before Soje could exit the hole back to his tree something moved inside the dark hole. Turning round he came face-to-face with a green snake! Run! Soje knew exactly what to do. As he raced across the sand the green snake slithered ahead of him. Cornered Soje turned around to run the other way at the same time he was in panic again. Drop tail drop!! But now he had no more tail. The snake caught Soje tail-less, swiftly between its jaws. For snakes, a lizard is like a dessert creme de la creme. For Soje the never-ending tale ended there. He had not just ran out of luck, but out of a spare tail as well.

Memories of a thousand birdsongs

Why do birds sing? The obvious, common answer is territorial claim and to show off. But do the ladies sing? The conventional thinking is males show off to mate but females build nests. Recent observations reveal both sexes sing according to various seasonal and geographical needs. Some females do sing to attract males and others also sing to protect their nestlings. Actually it has been claimed (2016) that of about 660 songbird species two-thirds are singing females! But there could be something more primeval about singing – perhaps similar to the human’s need to live expressively. And what more joy than to hear the cacophony of birds alive in the morning!

Painted Bunting whispering calls

The most colorful bird of N America calls to their pale greenish mates but screams aggressively at competing males. Hear their thin soothing sounds as they welcome Spring. Reminds me of a down-to-earth, practical friend, quick to defend but willingly fades into the background.

Blue Jay gives varying sharp and soft calls

The blue jay announces its presence with sharp intermittent calls but with their mates becomes a soft rolling chatter. They also mimic calls of hawks, probably to warn their mate. Other repertoires of blue jay calls are “squeaky gate”, “pump handle calls”, “bell-jingle” and “rattle” calls, while jerking (head-bopping) their bodies up and down or fluttering their wings in expression. Their calls are versatile, modifying under different circumstances. A sensitive fellow always asserting his presence.

Zebra finch and Stonechat

The finches calls are rapid cheery warbles or a chirpy song calling to their mates or just announcing their presence. The stonechats chirps in a similar way but intermingle with soft intermittent tweets. They remind me of active children – full of joy in play, even loud but willing to quieten down to conversation.

Blue Jay with red breasted robin

The robin (UK) is sensitive and quiet – responding to calls only they know. Understandably so because of their size and vulnerability to predator birds.

Northern cardinals

The Northern cardinals (mostly flaming red feathers) have clear, single resonating calls (4 or 5 times) with a responding ratchet-like call, equally gentle, followed by clicks. Some people you’ve met can always be sensed when they enter a room, which the cardinals reminds me of.

Red whisker bulbul and Crimson sunbird

A high-pitch followed by a short glottal chirp, the red whisker bulbul enhances its color with its sound. A plain sparrow would call it unfair that some birds have it all! The flaming red (male) sunbird calls in a tinny whisper then interspersed with a stuttered roll. The girls would’ve been alerted if not already by his sartorial dash.

Tundra songbird

The European robin’s fluffy feathers conserves its body heat but gives some away with its shrill, squeaky trills – like saying “There’s life despite the cold!!”

African paradise flycatcher

They sing in phrases – with rising and falling tones. Birds have different vocalizations – the territorial calls, mating invite, alarms and just love-chats. Just like some humans!

Crested flycatcher

The great crested male flycatcher gives a single clear call, repeated, perhaps to tell his mate where he is? She’s though the busy one and he’s just happy to be around the practical wife. Just like some husbands?

Pink neck dove (pigeon)

The dove is a melancholic singer. Some mourning-like coots can pull strings of grief from your heart – if there’s some grief left. Happy songs are often cheerful but sad, poignant bird-calls will greatly lift one’s spirits. Enjoy them while they’re around your garden or vicinity because their lifespan is often shorter than yours. One morning you may find them disappear from their usual perch, along with the magic of their sounds.

Saving the Arabian oryx

With the plethora of 72 antelope species (bovidae) in Africa one would have expected not to see them disappear so quickly. But recently (last 3000 years) a handful had disappeared. Because they are mostly herbivore lower in the food chain, if they reproduce fast enough they would easily survive predation. But atlas, their numbers cannot be sustained with habitat loss, especially for the larger species requiring bigger grazing space. Examples of those bigger than the Thomson gazelle are the kudu, eland, hartebeest the generuk and the gemsbok. Before 1986 the Arabian oryx (gemsbok is the SA species) could only be seen in captivity and it was after serious efforts to breed them in the wild did their numbers returned. This is their story.

Arabian Oryx of South Africa

My name is Abada, and I was born in early 1970s. At that time we travelled in large flocks all over the middle east, as far as north Syria and as east as Israel. We were well admired as the only white antelope in the world although we have a clear dark spot on the forehead and black fur legs. Sadly my parents were caught by a group of robbers when I was weaned. They were poor Bedouins intending to sell my parents to rich families who keep exotic pets. Many in my tribe were lost – some of starvation, others shot when they tried to escape. Others were slaughtered for game meat and had our horns stripped, believing they give magical or mystical powers. It had been so for decades, until my tribe and many others in the Middle East were reduced to extinction. I was considered cute and kept by a rich Bedouin. You might say that I was the among the last oryx in the Arabian peninsula to survive the pillage of the seventies. Then in early 1980s word got around that fewer tourists visited the Kingdom because of the lost of wildlife due to poachers. The sultan of Oman took notice and started a project to protect my species. About 400 of us were brought together to the Arabian Oryx Sanctuary. I was one of them, having been rescued to be reintroduced for reproduction in the wild. But soon poachers were there again – I recognized one of them who caught my parents. Meanwhile we were also the target of predators like cheetahs and lionesses. Once a poacher had to shoot a lioness taking down my brother. They even took away the corpse. We lost 200 of us, and the Sultan of Oman again started the project, this time with the Saudi Wildlife Authority to deter poachers and establish numerous release points into the wild. Among them were my grandchildren and great grand children.

But the war against the greed of poaching never ends. Antelopes roam over a large area of wastelands and forested hills. Poachers would track them and hide out over a vast area. So one day the rangers got together a plan – trapping poachers. They chose a few strong oryx among us and disguised a small network-camera hidden among our black foreheads, small enough to not be detected at first glance. With info-tech (IT) and GPS network tracking the rangers were able to set up an alarm system to alert rangers in any poaching activity. I had the finest of horns and deemed to be healthy enough to be targeted. So I was one of the camera carriers.

Many weeks passed without incidents. Twice the rangers had to track me down to ensure that my transmitter-camera had enough battery signal. Then one rainy spring day several of the doe who mated with me gave birth to fawns. It was a most vulnerable time when out of the forest an old, noisy jeep emerged. Men holding guns and ropes were ready to spring on us. At that moment I was looking elsewhere and the camera could not alert the rangers. But as the jeep raced towards me I cried out. Fortunately the camera also had a microphone. So when the poachers were chasing the doe and fawns around the rangers were converging on them from three directions. A firefight ensued. Two poachers and a ranger was injured. That day was a big catch. And then there were several more catches since.

One of my cousin was relocated to Madagascar among the baobab trees

Today there’re about 1000 wild oryx due to a world-wide drip-drab effort to breed them in zoos and releasing them to the Arabian peninsula. 6000-7000 of them are in captivity overseas, ironically keeping them safe from poachers in the Middle East. One day the diaspora will return to its rightful home. Just like the restoration of threatened human races.

Babies are forever

Unlike most humans, wild animals breed unceremoniously. They needed to, as it is studied that they generally have shorter lifespans compared to captive ones. While infant mortality is high, infanticide to ensure the stronger brood survive occurs often. However the strong maternal instincts of wild animals are well observed – as a matter of necessity. Stories of inter-species motherhood are rife. Birds do adopt another species’ eggs, hatch and then raise a foreign chick. But some don’t such as the bald eagle.

Carly is a fan-tailed cuckoo, one of about 54 species of the cuculidae family. When spring comes around she might change her calling tune, reasons not clear. But that’s when she lays her eggs – up to 20 of them. How could one have a nest that big, and how much grub does it need? No problem – the cuckoo bird practices what is known as brood parasitism. She’ll go about to whatever nests she can find and deposit her eggs in somebody’s house, literally. Often she’ll succeed having a free upbringing for her brood, but sometimes they get rejected, such as from reed warblers. One of her eggs found its way to an eagle’s nest. Mother eagles are fiercely protective. So the day came for the cuckoo egg to hatch and the fledging crawled out of its tiny shell crying for food. The mother had been feeding the older, bigger (original) chick. When she returned to the nest with a lizard she stared at the yellow furry ball of new arrival. Of course baby opened her mouth wide and the befuddled mother would feed all opened mouths! So the baby overcame the greatest obstacle – getting its predator to feed it, even to love and protect. But the second more frightening prospect loomed ahead. Eaglets would eat as much as they can get, even the weaker fledging in the same nest. Then one day the bigger one became too impatient to wait for her grub that she started attacking the alien chick. In-situ lunch! But an angel arrived. In a flash out of nowhere the mother cuckoo flew on the bigger fledging. Carly must have been watching out-of-sight. With no time to spare before the eagle returns, Carly flew around the senior fledging to distract it from attacking, then just as swiftly, disappeared. Soon mother eagle returned none the wiser, with a skinny snake. This went on for some two weeks, with the shadow mother watching over her chick.

Carly, the stand-in cuckoo mother of the adopted eaglet

Soon it was graduation day for the brood. By din of luck the cuckoo survived without being food for the real fledglings – but although she was diminutive compared to her siblings, everyone behaved well. One by one the flight test started. But the cuckoo didn’t have to be pushed by mother eagle. She flew first class. And Carly? Maybe she was watching and maybe not. But some months later the eagle cuckoo was flying around the nest. It was looking strangely for food that a cuckoo would not be eating. Then it saw a small snake on the ground. Cuckoo now behaves like an eagle, eating eagle food other than insects and worms. Out of nowhere Carly descended on her long lost daughter. The young cuckoo was startled and angry, like asking “Who are you?” Carly started cooing softly, like a loving mother who’s found her own child. But the eagle cuckoo would have nothing of it. Instead it was as aggressive as an eagle about to attack a prey. Then Carly flew off. Her departing cry was a different tune. It was June. And her cry must also be a sad one.

Consider another orphaned beauty. Bibby was abandoned by his jaquar mother when a hunting party separated them in the Amazon jungle. Fortunately he was too small to make his coat valuable and was spared the bullet. Bibby was wandering by the riverside when he was spotted by animal lover Tracy who surveys the Brazilian forests for stray orphans. Tracy considered that was her luckiest day to take Bibby to the Reserve though that honor rightly belonged to the emaciated cub.

So when Bibby settled in he was alone and Tracy was wondering if she could introduce him to Shima, a baby cheetah who was an abandoned pet. Cheetahs are only endemic in Africa as Asiatic ones had long been extinct. A pet cheetah in Brazil is rare for the vulnerable species.

But Tracy didn’t have to worry – the two took to each other instantly, playing like chums. Bibby being the stronger would push Shima around, but he didn’t know her speed until they started growing. When they did, Tracy was concerned how they might have enough space to run and perhaps hunt. So once in a while she’ll bring them in her jeep to the edge of the jungle. Animals have instincts that can be surprising. Bibby decided that Shima can chase the prey and he’ll help bring it down with his strength. Although cheetahs hunt in the day while jaguars in the night, the pair had no problem in the jungle, as Bibby could see well in the darkness. They became a celebrated pair in the Reserve – until one day Tracy was perplexed by Shima slowing down. And gaining weight. A visit to the resident vet brought smiles. The ultrasound revealed 3 little babies inside her. The pair made news again. For Tracy, she would have to start over taking care of 3 hybrids. Parenting can indeed be crazy.

My beloved varmint

In 1974 Patty Hearst, a billionaire heiress was kidnapped by SLA extremists to advance their cause. As she remained a prisoner, her abductors became friendly and started brainwashing her of their cause. As time went by it became easier for her to befriend her tormentors and started listening to their beliefs. Turns out that she became an adherent of their cause and was finally released to become an member herself. The psychological response when hostages or abuse victims bond with their captors or abusers is called the Stockholm syndrome. This is an animal story of the same, in reverse syndrome, though not of the same depth.

The pest control industry amounts to $17.5 billion (2020) in US alone. Vermin would eat anything in the house worth chewing – from carpets and wedding suits to jewelry items. In the Chinese zodiac the year of the Rat brings a vitality of survival, with its ability to seek out food resources as well as fertility to conceive. But from young one is wont to see trapped vermin scalded by hot water or left to drown, poisoned or exterminated by any means to avoid the plague or something worse. Rats and mice are also depicted adorably with the dozen or so fables in children’s literature, let alone Mickey and Mighty Mouse.

So as a young boy Kenta used to cry every time his parents brought out a caged rat to be exterminated. His brother once even used an arrow to execute a large rat. Then as he grew up and had his own house he knew what to do with vermin that soil the kitchen table or nibble up the fruits on the basket. As he exterminated each one caught, the next killing became easier. Until one day he took a closer look. He had caught a large one and decided a less messy way was to drown it in a large bucket of rain water. After watching the rattling of the submerged cage in the bucket subsided he took it out to the garbage dump. But he didn’t wait long enough – the rat slowly revived and scampered drunkenly to the neighbor’s house. Kenta was fuming – cursing that it would soon find its way to his kitchen. Several weeks later he had to again set the trap. And drunken mousy was caught again. This time he made sure to wait twice as long before dumping the corpse out of the cage. But he made another mistake – he bend down to look at the dead rat. He could not forget the expression of the contorted face of the drown rat. Sleepless for several nights he swore never to kill another animal again.

That eased his conscience for several months – until more scats appeared at his kitchen and cooking top. Garbage were also littered around. Out came the cage again and once more Kenta had a prisoner. He was troubled. So he decided to leave the prisoner out in the yard for as long as possible. But he could not forget the face of a troubled animal. After a few hours he would walk out to the yard to check on his prisoner. Then sorrow turned to pity as the hungered rodent jumped around the cage in terror. How about some food? He thought for a moment. Well the Geneva Convention says you have to feed your prisoners… so after every meal he would take the scraps to his prisoner in the yard. Kenta felt better. For how long can a vermin be a pet? Then something interesting – each time he approached the cage Jake would seem pleased, expecting food. After a few days, Kenta decided the prisoner must be released. He turned to Jake and said – “Let’s make a deal – speak to me and I’ll let you go.” No reply. Still seeing the starving animal, Kenta opened the cage and Jake staggered out. “Now don’t ever you come back or you’ll not get the chance again!” Several weeks passed. No scats. Then one morning while cleaning up the kitchen he heard a squeak. Looking over the yard there was Jake – standing up on its hind legs, begging for food. From then on, Jake became Kenta’s backyard pet, turning up at every mealtime begging. Somehow Jake understood not to raid the kitchen and Kenta felt glad. But not for long.

One morning when Jake stood up for his scraps Kenta noticed something – a bulging tummy! Jake was a Jill ! He almost cried. No – this cannot continue – rats produce up to two dozen off-springs a litter. With a heavy heart Kenta set the trap again, and Jill willingly got caught. That grey sky afternoon Kenta did it. To his pet. With a heart so heavy that he’ll never set his eyes on a rat face again. Perhaps a face of anger in betraying a friend.

The tree King

How do trees grow? It starts with a seed – already equipped to make its own food and it must have a location to receive water, nutrition from the soil, sunlight and carbon dioxide. The last four items are the ingredients for photosynthesis – the food making mechanism of all plants. But the mystery of all life is how cells form, eat, multiply and die, questions that still lie unanswered fully at the root of our existence. Plants and vegetation have an uncanny tenacity to survive and thrive and might even provide the answers to the life and death of human cells. Also a typical hardwood tree by photosynthesis absorbs 1 ton of CO2 in 40 years so 1 trillion trees grown today will end global warming then! There’s a parable from the bible (Judges 9:7-15) of trees talking to themselves on their usefulness. The tall, splendid trees of Lebanon started by complaining they had no ruler.

Trees of Lebanon

So they went to an olive tree asking it to be their king. The olive tree replied that it was already serving honorably by its fruit of abundance, and so how should kingship improve it. The Lebanon cedars then turned to the fig tree who gave the same answer regarding the sweetness of its figs. It would be useless if it left its fruits to be king.

Olive, Fig, Grape trees and thornbush

Disappointed, they then turn to the smallish grape tree to reign over the towering cedars. The grape tree was disturbed. “Wasn’t the sweetness of wine produced from my grapes good enough to cheer men and God and you ask me to be an administrator?” Discouraged, the lofty Lebanon trees finally turned to the lowly bramble bush and asked abashedly, “Come, come and reign over us, we need a king.” The thorn-bush’s reply to the Lebanon cedars was caustic. “You tall giants, talking to a lowly bush asking to be king. If you really mean what you said, all I can offer is the shade from my thorny branches to protect you from the blazing sun. But if you’re not asking me in good faith, then fire will come out of my thorns to consume all of you!”

Today as the entire earth faces the solar system heating up our planet without the cooling effect of the outer atmosphere, ironically referred by the bramble bush as the burning up from the sun who’s going to lead to solve our climate change problems?

Why the Spider jump

One in 54 US children have some form of autism in 2016. Autistic Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is caused by various factors including cerebral deficiency during growth. Genes and environment are contributing factors as it is suspected many more people suffered from a mild form of ASD undetected but managed to overcome it growing up. The world must have muddled through how to handle severe ASD cases before knowing about it today and many children suffered terrible mental and physical agony without any treatment. Even today treatment is mainly social and communicative intervention and therapy, with no definitive cure. Some of us might have suffered the secondary effects such as childhood bullying, parental neglect or abuse or just social malign, without realizing ASD as a contributory cause. What about animals? Are there neurological growth disorders with animals?

Spindly is a young spider. His parents must have conceived him and then left. Spindly had to fend for himself – just like many newborns in the animal world. So he wandered about, and hit a wall. There were small crawly ants around and he promptly caught his first meals. Then Spindly climbed further up the wall and before long hit the ledge of a window sill. He clambered over it into the open window.

Spindly the jumping spider

There was Mickey a severely autistic boy staring out the window, as usual. He looked down at the arachnid and was amused than fearful. Without saying a word, he quickly withdrew to the kitchen and returned with an empty matchbox. Slowly Mickey coaxed Spindly into the opened slit. Mickey doesn’t ask his mother questions how to feed Spindly, but having watched Nature television, he figured some dead ants and maybe bits of grass would do. So he kept Spindly as a pet without anybody in the household knowing. It was his private world – relationship with Spindly meant hours taking it out of the box and watching it move and crawl over his white exercise book. One day he was depressed and felt the urge to scream, as was his habit for a release. But when he opened Spindly’s box he noticed something dramatic. It crawled out, took a few steps then jumped. It was not a long jump, but a high one – straight up into the air and down. Then something clicked. Mickey started to jump too. He felt an immediate release from inside his head. Again and again he jumped, just like the spider and felt real joy. Indeed he started jumping all over the house, groaning in joy. His mother was enthralled – never had she seen Mickey enjoying himself in any sport or activity. Curious, she looked up the internet to figure out why autistic kids jump. And that was where she came to know of the book “The reason I jump”, by Naoki Higashida a 13-year old severely autistic boy who recorded his daily travails the inner voices of his mind as he battled speech apraxia. Since then her mother decided to get Mickey a trampoline and taking him out to jump on the gymnast pommel-horse. It became a therapy treatment for Mickey. What about Spindly?

One day Mickey’s sister happened to be in his room, looking to borrow a pencil-eraser from his drawing table. As she turned to go, something jumped in front of her on the table. Looking closely, she screamed. Mickey and her mother were out in the gym and had not told her about Spindly. She started to imagine large monstrous arachnids when the tiny Spindly starts to grow. She returned from the toilet cupboard with a spray. Spindly crumbled into a heap. That evening when Mickey found out he was inconsolable and shut himself in for hours. But her mother knew what to get him for his next birthday. An insect barely the size of a peanut, but became the joy of the unspoken world.

Mickey’s new jumping pet

SCARF 13

Caterpillar Fare

There are about 20 000 different species of caterpillar today with many more yet to be discovered. They are defined as the larvae stage of the order lepidoptera. Some are venomous and dangerous to handle, like the South American lonomia obliqua but most can become food for birds and insect. Then there are only about 17 000 butterfly species and 160 000 moths species. Which means some moths do not metamorphize. The variety of color and shapes of the larvae is mind-boggling. Talk about diversity! Then look at humans – only one of the 8.7 million species on Earth (2020) but consuming 40% of world’s resources.

Papilio machaon

The pretty one in our story is the larvae of the swallowtail (papilio machaon). So proud of his color and shape that he looks haughtily on the other “monster” caterpillars. Look at that alien, he’ll say – we don’t have to go to Mars – we have them right here, he’ll say laughing. “Hello Halloween!”, he’ll say to the Pus Moth caterpillar. Or he’ll joke to the saddleback (acharia stimulea), “Hey walking cactus, where’re you heading to, the desert? Ha, ha, ha!” When he sees the inch-worm he would snub them, saying “These moth larvae loopers are ugly!”. One day he met the commander (moduza procris) and stared disdain at its ugliness. Then he met the stinging rose moth larvae (parasa indetermina) and boasted – “Hey walking pillow, I bet I can move faster than you uh?” The Stinging Rose took up the challenge, and so a race was organized. Ants acted as marshals and judges.

“Whoever reaches the ant at the end of the large leaf wins”, proclaimed the ant judge.

From top: Inch-worm, swallowtail, hickory horned, Gypsy moth,

And off they went. It is obvious who the fastest is. The looper not only carries half its body forward at every loop but can also cross between adjacent overlapping leaves. But just before he reached the finish line a strong wind blew on the leaves and a sudden downpour of showers threw everyone away. All had to crawl to safety on the forest ground before a predator discovers a litany of grub. Indeed a jungle fowl happened to trudge by. Everybody scampered for cover – the race, now abandoned, became one of survival to hide under the fallen leaves. But the fowl has sharp talons – with a swift scratch it uncovered several larvae. For a moment the swallowtail thought his life was at stake. But all of a sudden the cockerel stopped, its wattles quivering.

Someone was watching from a tree. As it turned its comb upward the owl glided towards its target. For a moment the two birds fought – only to end when the cockerel flew in retreat.

So the fallen grubs crawled into holes and tree-barks to begin their transformation. Some got eaten before turning pretty. They fuel the enduring race to renew to the next generation of birds and insects. But one fact does remain – once a worm does not mean always a worm.

Beggar thy badger

Not many realize that the honey badger (mellivora capensis), a feisty mammal the size of a marten fox is more related to the weasel. It also has a pouch, like all mustelids, though it doesn’t use it like kangaroos. They have sharp long claws and is a ferocious defender, often solitary or with a mate. This is a story about one named Puffy. Despite its name they are carnivorous and besides honey and fruits, feed on insects and other small rodent-sized mammals. Puffy however loves honey and lives next to the most famous apiary farm in South Africa. Although he doesn’t mind eating berries, shoots and insects, every time a waft of breeze blew from the apiary he raise his nose in desire for the smell of sweet honey. But a high fence keeps him out and the keeper will not hesitate to shoot marauders. Oh, “if only!” he would exclaim inside – the desire of his heart is even to have a sip of the smooth honey.

One day he was hungry and food was scarce in the season. Puffy had to hunt and even insects were hard to find. Then he spotted a field-mouse. It was all he had and he chased with all his might. Just before he could close his jaws on his prey, out of the bush sprung a cobra. Both had sights on the same prey but Puffy would not give up without a fight. Somehow his hide is so thick that the cobra fangs could not hurt him with its venom. After some skirmishes he managed to overcome the snake, and still had the mouse for a meal. After eating his fill, the smell of his dream honey floated over the fence. Puffy stopped eating, wishing that he could instead have his besotted meal. But not that day.

Another occasion food was scarce again for Puffy and he happened to walk past the apiary. Through a chink in the fence he could see the beekeeper smoking the hives in preparation to harvest the honeycomb. As the rich, exquisite, luscious fluid was retrieved and poured with the combs from the hive, Puffy could not resist the stream of saliva oozing from his palate. Then a loud noise from the gate jerked him from his daydream as a truck turned out from the farm, laden with the day’s harvest. Sadly, he turned to go, again robbed of a chance to satisfy his deepest desire.

So Puffy spend his days eating what he could, until he chanced upon the deepest desire of his heart – wild, delectable, salubrious honey hanging from a large hive off a tree. But it was too high for him. He stood there gazing at the swarm and licking. What now? For how long he stood there nobody knows. Then a chance. Out of the woods a tall brown bear emerged. Obviously he also smelled the taste of honey and decided to paw at the hive. Swarms of angry African bees went into attack, stinging the bear’s face, nostrils and whatever open skin available. The bear reeled from the onslaught and stumbled off. But not before breaking a small piece of honey comb from the hive. Now it was Puffy’s chance. As he picked up his treasure with his jaws the swarm of even more angry African bees descended on him. No problem, that’s why they are called honey badgers. Puffy tasted a tiny piece of heaven that day. But it was just enough to make him longing for more, much more. Talk about gluttony and uncontrolled urges Puffy was in that state. He got himself caged for unfulfilled desires. But a week later he was about to be delivered from his “cage”.

Puffy was digging at the foot of a tree. Insects were the lowly meal of the day. Again he heard the noise of the apiary gate opening and the smell of freshly harvested honey. He stopped and perked up his ears as the truck slowly turned out of the fence. For some strange reason he decided to follow and trotted slowly behind the lumbering truck. As it speeded up on the bumpy country road, its wheels abruptly hid a loose rock on the road. A crate fell out from its rear, but the driver seemed to had not noticed it. Puffy stopped in his tracks as streams of the finest honey of South Africa flowed down the muddy road. The wildest dream of his lifetime stared at his face and the deepest and wildest craved ecstasy was about to be fulfilled. He had never used his tongue so much in his life. On and on he licked silly until he started to burp. Then he trotted off into the woods in a daze. As he settled down at the shade of a tree he started wondering about the bizarre event that just happened. “I’ve been dreaming of this my whole life to eat as much honey that I craved. Yet it didn’t seem so special after all. In fact it appeared so ordinary – so un-special.” Puffy had just hit on an experience many humans faced. It could be that dream job, that dream vacation, heavenly food or aesthetic drink. For the young man who experienced sex for the first time after marriage, or the first mad kiss with the person of the deepest desire that they had for so long. Yet after having it it was just ordinary – nothing that special. They were in a daze when they had it. Now that they had it they began to ask why they desired it so much. It was just the fantasy that made it all so unreal. Unexpected pleasures are the most extraordinary blessings.

The mantis who didn’t pray

With over 2 400 known species the mantodea has a reputation if you’re still unaware. They are lightning fast slashers, sees in 3D, are masters of disguises and are known to battle spiders, lizards, birds, frogs or bats. And they are picky eaters, preferring live bait. They produce many eggs during a 3-hour saucy mating session, which might even end by eating their mates! But unlike females, the males can fly away.

In a garden at the opposite end of where Slasher lives is the antithesis of the mantis. The humble ladybug (coccinellidae) goes quietly about her business gobbling up the minute aphids and their numerous eggs that are anathema to all the plants in the garden. After gobbling up most of them in a stem, she slowly opened her vermillion-colored wings and quickly disappeared to another nearby branch.

The Ladybug was introduced by the gardener whose sugar-cane plot was almost demolished by the fast breeding aphids. So when Ladybug landed on the sugarcane stem dozens like him were already there cleaning up the aphids. Trouble is when there are lots of insects there will also be insect-hunters.

With his long spit the chameleon can easily reach the ladybugs from where he sits. But someone stood in his way. The Slasher was also interested in the ladybugs. Before the chameleon could aim something slashed at him from the back. It froze and turned to meet his attacker. Although he doesn’t have a formidable weapon as the mantis he had something far superior – his eyes can see 360 degrees and the left and right eyes move independently, whereas the mantis only sees in 3D. As the mantis approached to give another more powerful strike, the chameleon rolled both his eyes up and down and left to right. Then all of a sudden he jumped from the branch and scuttled away under a bush. Now the mantis next thought she had the ladybugs all to herself. As she clambered towards the sugarcane leaves from above came a whoosh of wings. The mantis looked upward, waving its fearsome claws at the descending bird. But the odds against the powerful talons of the Shaheen falcon are dim.

Once again predator became prey. Or should we say the mantis should rather be praying than preying. And there’s another lesson from the chameleon. Know who are your real enemies. What about the ladybugs? After polishing the sugarcane leaves of the aphids and their eggs they must turn elsewhere to feed. They also feed on vegetables such as lettuce and similar vegetables. And that’s where the farmer kept his gang of chameleons to control their growth. But when one chameleon turned to aim his spit on a juicy bug it turned its back and rubbed its legs – a secret weapon emerged. Instantly a foul-smell filled the air from its secretions. There are about 38 chemical compounds, mostly methoxypyrazine (DMMP or IPMP) that will really hit you. “Don’t you eat me, I smell”. Or more correctly as Johnson would have said to Boswell, “Incorrect, you smell me but I sting!” And so often in life not everything one possesses, such as a flawed character, can be loved by all – an offensive quality inherent in the ladybug turns out to be its lifesaver. And there’re some species of beetles that sting or secrete an offensive feces to thwart its predator.

The camel that refuses to run

Humans have a tendency to compete or to rise to a challenge. While inherently this is a good thing when it comes to a wager on a race it must seem that humans enjoy it more than animals. Horses, greyhounds, pigeons and camels come to mind. Horse racing is a US$39 billion business in USA alone in 2013 and greyhounds bring in about $339 million annually in NSW Australia. What of the participants? Does it contribute to their well-being other than being a wage-earner? Shahid is a young camel raised in Melbourne Australia. Yes they race camels there, and a more prestigious event than in the Arabian states.

Shahid as a baby

Dromedaries are known to be more intelligent and emotional than horses, although they may not run faster. Shahid had decided that he’d rather walk than run. His owners found that out at the first two of his preliminary races. He’s of a fine breed and stature and his owners were full of hope of his potential. However at the first race, he decided at the gates to turn back to his stable. After sessions of coaching and remonstrations, he went into the second race. He did well, leading the pack from the start. Then just before the finish line Shahid somehow decided he had enough, as if to say, “I quit ! I won’t do this nonsense again!” And so Shahid from that day on refused to bow to his driver or rider.

What would Shahid do then? His owners were at a loss, thinking that he would rather resign to being a beast of burden. That was until he met a friend – a young donkey named Don. He was still a baby in the same farm where Shahid was raised.

Don who loves flowers

Don loves flowers. As a week-old baby he would run from flower to flower, sniffing or eating the petals. One flower he especially likes are azaleas. At the farm he would visit the azaleas patch with another and would sit and watch them with Shahid. Why would they do that? Turns out that their owner Mr. James Ditty loves them a lot and that’s why Shahid was not send to work as a laborer. So they returned his love by being with him as he tends to the flowers in the farm. Like pets to him they would bray, bleat and cry whenever it is time to walk the rounds in the orchard. Then one day James was taken away to a hospital. He had fallen to a chronic cancer-linked ailment. The animals still walked around the orchard, smelling the flowers of hope. Azaleas became a habitual stop.

After some time James didn’t return to the farm and one day Shahid and his friends overheard someone saying the donkeys and camel have to be sold. Sadness filled their hearts as beasts of burden have hard lives and are generally abused. The more the trio went to the azalea patch, hoping for the best. Then one day a visitor came with her little daughter. “Mommy, so cute, can we have them at the school?” The mother, a superintendent of a day school for children replied she’ll think about it after speaking to the widow of James. And so the flower of hope has given the trio a ray of hope. Shahid and the young donkeys became pets for the day school children. The kids were gentle to them, as instructed by the school head-mistress being the requirements for their approval at the school. Every afternoon the children would scream delightfully riding them and even take turns to bathe, feed and clean the animals. For Shahid and the baby donkeys there couldn’t be a more pleasant job entertaining the kids. Definitely better than racing or bearing heavy loads.

Tiger in the tank but none in the wild

The last roaming tiger in Singapore was shot in 1930. Unlike the Esso sales notion that a tiger in the tank will make your car purr powerfully, the panthera tigris is actually shy and fearful of humans, fire or unfamiliar sounds. Their beautiful orange-yellow coat of black stripes, with a white underbelly is unique and the animal has been a mystical subject of folklores throughout history ranging the Western and central Asia to the Amur region. But today there are more tigers in captivity than in the wild – about 3500 individuals red-listed by IUCN as endangered. This is the story of Toby, a cub rescued after his mother was snared in a wild boar trap in the Sundarbans, a mangrove forest in the Ganges delta of the Indian subcontinent. Fortunately the mother survived but Toby had to be cared for. A project was started to see how Toby can be raised to be returned to the wild. Bengal tigers are larger than the other panthera species and Toby grew to be a healthy adult. And the keepers of the zoo faced several challenges before Toby could be released.

When Toby’s claws and fangs were fully ready, the day came for his release. So with a last good meal, radio-tagged and his teary wildlife biologist watching with binoculars, Toby walked free into the Mangrove swamps. The first few days were of a curiosity for him. He would walk round the sanctuary fence, wondering why his human friends left him. But he got hungrier and a newbie at hunting. He tried chasing small rodents but it wasn’t easy unless he learns to stalk. Then he went into the water – swimming is natural for tigers. Nothing. Except for some mud-crabs he stumbled across the mangrove roots. That was his first meal in 5 days. After a week they sighted him again. The biologist was almost in tears seeing his shaggy form. She was about to go retrieve Toby when her colleagues stopped her – give him few more days they said. So they drove off sadly, but not before Toby realized his human friends, source of food was nearby. He gave chase, but soon lost sight, or smell of the vehicle. Another week passed and the biologist was anxious. But they couldn’t find Toby at first. After several hours tracking they saw him, or what became of him. His whitish fur have blackened and his skin sagged over his bony frame. He walked slowly, what looked like a slight limp. Anyone seeing what happened to such a majestic animal would have been moved. The wardens decided that he had to be saved again. When Toby was carried into the vehicle, it was purring with joy and the biologist was weeping.

So they brought him back to health but decided he must go through jungle training. They tried live fowl, rats, rabbits and even a wild boar to see if Toby would learn to stalk and kill. It wasn’t particularly effective – Toby lacked the instinct to kill and besides he had his human friends. He would eye his prey with curiosity instead but turn happily to his wardens after the exercise. What to do? The wardens realized that there’s no such training for killing to satisfy hunger. They tried fasting, but Toby cannot be untaught that humans would not be his savior. Then one day, success. After going hungry for hours in the sanctuary they watched from closed-circuit TV that Toby managed to catch a squirrel. Then a jungle fowl. Elated the team prepared to release Toby into the wild again. This time he did not have a pre-release meal but Toby will have daily surveillance instead of once a week. Then during that week Toby succeeded in hunting small prey. Knowing this would not be enough for his 120 kg frame, the team decided to leave larger carcasses nearby when he’s out of smelling range. So the arrangement worked, with the hope that Toby would then learn to stalk wild boars or deer. But something drastic was about to change the warden’s plan.

They were watching Toby at night as he hunted. Then something came into view in their night-vision binoculars. Humans! And they were not friends. Toby wouldn’t be able to tell apart poachers from game wardens. The biologist and wardens quickly started the engine and took out the bullhorns. Speed was of essence because poachers would kill even a friendly tiger.

The flashing headlights of the Jeep and the sound of the bullhorn was too terrifying for Toby that he disappeared into the bush, while the poachers ran the other way. The next morning they went out in search and found Toby crouching in the undergrowth, unsure at first whether it was the same humans the night before who came at him with guns. Then the biologist softly called out his name. At the familiar smell Toby leapt from the bush in joy. He had not seen them for weeks. Can you imagine a 120 kg tiger hugging you at full height? Everyone wept at the reunion and Toby couldn’t stop purring.

So ended the program to return captive tigers to the wild at the Sundarbans. The problem was not there weren’t enough tigers in the wild. There were just too many greedy human beings.

Dream of the black panther

Leopards and jaguars are called black panthers (panthera padus) because of the color of the fur. But closer examination can reveal shades of black, due to pigment melanin variations in the skin and fur caused by recessive genes. Depending on the angle of diffused light one can spot spots of the leopard coat pattern and can even appear dark shiny blue. Panthers are shy and reclusive and can be hard to find especially when hiding in dark enclosed places such as drains. But an animal-lover have befriended one such character and have attempted to revive the endangered creature. Jamal works in the rubber plantation of Southern Malaysia. Large tracts of Malaysian forest turned plantation used to be home of the Malayan specie of black leopards. One day Jamal happened to be resting in his tapper hut when he thought he saw a dark shadow among the trees. Fascinated he tried to be as quiet as possible to know the animal better. When he had a full view of the big cat he was determined that he must ensure its survival and well-being. Knowing it must be hungry he threw some of his uncooked chicken that he had bought at the local market earlier and hid from view. His kindness was rewarded when the hungry animal came near him. Jamal decided he must protect the animal from poachers and trigger happy hunters. But he had to have some photos in order to get the help of the Wildlife and National Parks. Being poor he had to borrow a cellphone and wait for his animal friend again. He had to wait a long time. After several months he decided he must return the cellphone to his friend. But on that same morning he saw it again. This time it came straight to his hut. Jamal quickly got out of sight, but that wasn’t a morning for groceries. He thought of throwing some beef jerkies he had for snack, but decided against it. After a while the panther jumped off in absolute furtive silence, but not after Jamal had his photos.

The Malaysian Wildlife was very supportive and offered Jamal a stipend to help watch and perhaps later to capture and tag its livelihood. The money was helpful but Jamal was not so keen to help capture it. Until he had a dream.

He was resting at the hut after a hard and hot day. He saw villagers, some with guns and sticks approached the hut. The village head ordered him to get up. “Your panther had been stealing livestock and we are here to track and kill it if possible.” Jamal pleaded, even went on his fours to spare his nightmare friend. Please, give me a chance to get the government to help first before you shoot or trap it Jamal cried in desperation. Just then there was a shout as a villager pointed excitedly to something among the rubber trees. Several men with guns went after it and shots rang out. Then Jamal awoke, sweating. Later that day he was on the phone to the Malaysian Wildlife.

The plan was for Jamal to keep feeding and luring it to the hut while they set up an overhead net. Jamal was still uneasy to betray his friend but was convinced seeing it alive was better than being trapped and killed by villagers. So for months he gave fresh bait and after many attempts came to know its habits. It was even willing to come to the hut when Jamal wasn’t in hiding, usually in late evenings or when the weather cooled. So the day came to set the trap. Jamal gave it an exceptional good meal of pork and lamb. When he slowly tugged and tripped the net over the panther, the ferocity and anger that ensued melted Jamal’s heart. He even looked directly at its greenish eyes which seemed to accuse him of betrayal, deception and treachery. So Jamal became the guardian of the tagged panther after the Malaysian Wildlife officially appointed him and informed the village chief. The plan is for Jamal to feed it enough so that village livestock is not threatened. Jamal is so familiar with it that he could even pat it. Then a warning from the authorities. Jamal have to avoid being too close as there are still poachers around. Then came more disconcerting news. The Malaysian Wildlife was made an attractive offer by the Singapore Zoo to buy the panther. Jamal refused. “Malaysia still has its legacy of a rich wildlife because we value our forests, while Singapore powered ahead to being economically superior, killing the last magnificent tiger in 1930. The last time you killed a Malayan black panther rather than save it after it escaped your zoo. Your roaming wildlife today is just a dozen or so otters. This panther will be happier in our natural forests than being couched in a showcase zoo. Your citizens and descendants may be more affluent and clever but we still have the soul of our wildlife as our legacy.” Powerful words from a poor tapper.

Arawana talk

The global ornamental fish industry is worth $12 billion and will reach $26B annually by 2026. The USA and Philippines are the greatest importers (65%) while Singapore is top monthly exporter of over 1000 aquarium fish. Besides the common goldfish, many varieties are air-flown worldwide such as various angelfish, discus or the clownfish. But the crown jewels are the koi and the Arawana whose trade belongs to a class of its own. Kathy Chow owns an Arawana – the golden type that costs thousands. No – not in that round fishbowl below – the prized fish lived in a large aquarium in the living room.

But she does have goldfish and a cat. So what actually happened? Earlier in the morning when she usually feeds her pets she got an urgent call from the office. Dropping everything she got to work and was able to rush home at lunchtime to complete her chores. She seem to have just entered the apartment, kicked off her shoes, placed her handbag and got ready to feed Tabby and goldfish. Then she felt she must go to the toilet. On the way she passed the living room. A quick glance at the aquarium she felt a sense of horror – the golden arawana was missing! After the toilet she noticed the trap-door at the back entrance door for Tabby was wet. Also the bathroom top window was left opened, probably unwittingly by the aircon serviceman the day earlier? The floor next to the aquarium was wet, but no other traces and the other fish was swimming normally. Did Tabby eat the fish? Or was there a thief? How and when?

The Arawana fish tank, before it went missing

She went to Tabby first – it was purring and hungry for her missed morning meal. “Tabby – did you eat the fish?” she burst out. But when she placed Tabby’s meal before her, it devoured greedily. Then why was Tabby’s trapdoor wet? Thinking that she should be making a police report she next went to close the front door which was left opened. She heard people speaking loudly outside, which is the lobby area of the apartment. Curious, she inquired what was happening with the police around. On seeing the lobby pond she suddenly realized what happened. The security guard said overnight many of the carps and koi were missing. The culprit? Security camera show them frolicking with a full stomach at the landing.

Kathy was torn. Being such an animal lover she thought that if she’d reported to the police they would be guilty of house-breaking and theft. They are after all Singapore’s only roaming wildlife left. The price for having the curious lutrinae (canadensis) amphibian right at our door-steps in the midst of advanced economic development can be high.

Kathy got another arawana, a less expensive one. She was fortunate that she had insured the last one although she had to make a police report to make the claim for theft. And the trapdoor ? Kathy made it into an exit-only for Tabby. At the end of the day the cat would wait for her at the front door to be let in. These days she’ll hug her cat who’d welcome her home each day. The event had at least brought cat and owner closer. Several months passed.

One evening she came home about the same way – after she let Tabby in, she kicked off her shoes like before. Then she closed and locked the door. This time she had her boyfriend with her. Wonder who will enter (or leave) by the trapdoor now?

Savage lessons from the Birds

The Potoo lives in South-Central America while the Shoebill hails from East-Central Africa. Both stork-like birds uses entirely different defenses against predators or prey. The prehistoric-like shoebill (balaeniceps rex) can grow to a meter tall with an imposing giant beak. It feeds mainly on water-based creatures such as frogs, fish and small crocodiles. They appear gentle but might have a nasty bite to humans. It uses its large wings to fly low over swamps for prey.

Shoebill

The great potoo (nyctibius grandis) however is a master of disguise. About half the size of the shoebill, potoos hunt insects and small bats. However they are shy and would rather avoid anything using their camouflaged posture like a tree branch.

Greater Potoo of S Central America

When threatened the potoo will quickly open its large mouth to frighten its predator by its imposing figure. Although both birds originate from continents apart, you can likely find them at the Jurong Bird Park. That was where bird-lover Kenny, 12 and his father went one day. They bought the ticket to walk close to the big birds. Near the Potoo enclosure Kenny was trying to lean on a tree much like the one on the left in the picture. Then suddenly the branch at the top moved and both father and son were shocked to see the owl-like creature with large yellow eyes. Kenny was so intrigued that he tried to reach out to the bird. Then another shock – it suddenly opened its mouth so wide that you’d thought it was going to swallow you. Father turned to his son and quipped – “Don’t take first impressions for granted.” They then walked to the next exhibit. They could see the shoebill in plain sight – taller than Kenny’s height of a half meter. Next to it was a nest of two young chicks. The mother was feeding them with worms caught after flying back from the pond. But the bigger and stronger chick kept getting the grub from the mother and pushing the younger away. Kenny was troubled and asked – “Daddy will the little one die of starvation?” The father didn’t have an answer but kept looking how the parent will be fairer to its young. Then suddenly the bigger chick started attacking the younger – biting it fiercely and attempting to eat it up. “Daddy – please do something!”, Kenny was almost in tears. But a warden soon appeared and rescued the half-dead younger. “Don’t worry – we’re all watching from the camera. In the animal world the stronger chick always eat up the weaker one – that’s the law of the jungle – to ensure at least one will survive. We wanted the younger to spend as much time with the mother, but we have to rescue all chicks of this threatened specie.” After the explanation both father and son were silent and thoughtful. Finally the father spoke up – “Kenny, make sure you’ll always protect your younger brother – we’ll always have enough for both of you.” They walked to the next enclosure. The sign says there is a rare bird in the enclosure and challenges the visitor to see if they could spot it. They spend quite a long time staring up and down the bush in the enclosure. Bored, Kenny gave up and wanted to go to the next enclosure when a warden walked by. So the father asked him to point out the bird.

Japanese Night Heron

It was quite easy once they identify which branch the bird stood. It turns out that this secretive, elusive Japanese night heron (gorsachius goisagi) will avoid all living things, especially humans. Because of habitat loss, its numbers have fallen to the “protected” category. Just like the Potoo, it has the instinct of disguising itself like a branch, staying stiff like a statue until the danger has passed. At this the father turned to Kenny to tell him of a wisdom from the heron – “When in doubt – stay still until the picture is clearer.”

A conversation in the mountains

If you’re ever inclined to take a long walk into the mountains know for certain that various therapy await you. Aside from the cooling change and the cleaner air the vegetation inspires. Trees give way to shrubs and flowers become timid in size, though no less pretty. The thinner air encourages waxy leaves and sturdy, gnarled branches to conserve moisture and heat. Even the mammals adapt with their furry coats and fluffy-covered feet. Two of the cutest tundra-bound that sojourn in these heights are the shy pikas and the even more shy and diminutive klipspringer (oreotragus) goat. Two pikas (ochotonidae) have been living on the same ridge up in the highlands of Malawi, SE Africa. Pablo and Santos share each other’s well-being. In the cold mountains there are a few predators who would take pikas for a meal.

Pablo (left) and Santos

The Steppe eagle is the most fearsome, and its attack can suddenly come from the sky. The chances of survival depends on how the pair warn each other of dangers. One day Pablo had a talk with Santos. Since they are swift-footed, and rarely is there more than one eagle on the prowl Pablo suggested that their chances of escape will improve if both are out together, by dividing the attention target of the eye in the sky. By running in different directions the eagle will likely be distracted. So they agreed on a strategy. When their sharp ears detect oncoming predators one or both would give a sharp alarm call.

Steppe eagle

Then both will run the same direction for a while before splitting to diametrically opposite burrow entrances. Usually the eagle would lose a few seconds in the distraction. In deep winter snow however escape from the snow fox requires a different approach. Usually the sharp ears of the red fox can pinpoint exact location beneath the snow. Pablo and Santos always have alternate burrow entrances and exits. When the fox starts pounding the snow at them, they already knew which tunnel to escape so that its snout cannot pursue beyond a few feet.

Snow fox

So Pablo and Santos made many escapades from bird and fox. But with time their discipline slacked. Pablo started going out alone when hungry. He had already re-eaten and re-digested whatever poo available, a process adapted to his existence known as coprophagia. One freezing day as he hungrily scurried in the craggy snow alone a swift shadow descended. With a characteristic shriek he leapt towards his burrow. Too late – the talons grabbed his hinds. Resigned to his loss Santos could only shrieked from his burrow, expecting the eagle to fly off with his pal. But suddenly something moved among the craggy rocks. The eagle was disturbed for a second – long enough for Pablo to struggle free. The eagle was not about to give up two possible meals. It tried to jump on the new animal – a klipspringer watching an African paradise flycatcher on a branch.

Klipspringer of the Malawi highlands

Again tough luck! The klipspringer, with an average size of 20 inches, is fast and elusive – so good is it at hiding that there are no records of how well is it surviving in the wild. Sure-footed, it skipped towards a cleft in the rocks. The steppe eagle hobbled on the large rock face, its large drooping wings flapping for balance. As it vanished within the ledge the eagle could only scurry about – the gap too small for its large wings.
The sky cleared after that snowy morning. You could hear then, as you will today the wild, abandoned shrill cry of the pikas as they clamber out of their dark burrows to collect seedlings and shoots. And you might even still see the graceful glide of the lords of the sky – the golden hawk eagle or the stately steppe eagle, eyeing in earnest of what prey they could catch for their young. But you will hardly catch the sight of a klipspringer. They only appear when something is in need of a saving angel.

SCARF12

Tigers Ahoy!!

“In the kingdom of the blind One-Eye is the king.” One wonders how a mother-in-law gets the sagacity to declare this simple truth. Consider the Serengeti plains. Eight million hooves trudge across Tanzania in annual migrations – prey and predator alike. At the top of the food chain are the big cats. Then after come the not-so-big cats like cheetahs and leopards. Then the bottom feeders of hyenas, vultures and finally the low end carnivorous vertebrates. In between the 1.5 million wildebeests and the half million zebras and gazelles plus some solitary species have to defend themselves, since they’re herbivorous. How? Firstly, strength in numbers – organizing their movements so that the predators require group hunting. Secondly speed – out-running chasers except cheetahs. But there’s one last trick that is not so obvious – employing a look-out. Elephants are known to hear and smell predators from afar and good if the vulnerable herds could use them. But they are not watching out for predators because of their size. Besides they have poor eyesight. In a sense the vulnerable herd live in the kingdom of the blind. Then who is the One-Eye?

It is said that the giraffe can use its height to look beyond the top of trees far into the plains, up to two kilometers. Their good eyesight helps protect their vulnerable young. This is how a Thomson gazelle called Betsy found out.

Betsy

Betsy had learned to run for her life, literally. She had even successfully kicked off several cheetahs – whose speed is unrivalled in the open plains. The chances against lionesses however, depend on luck. They usually hunt in a group and even if she can outrun them, she may be ambushed when targeted. Then her luck changed – she got pregnant. However the calving period in spring allows her (and later her fawn) to hide in the bushes instead. But she still had to take precautions. That’s where her elephant friends help. She depends on the matriarch elephant. One day she noticed the matriarch was uneasy, swinging her trunk back and forth and constantly shaking her floppy ears at the newborn at her feet. Instinctively she looked around and sensed a pride of lionesses approaching. Staying near the elephants helped carried her fawn to term. Then on a warm sunny morning she felt the kicks getting stronger. Instinctively she moved towards the tall savannah. She must hide well because even a hyena will find her easy meat. Plus the smell of the discharge is bound to bring many predators. After about an hour, thankfully the newborn emerged the correct way, head first. Nobody taught her, but her licking and nudging helped the just born fawn on its feet so that it could find her bloated udders. Drink up and quickly for your survival starts now, she seemed to say. After an hour of milking, she needed to nourish herself. As she moved off the newborn knew that he must stay down and remain still. Baby deer know this through mother’s milk – danger lurks everywhere at birth. And she must move quickly in case a predator spots her she could at least draw them away from her newborn. But baby still needed a few days more to strengthen before joining the herd.

One time Betsy had just moved off to replenish her milk. The elephants were restful and it seemed that the coast was clear. As she approached the waterhole a breeze picked up. The elephants were still calm. After several sips she looked up – still no predator – but the air had a sinister silence. Then the giraffe in the opposite bank lifted up its head from the pond. It stared into the distant plain. Then turned towards its young. Turns out that the wind was blowing in the wrong direction for the elephants to sense a pride of lions.

With a swift nudge of its snout the mother pushed the young giraffe towards the savannah. “Predators approaching” – the warning went out to the others. Betsy ran towards her baby. Too late – the crouching lionesses were too near for her to hide with her fawn. She froze for a moment. Then in a moment of motherly desperation she bleated. It wasn’t a call to her baby to join her. It was a cry of danger. The lions turned away from the savannah grass where the scent of the fawn came from. Betsy deliberately walked towards the rest of the herd, away from her fawn. “Come – get me if you can!” – if only deer can talk. The ruse worked. As the leader raced towards her she jumped towards her herd, alerting the rest. The hunting melee had begun, but Betsy was confident she would outrun them. Meanwhile an ear-piercing scream bellowed from the matriarch elephant. The siren had sounded. But the commotion didn’t last long – in five minutes the lions re-grouped – the element of surprise had eluded them again.

Betsy took a while to look. The tall savannah grass all looked alike. But the nose took her right back to her shivering fawn, still subdued and quiet as ever. She gave several reassuring licks and again nudged him to his feet – milk was flowing again. So Betsy learned from this near-death experience that where there were no trees, the elephants were her only look-out, since giraffes tend to feed off young shoots at the tops of trees. But where there were giraffes at the waterholes or near the forest edges she found the One-eye king as her alarm bell. And oh, by the way there are no wild tigers in Africa, since 2 million years ago.

The mountain lion and the butterfly

Despite horror stories you hear, mountain lions are generally shy of humans. An even more shy creature is the mountain lynx (lynx raspensis) about twice the size of a large cat. His name is Dam and just turned a year this year. Like everyone else in the animal kingdom the first order of everyday business for Dam is to find food. But Dam’s problem is less than bears or wild elephants, because he doesn’t need to eat a lot for his size and small animals are plentiful in the hills where he roams. However Dam loves something more than food.

Like all cats he loves to play – especially with anything round. So after a meal he would go pick up a round fruit and shuffle it back and forth with both paws. As if not enough he would stop and stare at the butterfly on a branch. Then he would jump at it, with no intention to catch it for a meal. Sometimes he would chase a butterfly until he almost fall into a pond. As a mountain bobcat he is also naturally curious. One day he met a radiated tortoise.

“Hey moving hill, can I play with you?” Dam asked. But every time he puts his paws on the tortoise it quickly withdrew itself and sat quietly in its shell. So Dam gave up and walked towards the pond. There he saw something that gave him an idea.

Hey this looks like fun, he thought. So Dam went back to the tortoise. But when he got on top, the tortoise would move a few steps – and stop. Too heavy he thought, and jumped off. The tortoise, relieved, looked up to a bunch of tomatoes growing in someone’s farm and trundled off towards it. That was when Dam noticed something. There were rabbits, squirrels, voles, pikas running around the periphery of the farm and birds of many kind feeding on whatever fruits that were out of reach to the others. What a feast! So Dam hung around with the tortoise but instead caught whatever he likes for a meal, while the tortoise fed on the tomatoes, lettuce and other vegetables. But he still got to enjoy playing with the butterflies, oranges and other round objects he could find. Then one day he chanced upon a bunch of butterflies trying to talk to him.

“Watch out for the owner of the farm!”, seemingly to warn him. Then one day while he was chasing a rabbit the farmer reached for his rifle. He took aim, thinking that Dam was running into his farm. Just as he was about to pull the trigger he saw the rabbit. A shot rang out but missed. Dam was confused, because he thought that he was helping to rid the farm of pests feeding on the produce. But he could not give up the chance of finding food and play on the farm. Another day and this time a small fox came around. Dam couldn’t resist the chance of a larger meal. Then out of nowhere a clutch of butterflies flew into Dam’s path as a shot rang out. The tortoise drew near to the fallen fox as Dam ran off shocked, followed by the clutch of butterflies. “I’m so sorry, I should be the one to be shot but you took it for me.” The tortoise shed a tear and trundled off into the woods, its tail pointing left and right with each step of his curved foot.

So several weeks passed. Nobody dared approach the farm. Dam was still playing with butterflies in the forest and occasionally caught a vole or rabbit. Then he saw the tortoise. It was shriveled and emaciated – except for an occasional wild root or mushroom the forest was barren. Lets go back, he said – but the tortoise was reluctant. So Dam approached the plant at the farm cautiously. It was full of luscious freshly ripe tomatoes. Gingerly, he pawed at the fruit and managed to dislodge two. A single butterfly fluttered near his ear. Then a commotion at the hut and Dam took off. A window opened and the gun barrel poked out. Quickly two shots rang out. One bullet whizzed by Dam’s ears. But he managed to reach the waiting tortoise. Slowly he dropped the tomatoes at its clawed feet and turned to go. He was limping. Then he caught the smell of another cat – a female lynx in heat. He was electrified – never felt this way before. His leg should get better. Life has been good to him.

The Eldorado Horse

The carousel merry-go-round device was invented in Paris (circa 1883) and evolved to its current state using mechanized galloping horses and other wild or imaginary animals. In 1907 Hugo Haase build the Carousel Eldorado and delighted Germans until 1911 when it was moved to Steeple-Chase Park (NY) where it stayed for 53 years. Then in 1971 the ornate figures and colorful sculptures continued to delight the Japanese public for almost 50 years. The cherubim, trumpeting nymphs, European carriages and renaissance paintings were so well preserved that many families would recall special events from their photographs. The magic was not just the 3 separate rotating stages but also the looped circus music and the tantalizing lights. At the Toshimaen entertainment park in Tokyo, customers queue for as long as 30 minutes to enjoy the two minute rides from 9 am in the Saturday morning. Then the lights would go out promptly at 8 pm. When everybody has left, in the still darkness the fantasy would begin.

First the two wild boars would boast to each other how much the customers loved to ride them. “Did you see the lady with her two children? They came back five times to ride me!”, one wild boar said to the other.

“No no no!”, said the other. “They came back to you because all the other animals were taken, including me! I have 5 different groups of schoolchildren!”

Nay, the carriage chipped in. “I can carry 5 people and all the children loved to sit me with their friends. And families too! Besides I turn faster being the inner wheel.”

What are you people squabbling about? – one horse interrupted. “Don’t you know people came to the carousel because of us? Horses gallop but you pigs only run. Ask the cherubim – he watches over us and he knows how many come and go!” Then a trumpet sounded. “What’s that for?” asked the boastful boar.

“We are the fairies who guard over all of you. Don’t you forget us because there were no accidents and dangers with our watch. Oh by the way did you notice how many people took selfies with the beautiful and naked nymphs?” Finally the cherubim spoke up.

“I am the golden one. In Spanish they call me El Dorado. I bring sparkle to the lights and cheer to the visitors and besides my magic goes into the music too. People will never forget us for these.” With that all the ladies in the paintings around the carousel poles clapped and some even cheered. Then some light bulbs began to glow softly. While all this was going on one horse was crying. The other six horses looked over. “Eh – Straight-locks what’s eating you?” one asked.

“People bring all their problems to me. They say that I am the only horse that can bring good luck, because the forelocks on my head are straight while yours are all swept to the side. One young lady poured her heart out to me because of her disease, as she might not live out the year. Another wished that her boy friend would marry her. One young man told me that if he does not pass the national exam after trying for five times he would have to end his life. Another old man cried – he said since his young wife died he was not able to find another companion and maybe he will die alone in his house. Then a little girl came to me after the sixth time trying to ride me. She just whispered to me wishing that she would not be bullied by all the boys in her school. She just wanted them to know that she has special powers now that she has ridden me. What can I do?? I’m just a wooden horse!” That was when the Angel in the center of the column spoke.

“Listen all you ministering creatures. I stand here in the middle, guarded by all the trumpeting fairies. We will always bring happiness to our visitors and I know all the misfortunes that Straight-locks face. We will change. Next week we will all transform – we will all become angels and we will really bring good to all the people who came to us.” Then Monday came around. The crowd became even bigger. The queue was so long that some had to wait nearly an hour for a 2-minute ride. Straight-locks was so happy to meet the young girl again.

Thank you very much for letting me ride you – she said excitedly after she mounted. “The boys at school were so impressed I got your magic!” As the music started and the stage started to rotate Straight-locks couldn’t feel happier. Then when she got off she gave him a kiss on the forelocks and waved goodbye vigorously. But for the rest of the day many laden with problems came and whispered their hopes on his forelocks. One middle-aged bachelor was so sad and lonely for facing life without a girl to date. Another had the opposite problem – his wife was leaving him for spending too much time at work. At 7 pm many waiting were asked politely to leave – the carousel would not be able to close on time for the long queues. Then the Tower clock at the center of the park chimed eight. Promptly the Eldorado carousel lights turned off and the engine whined to a stop – for the last time.

The next morning the wrecking crew started dismantling. Lovingly the exquisite figures of the cherubim, nymphs and paintings were removed and wrapped in protective cloth. However nobody bid to buy the horses and pigs for keepsakes. What about the dreams? Though it held the longings of a lifetime for many to them it was just a wooden horse. Along with the poles, carriages and wired bulbs they were tossed onto a truck. A slight breeze started blowing. As two men lifted Straight-locks and heaved it onto the rear one of them suddenly turned to the other. “Eh! Did you hear the neighing of that horse? Or was I just dreaming?”

Love keeps the cold house warm

For those of us disappointed with our upbringing from our parents we could wish for an earlier abdication. What do I mean? Role reversal occurs when a child has outgrown its dependence on the parents to such a point that the parents would start depending on the child instead. This happens not only in societies where education and standard of living leapfrogs in one generation to the next but also in less privileged countries where children have more opportunities than their parents due to advancement in science and international influence. Parents likely know when is the time to give way to their children’s progress in decision making. But some may not, despite getting old. And that would hinder growth. Consider the family of the emperor penguin Pucky. She is the current single child in the family. Emperors are the largest of the penguin species (aptenodytes forsteri), with adults standing up to over a meter tall and weighing over 40kg. Because the monogamous birds hatch only one egg per season they are doting parents – taking turns to raise the chick under hazardous conditions.

Pucky is raised secured and happy and learned all she could while dependent on her parents. Give a normal child all the love and care and they will outgrow you one day in strength and character. And so she grew confident and strong enough to be a leader. When in a troop and somebody had to decide she would be the one.

Even though she wasn’t the tallest it is her determination and steady mind that will save the day. Her parents? They follow her because they have abdicated their seniority to their steady child. Above all Pucky had one overarching responsibility – to develop an instinct for survival for her pod. The months of her growing up following her parents and others taught her the skills to escape the penguin’s most fearsome predator – the leopard seal (hydrurga leptonyx). They are the largest seal in Antarctica and is known to swim at speeds over 35 km/hr.

But Punky knew one fact – she runs faster on land than on water to escape. On one occasion she was leading her group out on the ice when right in their path a leopard was basking. No problem. Punky just waddled her group past the sleeping danger. But the scene would be very different in the water – a wild and risky world of orcas, seals and large sea-eagles.

In another universe somewhere in the Atlantic a young bottle-nose dolphin called Torvy also grew up under the loving care of her parents. Like all newborns he is the only child and stuck to the mother for 5 or 6 years, learning all the tricks of getting food and above all, working with the pod. Like Punky he also became the confident leader and lived the full life in the wild. Until Man came. It happened at Dolphin Cove when a group of marine biologists decided to catch some dolphins for study. Torvy was corralled away from his pod – a stressful event for him, the pod leader. His life took a big turn compared to Punky. In the confines of the training pool Torvy was taught tricks for experimental studies. Although unnatural at first, his intelligence and confidence made him the star learner. He did too well and was leased to a marine park. Torvy became a salaried worker. Everyday he delighted crowds of young and old, splashing water and giving rides to earn his daily grub. Life was secured, longer and predictable, unlike Punky’s. In the wild Punky developed survival instincts, although life-expectancy is lower than in domesticated animals. Several months later their lives took a dramatic reversal. Again it was Man.

The marine biologists decided that the time was up to release Torvy to study his survival in the wild. Torvy was tagged and released near to a nearby pod of wild dolphins. While doing so they noticed a group of emperor penguins and decided to repeat Torvy’s experiment. Of all the ones in the pod, Punky was caught. But neither experiments succeeded. Torvy could not become a wild dolphin he once was and Punky could not be domesticated. Punky was so depressed and lonely that she would not respond to anything the scientists tried. Sometimes she would refused to eat the ready-caught fish. Full of energy, she would often swim around the aquarium pool without stopping, looking frantically for her pod. Although there were other penguins in the enclosure, Punky would not be subjugated nor subordinated. She is after all the born leader. Finally the marine biologists decided that Punky was untrainable and had to be released back to the wild. What about Torvy? Well, he was happy to be free again. But the instinct to hunt and survive was hard to repeat. For days he had been used to food given to him, much like any salaryman would not take up any new work challenges after finding a soft secured life. But the new pod he was released to did not mind Torvy tagging along in their daily routine of hunting and playing – except he is no longer a leader. Torvy had developed a lazy, retirement mindset of some humans. The only thing he enjoys these days is to jump above the water to herd shoals of fish for the other members to catch. Acquired skill for being a domesticated show-fish. Then one day while the dolphin pod was swimming in a regular hunt for krill, Torvy spotted a lone creature swimming around ahead. Punky, now released could not find her original group and has become a roaming penguin – much like a ronin or a lone samurai. But she was still herself – confident, determined and smart. Torvy broke off from the rest of the dolphins and approached Punky. He sensed an affinity – like a similar kinship of being an ex-prisoner. So the two became fast companions – Punky would search for fish and Torvy would help guard against predators like seals or sharks. If you happen to sight an unlikely pair of tagged dolphin and penguin somewhere out in the North seas just leave them be – they have been afflicted by humans before and would rather be themselves. But if you ask me I rather be the plucky penguin who remained true to form until her dying day. The only life we have is the life we’re living now.

Handsome not pretty

The business of attraction has been going on ever since creation. One wonders what did the biblical Adam saw in Eve or conversely. The instinct to garner attention between living things is either for survival (camouflaged to avoid attention), being comfortable or keeping the species. But just for looks, humans’ apparel in world fashion business in 2019 was worth $1.7 trillion. Consider the wild ducks. The male Mandarin is really the most colorful and attractive.

The female looks on and often is unimpressed. She is justified being choosy because the stakes are high. Once they become a couple and the mating ended she carries all the work. Nesting, hatching and feeding is a one-woman job. For the success of the species she’ll often lay a dozen or more eggs. It is not uncommon to see a mandarin mother leading around two dozen ducklings for food. Where’s the father? Probably chasing some other females. Then when predators attack or when the brood gets lost she gets into high gear. Ironically, at the end of their upbringing, when perhaps only a fifth of the brood would survive and leave the mother, she’ll be off again looking for another eye-catching dude. Dickie is one such dude. He’s the handsomest of the male lot. When comes time for work (which means looking for gals, solely) he gets going, moving his head up and down, popping it underwater and then out arching all the way back on his back. But for Dickie its just hard, futile work. He’ll go from one female to the next doing his head-bobbing act and the girls would just turn away and waddle off. But he just goes on trying all his might and crashing into forlorn loneliness. All summer he had been chasing skirts but failed. So when time comes to mate Dickie was still swimming around while others had their fun. Why do girls reject bobblehead? Consider another duck of a different specie.

The great crested grebe are great divers unlike the mandarins, whose dive underwater only extends to its neck. Some do not classify deep divers such as grebes, mergansers or cormorants as duck but they mate too. And their splendidly colored feathers all have drop-dead sex-appeal. Don is a male grebe whose solitary hunting days end when time to raise a family. But unlike Dickie, he doesn’t chase girls. He lets them come to him. So Don would just mind his own business until a female appears for company. So he gives them time to size him up, unlike Dickie’s wolf-like behavior. Then when she appears willing Don would go into action. Species like ducks mate by the male riding the female and fertilization completes in a matter of minutes or days. Unlike the cranes or swans that mate for life, drakes lose their use for the nest-making mothers. The mothers would first house-hunt – for a home far from and inaccessible to predators. Then after hatching for days she’ll make sure the hatchlings can leave the nests safely to start the food platoon, sometimes jumping from a low-hanging tree trunk and never to return to the nests again. So that’s why Dickie never catch his mate while Don succeeds all the time! He was just too keen to be a romantic catch! Anyway lets return to the mandarin ducks in the autumn. All the females now with babies in tow would scour the waterways and flowerbeds. Feeding was to be an all-consuming activity before winter – to store up fat against the cold. But Dickie was still alone and not yet a father. One time a female duck was leading her retinue of 20 ducklings down the slope of the lake. Suddenly out of a bush a crow descended on them. They are ferocious baby eaters. The mother frantically flew to the rear to chase the crow away. But as soon as she did another crow flew to the front of her retinue and about to attack a chick. Hapless the mother duck turned but appeared too late. Then help came from an unexpected source. A loud quacking came from the back of the attacking crow and a male duck fiercely snapped at the attacker. Dickie! He became a hero for once. But was the mother thankful? No – bringing up kids is no place for men, so she chased him away.

Dickie is contend to be a bachelor boy – until the day he dies. But he had at least acquired a useful new skill not usual for doting fathers – chasing crows. The other pretty boys don’t.

Winsome Partners

It seems that when one spends a lot of time with another one gets to look like each another. This goes not just for human partners but also kinship with objects for which one’s vocation calls for, or how when we start to resemble our pets. Its not always that a potter starts to look like a kettle, a cobbler like a shoe or a fruit-grower a pear. But the following tells a remarkable story how our thought processes basically mold our character, and sometimes how we look.

Charmaine loves dancing – not the social type but the artistic and the athletic. For hours she’ll go through her steps at the ballet school and then after dinner, till her bedtime. She also loves horses. When not practicing or performing she’ll be rubbing down her beloved Glen, an Arabian thoroughbred. So when she had a break she would ride him through the hills behind her house, talking to him as if a constant companion. So this went on until Charmaine had an important audition for entry to a famous ballet school in Russia. She became too busy to take care of Glen and decided to put him in a racing stable for thoroughbreds. As the weeks went on, she became busier working on her routines while Glen prepared for his first race. Then the qualifying audition. As they say misfortunes come in pairs. She failed to qualify and Glen came in second last. Well one closed door leads to another. Charmaine still loves to dance and decided to be a high school ballet assistant instructor. Then she would spend mornings riding Glen and practicing her routine for the kids. After several weeks she had the nagging feeling that she had to try harder and went back to her intensive qualifying routine. Also anyone who met her would quip jokingly that she’s starting to look like her horse, with a long face profile.

One morning she decided to go with Glen and train in the flat of the hills. As usual it was exhaustive with Glen watching on the side. Then she decided to do a grand jete – a leap that is higher than the cabriole (jump). She tried several times but felt dissatisfied. Then she did a perfect leap.

As she sat down to catch her breath what she saw next astounded her. Glen suddenly ran towards her and did a leap as well, show-horse style. She thought it might have been a record – as no horse is recorded to jump beyond 2.47 meters, and usually they do only half a meter or so. But Charmaine was impressed – went to Glen and gave him several pats on the neck and he snorted in return.

Then she looked at him thoughtfully and said, “Maybe you’ll be better at equestrian or gymkhana competition than at racing.” And so it was. Glen was entered for equestrian training while she continued to improve her ballet techniques. As expected, Glen excelled at the jump but had to work hard at dressage and impulsion. His gaits (walk, running walk, amble, pace, trot, cantor and gallop) were also excellent. But there’s one area that Glen easily beat his competitors. His control from the jump (called a bascule) is unusual. It showed up at his first equestrian show. Glen was equal to the other competitors but when the routine switches to jumping and followed by dressage he showed superior posture and control. Charmaine was a spectator as she was not a trained jockey. But she was again thinking how she could improve her own leap. She started to gain stability and posture watching her horse. Months went by and both mistress and horse started to improve in their routines. Then after the December audition the email came for Charmaine. She ran towards Glen and exclaimed excitedly, “I got into the Vaganova!”. As she hugged him with joy she started to feel the sadness of separation.

And so the paths of the pair’s lives diverged. Charmaine would constantly call the Equestrian school from St. Petersburg while working hard with the world’s best ballerinas. But they became illustrious in their training and both graduated with high honors from their schools. When it was time for them to reunite tragedy struck. At about the same time at different ends of the world. Charmaine fell during an audition while Glen stumbled at a hurdle. Both were incapacitated. She came home in a leg-cast and Glen was in straps. “Cheer up – we’ll be performing together”, she said. But she didn’t have the slightest clue what. She considered performing in a circus, but a graduate from the Vaganova academy can easily work in any theater of her choice. Then one day she found out something else. She was practicing an opera piece and as she sang, Glen responded to her singing. When she sang a spirited piece of joy, Glen would prance around, like doing a pirouette. Then when she sang a slow, sad refrain, Glen would lower his head and move it side to side in remorse. “Wow! we could perform an opera together!”, Charmaine exclaimed. And so she went looking for a theater that would take her and her horse. Luckily a theater was about to stage the Public Opera (song composed by Mauricio Sotelo, 2015) and was excited that a real horse can be used. “But can he sing?” came the question. When she replied no, they decided to use a ventriloquist. So if you ever been to a horse opera, look out for Glen. Might be a first experience seeing a live horse in the opera theater.

Growing to fight Champions

The first book of Samuel in the bible describes a challenge from the Philistines to the fledging Israeli nation. If Israel cannot win the contest against its champion, a giant reputed to descend from the Anakims (a parallel progeny of the human race during the time of Genesis) then all Israel will be subservient to the Philistine King. Goliath of Gath was 9.75 feet tall (or about 3 meters) and heavily armed with audacious weaponry. The taunting went on and finally fell upon a relatively minuscule David to defy the bully. Challenges to duel in the animal kingdom are not uncommon. We already heard of a story of an antelope fighting for sexual prowess in the need to preserve the species. Not too different from David’s quest is a story of the ram named Ramon.

Ramon was just a few weeks old nursing from his mother when one day a commotion arose in the flock. Climbing up the hill to face off the dominant male leader was a group of rams from a neighboring hill. They appeared bigger and tougher – even the shaggy hair on their backs were shiny black and foreboding. The alpha-male of Ramon’s flock gave out a fierce battle cry of defiance, trying to muster all the fierceness for conflict. Soon the fighting males faced each other, horns laid low and menacing. There were some skirmishes as the battle enjoined. Loud cracks could be heard as their horns clashed, sending a shiver down Ramon’s young spine. Then as suddenly as the fights started it stopped. A silence fell on the contestants. From the rear of the invading group an extraordinary ram came towards the battle-front. It looked awesome – at least twice the size of the defenders. On its head the twisted horn was bluish-black and extra long, tapering to a broken tip. The giant brandished its fearsome horns as if to advertise how many of his adversaries it had pierced and killed. It had long brownish-black flowing mane, long shaggy beard and whiskers that bristled in the sunlight. As he approached the defending male the rest of his gang parted to let the champion forth. The alpha male made a brave attempt to defend his pride and harem. It was no match. Before he could even come forward the champion easily pushed him downhill. The rest of the defenders won’t even put up a fight. The spoils of victory were quickly claimed. The invaders took away several doe, including Ramon’s nursing mom, before returning to their hill.

So Ramon had to feed off surrogated milk, often not enough for the rest of the young, ever since the lactating females were taken from them. Again the bullying troop would occasionally return and handily invade their pastures to strip bare their fields. Any attempt to resist in defense would elicit an overpowering response from the rogue champion and everyone submitted to the bullying. Several months passed and Ramon grew. But because good grass was scarce he was skinny but ruddy. So one day he approached the sidelined alpha-male why the flock had to give in to the bullies from the next hill each time. “We are waiting for someone to deliver us. Their monstrous giant takes everything from us. Who can stand up to him?” Ramon was silent. Thoughtfully, he walked to the rest and lowered his head. “We will take back our fields, our kids, our families!” They all bleated in unison, as if to say: “Who are you? Are you bigger and stronger than that giant?” Ramon became even more resolute. From that day on, Ramon would run and train himself up and down the slopes of the stream, chasing anything to strengthen his limbs and stamina. “I will be him!”, thinking again the alpha-male’s question. I just need to be fast and light.

Several more months. Their grass grew again, being more succulent because of the stream compared to the barren bully flock’s. One cloudy day they came. One by one the invading army strode up the hill, expecting to just eat any grass in their path. As they did each invader walked with such disdain for the cowering flock at the hilltop. As the first reached the top alpha-male wasn’t there. Instead a ruddy runt of a ram confronted them. Before he could lower his head Ramon ran and rammed the first down the hill, sending him rolling towards the foot of the champion. “Who is this minion who dares stand against me?” When he saw Ramon, he sneered at his skinny adversary. As if mocking in laughter he advanced, wicked horns flailing. Ramon retreated, but did not turn his back. He merely wanted to give the brute more space to charge. The giant brute stopped, lowered his head and appeared to scream, “Prepared to die!!!” Then at bullish speed it raced towards Ramon who stood still in front of a small bush. Just as the wicked horns reach Ramon, he leapt up sideways. The heavy monstrous ram couldn’t stop. It plowed towards the bush. Beyond it is a steep slope towards the stream. Caught in the bush, the bully thought he could turn and finish Ramon off. But Ramon was ready, waiting for this moment. He lowered his horns and rammed as hard as his could on its rear. He had chosen the bush because beyond it at the end of the steep slope were several sharp pointed rocks. Everyone was stunned as the heavy animal rolled clumsily towards the rocks. One by one the invading rams glanced down at their champion impaled, groaning and kicking in dying anguish. Then one at a time they retreated down the hill, some with an imaginary tail between their hinds.

Ramon, you are our champion now, the alpha-male seemed to say. But Ramon would rather not be. He is after all the runt of the flock. Maybe from now on our males would grow up strong to produce a champion. For Ramon, he just wants to run and race through the water streams. God had called me to beat a champion, not to become one.

Luck would be hers – the happy goat

Goats are not very high on the list in our respect for animals. When one refers to a scapegoat one thinks of any easy way to lay our guilt, a tradition from early biblical times. In 2016 more than 450 million were slaughtered for mutton, about 1.2 million a day. In poorer countries they are an easy source of income, because they are hardy and will survive on mountainous terrain and eating most vegetation. They also reproduce well. One such lovely kid is Elly. So cute and cuddly was she that the farmer decided she should remain as the daughter’s favorite pet. That’s Elly first lucky break.

Elmo (top) and Elly (bottom)

Elly and Elmo her brother would run daily up and down the hills together with the flock of 200 goats. They know every Himalayan plants, shrubs and herbs in the mountains by their smell and sometimes eat them for herbs. So one day a foreign Himalaya trekker came to rest at their farmhouse and Elly and Elmo came running with some vegetation in their mouths. The trekker casually took some that had fallen on the ground, took a sniff at it and stared in wonderment. He turned out to be a famous herbalist. Quickly he stood up, took his cellphone and called his colleague in Switzerland. “Hey I think I found some nag chhatri (trillium govanianum)” Turns out that this rare medicinal specie had almost gone extinct when exploited by foreign herb-hunters. He quickly asked the farmer for his contacts and went on his way. Some months later the trekker returned to the Himalayas with his colleagues on an unofficial field trip. Elly, now fully grown is still running around, though not as cute to be a pet anymore. “Where’s your other goat?” he asked the farmer. “He’s the male and we’re shipping a male flock to the abattoirs today”, was the reply. Elly was saved a second time, since all female goats were kept for milk. Please can I buy your goat the trekker pleaded, because he knew that Elmo and Eddy are probably the only animals who can search for the rare herbs. And so the happy pair were reunited to roam the Himalayans, but not for long. The trekker took Elmo on the field trip and started training him to sniff out the nag chhatri using the specimen he picked up at the last trip. But it wasn’t a rewarding mission and they returned to the farm that day empty-handed. Elly greeted her brother joyfully.

Elly, the herb-sniffer goat

Then the trekker noticed another herb in her smiley mouth and gently pulled it out to examine it. Again he stared at it in wonder after a quick sniff. But he need not call his friend who was standing next to him. “It is cordyceps sinensis or Keeda Jadi as the locals call it.”  Turns out that this time they found the Himalayan Viagra. Besides potency, it is known to cure several other ailments such as fatigue and has been tried as a cancer abatement drug. So he called the impoverish farmer again and offered $100 for Elly. The farmer gladly accepted and turned to Elly “You lucky goat – I’m down to my last 50 rupees and you just saved yourself from being sold.” Elly did nothing but smiled.

And so the lucky Elly and her brother went out to the foothills the next day with the herbalists to hunt for endangered species. That was when they realized that Elly was the one with the herb-scenting nose, while Elmo merely tacks alongside her to eat them. Elly found some more nag chhatri plants and the researchers carefully marked the spots secretly. These days rogue hunters will kill for the lucrative species trade. For two weeks they marked many spots of other uncommon species worth noting, but no Viagra. Then it was time for the researchers to go home. They decided to ship Elly back to Switzerland where some rare herbs needed to be found. Elmo? Well the Swiss laws are very strict to admit foreign livestock, but they managed to make a special case for the special Elly and Elmo had to be left to the farmer. “Here, please take care of Elmo” the researcher said to the farmer and gave him all the US dollars change he had before departure. The farmer gave a wry smile.

So Elly the smiley became a celebrity herb-hunting goat in the Swiss Alps. She’s also the luckiest and happiest goat alive. But you can guess what happened to Elmo. The impoverished farmer probably shipped him to the abattoir for a neat additional income. Maybe to you mutton lovers, Itadakimasu!! Literally it means grateful to accept the sacrifice of something’s life.

Bombs away at reservoir bridge

If you, an irregular jogger like me have ever been attacked from the air count it lucky as it could be worse. At a reservoir there lives a colony of gulls. They make their nests along the coast and daily fly out to the sea for food. And so attacks from the air are common for intruders. But the gulls have a more serious threat. Roving around are crows and eggs or nestlings are their favorite lunch. Corvids is a collective noun for crows, ravens, rooks, jackdaws, jays, magpies, treepies, choughs, and nutcrackers. Ravens can grow as big as a cockerel and crows are the size of pigeons. So that day when I had a light scratch at the back of my head I decided to explore their habitat. You’ll see nests between rock crevices and the parents emerging after feeding their young with voracious appetites. Then a hideous “caw caw” announced the arrival of the scavengers. Their modus operandi is to wait for the parents to emerge, then swop in to catch whatever’s at home. As I stared at them a band of doves flew overhead which I barely noticed. Until I suddenly felt something wet on my head.

Of all the places to poop! Must be an accident I thought as I washed my hair out. When I returned from the washroom the crows had gathered at the bridge. That must be a good spot to spy on who’s leaving home. Then the attack. A flock of gulls flew towards the crows and you can even hear the barrage of yellowish brown discharge dropping on the scavengers. It really was an aerial bombardment because the crows were taken by surprise with nowhere to hide. Quickly they returned to their roosts in the trees, preening themselves of the offensive excrement. But the war had not yet ended.

The crows were determined and boisterous as ever re-gathered. But never underestimate a colony of defensive gulls. Without warning a band of gulls flew straight from the sky and dive-bombed the unruly mob. This time it was no excrement, but the snapping beaks that hit them. The scavengers scattered. But we know they would soon return. But would they? A few months later again when I went jogging at reservoir bridge I had another reception. Something large scratched my shoulder from the back this time. I looked back and caught a glimpse it it – a large bird of prey. It circled and went to a spot in the tall Acacia tree. There were two of them. It looked like they were a couple about to start a family. Neither gulls nor crows can be seen. And the territory was taken. Objectors become easy lunch.

Read more at:
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/53608585.cms?utm_source=contentofinterest&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=cppst

SCARF11

Make my day a dentist

Most people may not have realized that water draining out of a basin seems to spiral counterclockwise in the Northern atmosphere and clockwise in the South. This is well understood in textbooks as the Coriolis effect associated with the rotation of the earth on the gravitational field on fluids.

Somewhere in Africa is a river simply known as Hippo river. Upstream there exists a whirlpool where a pod of hippos love to gather. Among them is the youngest – a hippo calf no more than six months old. Karim loves to play in the whirlpool, letting his body twirl around in the gentle flow as he gathers whatever reeks or shoots that comes in his path. The hippopotamidae amphibius, more related to the whale and dolphin than to cows, is a generally herbivorous amphibian ungulate native to sub-Saharan Africa. Adult males can reach nearly 2 metric tons in weight. The common hippos are vulnerable while pigmy hippos are endangered because of habitat loss. Karim was an orphan. He was taken in by a family and nursed from certain death when he was separated from his mother. After a while, the family decided he should live with a herd, because there would be little space for him fully grown. So once a week, the family would canoe upriver and check on how Karim is doing. And also receive his favorite green tea milk. Karim eats a lot too and not just shoots and shrubs but flowers of all scents. So one day they found him seated by the edge of the riverbank suffering what appeared to be an indigestion. So they peered into his mouth and was taken aback. Karim was constipated by vegetation that filled up his mouth and many roots and fibers that stuck to his premolars and molars as well as the flats. Seemingly in pain, Karim however was submissive to his human rescuers. So after cleaning out his teeth the question was how to keep him in good dental health. One day what they saw gave them an idea.

One of the larger hippos was sunning in the water, his mouth wide open, while an Ox-pecker was flying in and out of its cavernous hollow. It was unusual to see this symbiosis between bird and hippo, as ox-peckers are only welcomed on the backs of buffaloes, rhinos, deer or even alligators. So the job was to search out a bird that would help clean Karim’s mouth. They didn’t have to wait long. Karim had learnt by watching the older animals. It even once had a hummingbird who was attracted by the nectar that had accumulated in his mouthful of flowers.

So at the next visit the humans made to Karim, they saw an interesting sight. Not only were birds interested in the vegetation in the mouths of the hippos. Other creatures were finding edible pre-digested food too. So fascinated that one started taking selfies of Karim sniffing and chewing curds by the bulrushes, and crocodiles yawning by the river banks. All of a sudden several of the adult hippos rose from the river and rushed at him, their tiny ears and tails flickering. Falling over with his cell-phone he thought he was done for. But the powerful beasts lumbered past him towards Karim. As he gathered himself up the muddy bank he saw the reason. Running away from the bulrushes were two lionesses. They were about to spring on the young calf while stalking and hidden in the bushes. The calf stands no chance against a pack hunter, even with the mom around. But a platoon of snorting hippos is enough. Time to split, he thought. Because their massive jaws can crush the skulls of crocodiles and lions and easily splinter up your canoes. Extremely territorial and protective, they’re known to have unintentionally killed hundreds of tourists annually. Not for petting. Not with the kings of the rivers.

Partners for refuge against pillaging

The world lost 8 animal species forever in 2019. Three birds, two frogs, a shark, snail and a freshwater fish. Yet people still hunt endangered animals for purported medicinal use, or food. Consider the shy pangolin, a relative of the armadillo and ant-eater. Its scales when grounded to powder is deemed a cure for digestive disorders. Although it protects itself from predators by curling into a scaled ball, people eat it by boiling it alive. So it has now been declared illegal to trap them, or traffic them out of countries like Vietnam or Cambodia.

Pangolins are mammals of the order pholidota of which there are 4 Asian species and 2 sub-Saharan. Most are threatened, 3 are critically endangered while a few sub-species have gone extinct. Their scales are formed from keratin and are the most trafficked in the modern world. One such individual has been hiding from poachers in the lowlands of Vietnam. But she has a good friend to help her flee to safety. Tina the pangolin hunts for ants in the riversides of the giant Mekong’s tributary. Where there is abundant moisture and drainage, you are bound to find large ant-nests. But recently Tina’s colony had dwindled largely due to poachers.

Tina’s family would hear the roar of river boat’s motor as they land near the ant-nests. Even if they curl into a defensive scaly ball they were duly collected and thrown into a bag. Unless they have a chance of escape. Being one of the few surviving Tina is determined to escape the slaughter. She needed help to thwart the marauders and it came from the least liked in the animal kingdom – hornets. In the nearby trees, she knew that the only way to keep humans at bay was to incite the hornets from there to the riverbeds. How? That’s where Tawny, the hawk could help. High above the skies Tawny could see where her next meal may be crawling. When not hunting rodents or other crawlies, Tawny from the sky would see the arrival of humans in their tiny motorboats. Only after the landing party had breached the riverbanks and created a commotion does Tawny go into action. She’ll swoop down towards the hornets’ nest and swipe it with her wing feathers before wheeling away. The angry dwellers fan out towards the noisy motors of the riverboats to swarm the poachers. Tina owed her life to that countless times. But why would the hawk do that for Tina? Tawny’s interest to protect the pangolin community started long before. Hawks are fiercely territorial, just as any birds. While songbirds sing to attract mates and claim their space, the birds of prey guard their source of food as well. Female hawks, generally larger than the males hunt relentlessly for their chicks and even fights off males if not in their interests. So for some time now Tawny had been protecting that part of the river where rodents thrive on crabs and other river creatures. But whenever a motorboat comes ashore Tawny often loses a kill. So like all aggressive predators she would dive onto the poachers, scratching their backs and necks to deter them. As any jogger can tell you such tactics don’t work for long. Tawny found a more effective way and a clever one at that.

So that month Tina felt safe that word had gone around about angry hornets protecting the coast. The call of Nature was strong. She felt the urgency to set a home to hide and procreate. Towards the end of the year Tina had a safe hole, with two young sucklings. Young pangolins ride on their mother’s back until they learn to hunt with their long tongues. Meanwhile Tawny also started weaning her two chicks. High on the telegraph pole the time will soon come for them to stretch their wings. They had better hurry. Because when the monsoon season ends, the poachers would have other ideas.

One grey afternoon, the sound of outboard motors could be heard again. From a distance Tawny could sense it was to be a big party approaching. Tina scrambled, carrying her wards to scurry away and into deep burrows. When the boats landed Tawny wheeled into her position in the sky. But this time the poachers looked different. Everyone had a net on, protecting their faces and necks. One by one like scarecrows they piled onto the riverbanks, their hoops ready to catch anything they please. Tawny dived. Soon a horde of hornets fanned out to whatever was moving. The battle was joined. But again this time a new weapon from the poachers. They pulled out little spray cans from their pockets. Many hornets were left wriggling as the insecticides hit them. Tawny instantly could detect the toxins rise into the air below her. She pulled away to her nest high on the telegraph pole. Luckily her two fledglings have left. Please, let Tina escape, was all she could think. If only humans could help this time.

A couple of hours later, the poachers could remove their nets and combing the shores for their catch. Some found crabs, edible shellfish and other crustaceans. But no pangolins as they poked at every hole they see. Tawny turned again in disgust as her food was being pillaged. Then another sound of outboard motors – this time louder. Tawny tensed, ready to do her act again. But again the scene changed. Men in blue uniforms jumped off the newly arrived boats and the poachers were running back. Some of the poachers managed to get onto their craft to speed away, leaving their compatriots behind. The stragglers were easily caught and apprehended on the police craft. If birds could heave a sigh or relief now was the time for Tawny. But no. The police had to let them go. They didn’t catch any pangolins in their nets and thus no evidence for their arraignment. So the pangolin remains a threatened species. But a twist in the tale happened at Wuhan, China in early 2020. Because they were eaten in such large quantities at the wildlife market subsequent investigations led to the discovery of a virus in them similar to SAR-cov-2, the virus for the current covid-19 pandemic. It was not a definitive finding but it was enough to chill the carnage of the pangolins.

Cupid, meet you at periwinkle rock

Matchmaking among humans is said to have started during medieval times, but Eastern cultures show it might have even begun before the Mosaic period. Not since the biblical episode of finding Rebecca for Isaac has this activity extended even to cyber space. Today the business of love is a thriving $3 billion US industry and one wonders what happened to good old-fashion romance of finding your own. It transcends religion (such as the destiny of the stars) and may involve genetic matching and blood-type compatibility for reproduction. In the animal kingdom this is serious business as one needs go no further than the endangered panda, now no longer so because of international zoological matchmaking.

The giant anteater (Myrmecophaga tridactyla) is an insectivore mammal living mainly in Central and South America. Weighing up to 50 kg, they can grow up to 2 m long, tail included. Mostly alone, they forage for ants or termites in open grasslands using their sharp foreclaws and sticky long tongues. As a species, related more to sloths than pangolins, they are considered threatened, mostly due to habitat loss and some hunting. Also they are mostly solitary, mating for a short season and producing one or at most two young. Like the panda, anteaters seem to need help for mating and procreation. If you happen to tour the Panama or Honduran plains you might espy a solitary hairy creature, bushy-tailed, doing his rounds like a train conductor. In controlling the termite population the ant-eating family preserve some topsoil from excess erosion by burrowing ants as well as keeping the ecological balance with the surrounding vegetation. Consider Tris an anteater that is 10 years old. For an average lifespan of 14-16 he is pretty advanced in age. Although he can mate all year round anteaters have difficulty finding a mate, because of the territory and the expanse in their solitary travel. So ever since he was weaned Tris was busy finding a habitat to feed himself, and to run from hunters. A decade passed quickly and Tris had nothing to propagate his species. Until an animal activist from an NGO took notice. They decided to start a program where endangered species can meet. So several hundred hectares along the coast from periwinkle rock was reserved where lonely-hearted threatened species can meet in a breeding program. It was more than an animal shelter – newly born calf and pups were given veterinary shots, tagged and released to the wild.

Such effort to develop an ecosystem to combat the ever diminishing habitat due to climate change is novel in the 21st century. Among the new species spotted in Central America was the endangered tapir, the threatened aardvark and the shoebill. Tris managed to befriend a lady for once in his old age. But atlas, they failed even to reproduce one pup, even though one is average. So he continued his lonely life roaming the reserve and searching grub. The life that he knew and the only one life he had, just like many of us bachelors and widows.

As the years went by Tris can still be seen like a wandering nomad – except he goes about in the Central American plains, poking his long snout from ant-hole to ant-hole. But once in a while he’ll break his monotony by happening to be near Periwinkle rock when a smell of love will be in the air. As the song goes, once in a while along the way, love was good to him. He might not have a single offspring to carry on his progeny but he could not count the number of girlfriends that his concerned human friends had set up for him.

Blood, sweat and heart-wrenching

In 2017 the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey circus (RBB) closed. That after 146 years of apparent abuse of wildlife in order to entertain humans. Elephants, lions, tigers or chimps, among many were forced under pain of goads and whips to perform acts unnatural for which they were created. The next time you visit a circus, or a zoo, take a close look at them. Somehow living in cages or captivity have reduced them to an altered state. Compare a caged lion to one in the wild that you see on TV or documentaries. Gone is the aura of majestic exuberance. Look at the chattering macaques running wild up trees and bushes. Don’t they have an alacrity of life rather than the downward gaze of imprisoned monkeys sitting behind bars? Consider lions, leopards or giraffe within their enclosures, even if well-fed. They seem to be always resting or hiding – there is no need to hunt or find food. There is no role of predator nor prey – life is just existential for the feast of human eyes, often under duress. Humans in the history of the world have been there before – being prisoners awaiting slaughter or execution the likes of Aushwitz. Although zoo animals are not kept for that and indeed some were kept to propagate the species, somehow living beings without freedom descend to nothingness. Thanks to PETA the RBB circus closed. But many still remain in the rest of the world.

Ask any NFL footballer what makes them champions many will not hesitate to say that training is number one. Spectators only see the spectacular, but hours of preparation are largely unknown. The same goes for the top ballerinas, the champion jockey, the fiery musicians, top chef or the best sword-makers. For that matter, if one wishes to do any work worthy of note in any occupation the grind comes before the acclaim, and long before. Sure if one is blest with talent, the going gets a little easier, but only a little. Maradonna would be a god of football because somehow he could be one with the ball until the goal. Still he had to do the 10-mile run like the rest of his team if he is to last the contest. But there is something supremely precious about training for one’s job – the innate ability to excel beyond one’s limitations. You’ll often see the natural laziness of getting by with the least effort, pulling a wool over eyes of the consumer by shoddy work and substandard material. People who do this in general miss the feeling of elation in work well done and exceeding themselves. This uncommon drive to constantly improve comes with the territory of hard training or preparations. And not just any job. But to become a winner wrenching from the heart – the rush of endorphins that you’ve done a remarkably rare feat. That’s how Casper, the circus whisperer trains the animals. He is the last surviving circus whisperer in France. Casper will never keep an animal if it does not enjoy performing. He loves them as much as he wants the best out of them. And his zoo is such a great success and approved from everyone. Because he speaks to each animal to persuade them to perform. One favorite are the Fresnian horses.

Whenever Casper starts a routine with Jana and Cora he makes sure they get fit, just like a team of players before a game. The horses know this because Casper will work their joints and every muscle for their performance. They would go through their paces until each movement is smooth and precise. Just like the dogs he trains, the horses were only given praises and never a treat. Every animal that works with him wants to do the tricks, not because there’s a reward for the stomach at the end, or a whip at the start. But because they are loved. Every piaffe, passage and the transitions takes hours of patient coaxing, speaking and encouragement. Then there are other trots, gallops and jumps. Casper realized that there’s so much more psychology than technique for every task – every moment is a war against fear and confusion. Just before they appear before the live audience, Jana and Cora gets a pep talk. If Casper senses any uneasiness the show would be changed or delayed. That’s a principle – the animal comes first. It happened just when Shandra the baby elephant was due to ride out on the ball. Shandra was abandoned right after birth and for months Casper was coddling her with milk bottle and bonding like a mother. After a year she was introduced to play – the ball was the exercise every day and so natural is her with balancing that as soon as Casper brings it out she screams with delight to stand on it.

So one day as Shandra prepared to go live she appeared edgy. Casper was mystified but after each applause Shandra kept climbing down and wanting to get back to cage. Casper felt she knew something that he doesn’t. Soon later while exiting the stage, there was a gasp from the audience. High up in the circus tent a supporting shaft was giving out a crackling sound. Had Casper stopped the show later the stage would not have been cleared in time for the rescue squad. From this incident Casper knew there was something more he must do for circus animals that remain.

Still, in a circus (about to close) travelling somewhere in France, Casper was determined to engage the animals again to a joy of living, even if they serve the commercial entertainment for humans. Casper’s goal now is to ensure every animal in his circus will retire gracefully and gratefully as the French law to abolish wild animal entertainment comes into effect. His wish came at a terrible time.

As was his routine Casper was talking to Shana the lion. Shana has his moods but otherwise a spectacular performer. One evening before appearing to a packed crowd Casper had already decided that was to be Shana’s last performance, having reached a ripe age of fifteen. But it was his moody night. After two hours of soft coaxing and whispering Shana appeared to calm down. As the show progressed Casper sensed that Shana was losing interest and getting tired. “Come on, one last leap over the fire – I promise we’ll retire together after tonight. ” Slowly Casper held him closer to the ring of fire. Just then someone in the audience sounded a bullhorn. Then several loud whistles and shouting. Without warning Shana suddenly turned on to Casper and mauled his shoulder, pulling him down where his long mane was. Then swiftly he opened his jaws to crush the head. For a stunned moment of silence the crowd thought they would have to watch a gruesome death unfolding before them. Then as suddenly Shana stopped, closed his jaws with a lick of his tongue and looked down quizzically at Casper, as if he was a hunted prey. That was the moment the firehose landed a powerful jet of water on both of them. That evening in the ambulance ride to the hospital Casper in extreme pain from several broken ribs, pleaded with his helpers to spare Shana. “I promised…to retire with him to the country pasture after tonight…” and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Not on my blood you don’t

Lizards and iguanas are the haute cuisine for the red shoulder hawk. With precision dives they would sweep down to chase the scurrying creepers.

Yet mighty as the hawk is the humble lizard however has survived eons of its existence – more than 250 million years, before the Triassic Period. Experiments on the horned lizard (phrynosoma) show it can pull seven times its weight – more than the buffalo and can strike its prey faster than a cobra. Belonging to the squamate reptile family there are over 6000 species of lizards ranging from the few centimeters skink to the 3-meter Komodo dragon. Somewhere in the Mexican desert lives two species competing for food – one horned lizard named Bono and the other an iguana Goro. Besides airborne predators they also face the rattlers, wild dogs and coyotes that roam the sparse land for any living creatures. Yet they are not devoid of defense – both have eyes that independently rotate 360 degrees to size up the environment, legs that can carry their bodies at 20 mph and a slick tongue that shoots above this speed. Goro and Bono share the shade around the thorny cactus but compete for other insects that also love the cool. However their survival depends on beating the odds of being taken down by predators and not without some mutual help. One day a rattlesnake was nearby hunting and had its forked tongue sensing where Goro was. Goro was also busy with his tongue that extended longer than his body, picking off a colony of termites. His back was turned away from the snake and it was Bono who spotted the attacker first. Instinctively Bono reacted. As it was too late to run he inflated his body to twice his size, spreading out his horned spikes. It was a delay tactic that allowed Goro to dart off into a hole. But Bono became so big that he flipped over. Curiously the snake did not attack. The defense of making oneself appear larger than life has worked again!

Turns out that the iguana can actually hear better than the lizard because of its external tympanic membranes. One beautiful day it was Goro’s turn to save Bono. The desert flowers were in full bloom and myriads of butterflies appeared from nowhere. Time to get the sunshine, and more for both reptiles. Then a cool breeze blew across the cactus clump and a sudden clutch of blue butterflies appeared before the reptiles. However they were not the only visitors. A yelp was heard above the breeze and a pair of wild dogs came sauntering, their nostrils sniffing the air with heavy breathing. Goro stiffened, signaling Bono to run before disappearing into his cave again. But Bono remained still, hoping the unwelcome visitors would just leave. Was he protecting the butterflies from the dogs? Then one of the Mexican hairless coyote came right up to him, looming alarmingly to attack. It was too late to try the enlarge tactic, but Bono had one last trick. Tensing himself up blood droplets oozed out from his eyes and swish! A stream of foul smelling mix of blood and insect toxins hit the animal’s nose and eyes. Desperately shaking its head and whimpering the animal retreated. Then quickly ran from Bono as the retching toxin hit home. Slowly the horned lizard turned its head upwards. With flicks from his long tongue he picked off the flying beauties in the air in quick succession. A sumptuous meal that was worth all the blood to protect.

Kemp’s story

It was the summer of 1941 and a cruel war was raging. Johnny had to fight. In the cornfields of Iowa he went about his daily chores when he got the missive. As he rested under the barn with Kemp, his faithful German shepherd he read the order slowly. I won’t go without Kemp, he said to himself. Kemp had been Johnny’s daily companion ever since high school when the puppy arrived as his birthday gift. After some time he managed to convince the conscription officer and the paperwork got done.

Kemp WW2 Hero

So on Johnny’s nineteen birthday he got on a military jeep with Kemp and headed to Camp LeJeune. For months he would work as the handler on combat discipline, sentry, tracker-duty, mine sniffing and even tail wagging or barking with friend or foe. Kemp was barely three and soaked these training up, especially since Johnny was next to him. Between them they could even sense each other’s emotions and fears – a vital pre-requisite for combat action. So on graduation day Johnny was Private-first class and Kemp Lance-Corporal per military rule. Soon they faced the first test of fire.

Johnny was with the airborne division that infiltrated Southern France in the fall of 1942 and with Kemp was attached to the 301st battalion. They had to be with the Sapper platoon to cut a channel through barbed wires. As they waited for dawn Kemp did sentry duty – while Johnny slept next to him. Just before H-hour Kemp stood up. With a steam of breath from his cold nose he nudged Johnny from sleep. Johnny knew Kemp had sensed an intruder. With forefinger to his mouth Kemp was kept silent while he alerted everyone else. Soon a firefight broke out and two intruders were captured. The next day after the successful mission the pair were commended. It was the first of a series of outstanding valor in action and not long later both received a field promotion. Now the adage that if you have an important task always assign to a busy man, applies to combat. So Johnny and Sgt. Kemp found themselves in an expeditionary force deep in enemy territory. Under cover of darkness the Humvee that Johnny and Kemp rode on had to set up ambush at a turn of the country track. As soon as they reached the point the vehicle hit a roadside booby trap. The Humvee turned over but miraculously Kemp, being lighter and alert, was thrown out of the vehicle. Johnny however was trapped inside with others. Kemp went quietly into action. He started pulling out as many soldiers as his strength could muster. After several minutes with some men crawling out of the burning vehicle bullets were flying. The enemy was firing at them in the counter-ambush. But Kemp kept on working and strangely none of the bullets hit him. It turned out that the German soldiers there had not seen dogs in combat. Besides why would a German shoot at a German Shepard? Fortunately air-support responded quickly and gave the wounded time to evacuate to a backup vehicle.

The following weeks Johnny had to recover from a broken leg in the field hospital. Kemp was field-promoted again to Sergeant-First class and Johnny highly commended as his handler. Both had become hardened soldiers. But in the weeks of Johnny’s stay Kemp also became a nursing mascot, cheering many who missed home. It was a task that he probably enjoyed more than combat. Besides he got luxurious treats and attention, being the lead dog of the platoon. However those moments were quickly over when Johnny was ready for action again with his steady pal. But their next posting brought them back to front-line combat.

They were attached to a section on patrol. As usual Johnny and Kemp were on the back, protecting the rear. As the day drew to darkness the patrollers were tired and most were not on their guard. Then they came to a fork of the road and approaching a ridge on the side. All of a sudden Kemp froze. Johnny crouched low, looking at Kemp. He raised his snout and let out an almost inaudible growl. Johnny knew there would be trouble ahead, because when Kemp growls he would normally be barking at the top of his lungs. The section leader was signaled and he started scanning the top of the ridge with his field glasses. Then he shouted all to seek cover when he saw the machine gun pointed menacingly out from a bush. All hell broke lose when the battle was joined. As Johnny returned fire from behind a tree, Kemp laid low on his belly. It went on for almost an hour and then all was silent. It appeared that the enemy had quickly withdrawn. The leader signaled for all to retreat back to home ground. As they rose to leave suddenly an object that looked like a thin bottle was thrown towards Johnny. No! Johnny instantly shouted to restrain Kemp, for he had trained Kemp to pick up thrown objects before enlistment. Then quickly he kicked the grenade away as hard as he could. The resulting explosion threw man and dog several meters back. But both survived as Johnny’s kick provided a distance to deter mortal injury. This time both Johnny and Kemp had to be stretchered back to camp. Kemp sustained several fractures and their recovery took several months. But soon they were back on duty, but this time to a less stressful attachment in the Signals Division. They were after all the most decorated pair in the dog battalion, Kemp was awarded the Medallion of valor and Johnny the Purple Heart.

This time Johnny and Kemp had an easier time. Kemp continued being a mascot to the homesick soldiers and he had free rein where he would go around the camp. Johnny was also getting bored. Then one day Kemp didn’t come back to his tent. Johnny looked and searched the camp grounds, drawing a blank. To disappear from one’s post in the military during wartime is serious – amounting to a court martial offence of going AWOL. What could Kemp be doing? After three days Kemp returned. He seemed to have travelled far, with traces of mud and vegetation on his coat. And curiously Kemp wasn’t hungry – actually he seemed to have eaten quite well. Johnny was stumped, but he did not report the matter to the MPs until he got to the bottom of the mystery. Besides he wouldn’t want to be separated from Kemp during interrogation. Soon Johnny got news from his signals officer. The intelligence had reported that they have eavesdropped on enemy lines about a friendly dog that gave their soldiers relief from the stress of war. Kemp had been visiting the enemy camp and provided mascot relief! Johnny understood – Kemp wouldn’t know a German from a Jew but loves to be friends to all. But a Board of Inquiry still concluded desertion and consorting with the enemy. Johnny was devastated. The usual sentence would’ve been imprisonment or worse. However intent could not be concluded in the court martial and Kemp was discharged with loss of privilege and rank demotion. Relieved Johnny went to collect Kemp in the detention pound. Kemp was just overjoyed with the reunion and even barked for the first time in camp, oblivious of the charge he was acquitted of. Lets go home, Johnny whispered. Both had enough of the war and the time of furlough had arrived.

301st Battalion K9 Platoon

It was a sad day for the platoon to see their heroes leave. So Johnny went back to his parent’s corn farm. Kemp was as usual in his happy self running the fields and licking neighbors. Two years later the war ended. Kemp joined Johnny in the town’s jubilant celebrations. Stories of Kemp and Johnny’s valor were reported in the national dailies. Then a week later came a letter for them. It was from Badenburg, Germany. Translated from German a former Staff Sergeant wrote: “Me and my German comrades would like to thank you and Kemp for cheering us during the war. Very glad to know that you and your dog are well. We were enemies then but your dog doesn’t know war.”

Monkey sees monkey doodle

Monkeys are seen to have distinct tails but not apes. Both come under the general primate family with over 300 species that include lemurs, baboons, tamarins, colobus, lorises and tarsiers. The ape family (5 general species of gorillas, chimps, orangutan and bonobo) is distinct from macaques which have over 20 species. In Asia the monkeys include langurs in SE Asia to the Japanese snow monkeys. The long-tailed SE Asian monkey (macaca fascicularis) is intelligent to the extend of being able to use tools for food, human-like and gregarious. The alpha-male leads a group of as much as 30 individuals, with 5 or 6 females sharing the care of the young. They are omnivorous eating both plants and insects. But their exploding population leads them into houses to consume fruits, their top choice, as well as being the source of this story.

Stella lives in a bungalow on the edge of the McRitchie, a protected water-catchment area. One day she saw a wandering male, perhaps rejected from a troop by leadership renewal. He sits outside her home on a disused road sign and bares his teeth whenever someone wanders too close to her house. So she made a signboard better suited to his behavior. He would sometimes climb onto an overhead electricity cable and walk pass her kitchen like a tight-rope artist. There he would have a clear view of what fruits of choice to target on the table when no one chases him off. However Stella’s chow-chow makes sure that his presence is known by her persistent barking. Hamid as he is nicknamed, would sit on his haunches swaying this way and that on the cable until the dog tires. Then before the dog barks again in a flash he would grab a banana and leap back to the cable post. While the dog barks Hamid would nonchalantly peel the fruit right there and consume it in blatant disregard of Stella and her dog. As Stella puts the rest of the fruits away Hamid would slowly finish his meal then calmly toss the banana skin at the barking dog, before dancing his way back to the forest on the high wire. However such intrusions are not frequent because there’re seasons when there’d be adequate food in the forest. However in the following rainy season Hamid reappeared and this time he had company.

Stella, an illustrator for children’s books was at the fruit table working with crayons. From the overhead cable Hamid stared at the table, devoid of his choice booty. Behind him on the wire followed two young juveniles. One was of darker fur color while the third had almost light brown fur. Hamid and the darker juvenile were looking at Stella’s papaya tree, its fruits still of an unripe green. Stella ignored them and continued with her drawing. At this time Hamid and his young had jumped off elsewhere looking for easy fruit in the neighbor’s. But she could sensed that she was being watched. The remaining juvenile with the brown fur had descended and seated about a meter away on the kitchen floor, watching intently her every movement. Well, I’m not allowed to feed you, Stella said to herself as she went to the living room to retrieve her coffee. When she returned she was stopped in her tracks by a curious sight. The brown juvenile had jumped on her table and with crayon in her claws was scribbling on her white table cloth, only that the crayon was held upside down. Stella moved slowly in order not to frighten her new student. Here you are, she said, slowly moving a piece of blank drawing paper towards her. The macaque slightly bared her teeth, but didn’t run away. Stella moved several more crayons towards her, hoping that somehow she would hold one of them the right way up. As if enjoying play, the monkey started drawing random lines on the paper. Then chattering joyfully it jumped off. Half running it looked back briefly at Stella as if in thanks. “You’re very welcome! Enjoy and come back for the next lesson!” Stella felt a bit silly talking to a wild animal. But what happened the next few months is enough to excite artists and primatologists alike.

Brownie the doodle monkey

Weeks passed and there was neither Hamid nor her student. Stella decided to lure them with some peeled banana in the usual fruit bowl. Then suddenly on a rainy afternoon Hamid came. Stella put some crayons and rough paper next to the bowl. But Hamid was no artist in him and left, even without a banana. Sadly Stella gave up the idea and continued drawing in her living room. Then there came a shock. One sunny afternoon Brownie appeared outside her living room. She wasn’t even interested in the banana fruit bowl outside. Stella slowly placed some crayons and paper on the living room floor. Her new student took it up, examining each crayon carefully before placing it down again on the paper. “Here this is a square, then a circle or a triangle…”, Stella started with lesson two on how to draw shapes. It took several attempts before Brownie could tell a line from a circle. Painstakingly Stella tried hard, sometimes waiting for weeks before Brownie showed up for class. Soon her efforts paid off. She realized that Brownie actually learns faster by watching her than by receiving instructions. So whenever Brownie shows up, she would just ignore her and continue drawing whatever she needed to draw. Months passed and Brownie would watch, sometimes drawing something, but mostly trying to imitate Stella.

Months passed with more irregular visits. Stella just left Brownie with loose scraps of paper and some crayons and left it to her devices while continuing with her own work. Then one day she decided that her work was complete and time to give a display to her publishers of children’s illustrations. She also collected Brownie’s sketches strewn all over the floor. It was the first time for her to see the progress of her student. She was spellbound. On the day of her exhibition she decided on something. At the corner of her display were Brownie’s sketches. Many visitors were curious why would Stella display something unintelligible. Asked about it she said: “Oh those were drawn by my pet monkey Brownie.” Many were amused but not her friend from the zoo. She wanted to meet Brownie, but Stella said she doesn’t know how because Brownie lives in the wild. So one day when Brownie visited, Stella called her primatologist friend and decided to tag Brownie as a subject of study. It was the beginning of a ground-breaking research of how macaques learn by imitating others. Today if you wish you can read about it in the Journal of Primate Psychology. Perhaps you might understand why Brownie drew the way she did.

Reckoning Death

There’s a primeval instinct in each of us to kick cans down the road. Especially when faced with an inevitability such as death or old age. With the passing of every new year or birthdays we silently acknowledge our bodily functions are declining and our mental alacrity degrades. To wit how can a mish-mash of proteins in a complex envelop of water-based fluids burn through years of work or abuse without leaking or breaking? But not animals. They don’t plan and sought exigencies but take on life, and lose it stoically. Take the frog family for instance. The order anura is known to exist for 265 million years, since the Permian period. Carnivorous, they are distributed widely in the world and still counting after over 6800 species, consisting of 88% of existant amphibians. Yet 41% of these amphibian vertebrates are considered threatened by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature. Warty frog species are called toads. Although about 120 of their species are believed to be extinct since 1980s they are great breeders and take the business seriously, unlike humans. The common garden variety can live 10-12 years with over 200 000 eggs for reproduction in its lifetime. They also give up their lives easily to scores of predators, including Man. However there are 100 species of poisonous (skin) frogs and two are venomous.

Yet like all living mammals they celebrate life. It’s hard to tell a happy frog from birth but sometimes you can feel a dog is smiling when it thrives as Man’s companion. Unlike Mankind mammals don’t commit suicide due to failed business, depression from loneliness or chronic poor health. Of course whales beach themselves but you can hardly say they did it on purpose.

Dermit is a common Asian toad (duttaphrynus melanostictus). He’s different from frogs because of the dry warty skin, shorter walking legs (than jumping ones), stouter body, laying eggs in a chain and prefers land than water. Over his lifespan of a decade Dermit has a few main activities in life. He starts his day looking for a spot for food, usually near water in daytime and near a lamp-post at night. At day Dermit quietly contributes to environmental sustenance by eating algae which in turn regulate blooms and algae contamination. At night at the street-lamps he catches mosquitoes and other insects that can spread diseases to humans, such as dengue, Nile fever and Zika. When the sun heats up, he goes to find a cool, humid spot in the garden (or forest area) where his permeable skin becomes a cooling agent. Sometimes bacteria or toxins from the environment gets permeated into his body – and he becomes a repository depicting the health of the environment, delighting lab scientists which call him an “indicator species”. What about his social life? Boy does he have a social life. Dermit loves to gather with his friends in drains and culverts during a storm. Humans tend to assume they gather noisily to have a good time – and get drunk on beetle juice. But actually Dermit needs to fulfil the most important role in his life, besides having fun. Humans also call it fun.

So Dermit gathers with his hordes of friends twice a year to mate. First he croaks to compete with the other males. Some species do this very intelligently – selecting the frequency that will most transmit his love-calls as far as possible. As the males do this the females respond. How convenient! Can you imagine humans meeting the love of their life just by calling aloud? Soon the pond would be filled with wriggling bodies and becomes a free-for-all. Dermit tries as quickly as possible to mount a female – but he doesn’t know this for a fact. Sometimes he gets pushed off before making the ride. Then sometimes he gets a shout from the person he’s riding – “Release me! I’m a male!” The croak is quite distinctive for frogs – for the proper transfer to the next generation. So Dermit tries and tries – until he stumbles onto a female. With about 20 000 eggs to release at the right time, Dermit makes sure the sex act called amplexus fertilizes most of them. Satisfied, Dermit hops off, perhaps to another female while the lady disappears, never to see the eggs again. Then when the entire community of party-goers finishes this in about 20 minutes what remains are thousands of eggs clinging to leaves and plants in the water, awaiting the metamorphosis process to begin. But only 1 in 50 (about 400 eggs) make it to tadpoles and even less becomes full-grown toads or frogs. That is why, even as 120 species have become extinct Dermit’s act is supreme for the survival of the species. And even more so for the next duty he had to do in his life.

Frog legs were first introduced by French gastronomy as a delicacy and the practice has spread beyond Europe to Asia and Americas. Up to 400 million frogs are estimated to be shipped as food annually and worth about $4 million. A study suggests that the exported Anatolian water frogs of Turkey is declining by 20% annually and may go extinct by 2050. For Dermit that’s just life – because instead he is likely to be eaten by snakes, racoons, birds of prey and large water-birds.

Dermit likes to croak in the rice fields of Asia because besides play he gets to meet various insects and water-bugs that feed off the leftovers from rice-harvesting. There when not love-making and meeting the force of reproduction Dermit finds life’s enjoyment. Then one fine day he decided to climb onto a branch after feeding on several giant water-bugs. But life is such that when in fulfilled contentment it comes to an end. A great heron just happened to walk quietly by. It stretched its long neck sideways like the leaning tower of Pisa, eyes fixed on Dermit like a frozen statue. In a flash it had him in its beak. Dermit couldn’t even struggle – in fact something inside him told him no need to. Numerous times he could only watch as others like him were snatched up by lake feeders. He had done his last duty as part of the food-chain. So the next time you see a frog or toad around the house don’t hold back if you feel an urge to kiss it. It was there just reckoning life and death. But don’t kiss the colorful ones.

The cheetah whispers

As the fastest mammal in the world the cheetah (acinonyx jubatus) literally runs over its prey in a hunt. They need so much spurting energy that they have to rest after a failed chase and their bodies do not favor stopping and turning such as in bushy areas. Yet they appear to be the most friendly among the big cats as wild cheetahs are known to approach humans to interact.

SCARF10

VOLUME 2

Strength from Weakness – chameleon’s doodle

The rise and fall of nations and powers throughout history confirms it – that success need not necessarily proceed from the barrel of a gun. The recent rise in Trumpism serves notice that one cannot merely steam-roll our adversaries into submission. All the narcissism, bullying, grandstanding and stubborn denials of falsehoods or frauds leave things more unsettled, even incendiary. Where difference between truth and falsehood blurs, people become untrustworthy or uncertain of decisions and is especially infectious from people of power. There is a creature that appears weak and unassertive as it goes about its unimpressive life.

The chameleon from the species chamaeleonidae have the distinctive  zygodactylous feet and long rapid extrudable tongues. Their swaying gait betrays a lack of stable confidence. sometimes uncertain whether to go forward or retract. Some have horns or crests on their brow or snout and often exercise a prehensile tail. Their amazing 360 degree rotating eyes are independent of each other, providing a perfect aircraft target acquisition system with the slick tongue. The grey Namibia species chamaeleo namaquensis grows to 25cm, larger than its flap skin cousin. Besides insects it catches small lizards, antropods, even snakes. It eats plant matter as well as gravel for digestion but cannot survive without water, which it absorbs through its skin.

With such an adaptation for survival you would be surprised that the chameleon’s strength is its apparent weakness. It could hardly run or fly from aerial predators. But it can hide. A master of camouflage, it changes color to adapt to its environment not by pigmentation, but by changing its space between crystals under its skin.

Liz Coba loves to draw flowers and plant life. She arrived in the Namibia desert and plonged on a deck chair at the edge of the desert, wary of the mammals that live there, particularly the poisonous puff or the cape horn adder. But the unnamed wild yellow blooms soon besotted her and she started with pad and pencils. Then while drawing the stalk she saw the jerky movement. A greyish Namibia chameleon was looking for brunch. Enthralled, she gently lifted it on her writing pad. It stopped, then slowly jerked forwardly uncertainly, sometimes moving a step back. Chameleons change their skin color to match the background but in this case it didn’t have a color to match the white paper. So it jerked along, hoping to find an escape route. Bemused, Liz gently tried to guide it back to the flower stalk with her short rubbered end of the pencil. But a startling response followed. It grabbed the rubbered end with its jaw, its eyes rolled around fully this way and that to size up its intruder. Liz let out a muffled scream releasing her grip. Then a strange display followed. With the gripped pencil it started doodling on the paper leaving a trace of jagged shapes as it slowly made a slow dance around the paper surface. At first the images didn’t make any sense to Liz but she took up her phone camera anyway to record the comical movement. After an hour of amusement she lifted the writing pad near a flower and her willing performer clambered off. Liz thought nothing of it and continued her sketches. Later in the day it became too hot to continue – besides she thought she saw something slithered around as reflected off the sun rays.

As she got up to leave she saw the snake – it was coiled with its head retracted near its body as if about to strike something. Liz let out a spontaneous scream. Then she saw her new-found friend on the stalk – an apparent target of the snake. But it had turned greenish grabbing on the stalk and its outline could only be seen after her nervous commotion. Alarmed, the snake slithered off. Liz regained her composure, relieved that her friend was safe. Back at the hotel she reviewed her video of the queer dance of the chameleon with her pencil stub. She let out a gasp of comical surprise at the image drawn. And then behind the pad…

She turned pale – the snake was there and target was herself! The chameleon was trying to lure it from her!

A salute to our rooted friends

Plants and trees do not have legs to move around. So the most gracious thing you could give to a seedling is to decide the location for it. It would have to remain there rain or sun. Or no rain and no shine. Since the foundation of the earth trees and vegetation have only one non-human means to relocate their young – at birth. Most people might have participated in taking the seed or nut of eaten fruits and planted them in a place most suitable for their growth. Otherwise animals would do it through their metabolic systems, albeit unthinking. Other vegetation produce flowers or sails with their seeds which fly with the help of the wind or, from some insects or other winged creatures. Oftentimes, like chance that determines many outcomes of our lives, the seeds fall nearby to the parent plant. Hereby starts our story of two oak trees – we call them Mira and Kina. They actually started as acorns.

Mira is the older one, having hit the earth quite luckily near the storm drain next to the giant parent oak. Through the months before Kina join her Mira enjoyed abundant splashes of water during storms together with generous growth stimulant from the rising sun. She grew quickly and her roots dug deep and firm near where most of the run-off water from the drain. Kina however is not so lucky – a gust of wind blew him further away when he fell clumsily and to add injury to insult, he rested in the shadow of the giant trunk, hiding him from the luxuriant morning sunlight. However in the days following he dug as much as his roots allowed and so survived being blown away by the gusty winter winds. Don’t worry Kina, Mira would whisper. I am now as strong as my mother to hide you from the wintry blasts, so lean near to me. They are actually not siblings as Kina, still a seedling blew in from a tree across the road. Still, he felt assured and comforted. That winter, on frigid nights he leaned as much as he could to Mira to catch the warmth of her trunk hence preventing his tender stem from freezing over. Months passed and both plants grew from strength to strength together. Mira, now as stout as her mother tree would protect Kina from stormy winds that came from the eastern coast. Hurricane blasts of rain-sheets would be deflected by her before it could bend Kina’s weaker trunk over. Kina felt like a happy clam. However sometimes hail would miss Mira’s branches and bruise his bark, but he was none the worse for it, having someone like a strong big sister to fall on. Years passed and the mother tree became old and decrepit. It happened on a bright summer noon. The two younger oaks almost held each other’s branches when a strong wind blew the old tree over. All of a sudden dozens of creatures that had taken refuge in the old tree was rudely dislodged. That summer, birds of all kinds that used to sing and mate within the cool and balmy comfort of the old oak leaves had to fly around for new homes. Even the family of voles at the mother’s roots felt starkly unprotected when the owls started to descend on the withering branches from their nearby perch. That autumn, an eerie silence fell on the otherwise boisterous oak colony.

For Mira and Kina it was a new dawn. Or rather a new noon when the shadow of their strong matriarch disappeared to let all of Nature fall on them. Kina we must become strong, just like my mother when her father fell in the hurricane years ago, Mira’s grave voice quivered. Kina felt a sense of doom and destiny, but her presence remained a cheerful comfort in the disruption as she continued. Let us grow stronger than ever together and become the blessed refuge that mother and our ancestors had been to the creatures all around. Their branches started extending even further where mother stood and their roots got even wider support. Slowly, the denizens of the mother’s refuge started to return and even in greater numbers, now that Mira and Kina had doubled their foliage. The oak family regained the joyous songs of birds and crickets. Kina felt happy as a duke with his soulmate by his side. Together they saw many charming summers welcoming squirrels, birds and happy visitors. They struggled together growing up and growing big and wide. For him, Mira was a lucky charm – all the events they enjoyed together had a happy circumstance as if luck had started to favor him by her. He wished she’d be with him forever. Then came a particularly deadly winter.

The snow fell and fell. And fell some more. It reminds you of those winters when the never ending white stuff that drifted from the sky have nowhere else to go but pile up on whatever holds its weight. The town was a-washed when a rain storm also came. Mira was groaning – as hers was the most branches that extended outwards. Kina could only stand by her and wished the maintenance teams would come. But the storm had plunged the town into darkness – snow had already buried all the lamp-posts beyond their bulbs. He whispered – please dear – hold on for my sake – how can I survive without your help? There was no answer. Just some doleful creaking of the overburdened boughs. Kina reached out with his branches as if to embrace his weakened lover. But all his efforts would come to nothing. Mira’s branches have all begun to crack. Worse, her roots below had became water-logged. It would be a matter of time before they work loose from the soil as the run-off water continued its deluge. After several days the weather subsided. The topsoil had started to dry. But then something worse – the cold set in. For several days night-time temperatures fell below freezing. Mira’s roots begun to crack with the solidification. She was slowly dying. Kina was still hoping, although trees can communicate via their underground network of roots that all is not well. Then the dry days came, but the subterranean damage was irreversible. One by one her dried roots began to give way to the pull of her heavy bough. Then to the horror of Kina, one early spring morning Mira fell. She fell quietly even thoughtfully in the direction that would not harm Kina. It seemed she tried hard not to land hard so that the birds and insects that made her home would have time to escape the crush. It was the last considerate act she could do, but still for Kina it was devastating. Immediately he felt the cold winds rushed through him where previously his soulmate blocked. He shuddered and leaves began to be blown away. But more adversity was to come from the loss of Mira’s company. Came summer and the blast of the noonday heat quickly dried up the moisture gathered through the night, something never happened when Mira was sheltering him from the rising sun. Then the heavy summer showers that pelted his tender bark and broke some branches. As if not enough now he had to face the hailstones that wreak damage during unseasonably cold spring. And then the severe winter storms he had to now face alone? If only trees can weep. Maybe Kina wept through it all. Then something started up within him.

Grow strong and grow quickly! That voice seemed to come from nowhere. Dig down your roots in firm ground, even if there’s less water. Spread your branches out to the energy rays that convert in your chloroplast proteins into stored sugars, releasing oxygen to the surroundings. Work the chlorophylls and the versatile bacterium. Take in as much CO2 – the earth needs your help these days. Most of all welcome your guests – the shelter you afforded them reaps a reward of compost and life-giving droppings. Besides they help you procreate. Kina felt driven along the flow of life. He wasn’t responsible for death, but he is now within his ability for life. Several summers passed. Kina transformed from the scrawny dependent weakling in Mira’s shadow.

Today if you happen to visit the windy coast of Haikou China, you might be able to view the sturdiest and strongest oak tree near the beach. Children run screaming joyfully from the park-benches in its balmy shade. Hordes of seniors move stoically in their tai-chi and sway trance-like to the branches above. Birds and butterflies come in and out from its enclave, accompanied by the chirps that please many an avian enthusiasts. Occasionally a snow goose would land resting from its journey North to the Kuriles. It was no accident. He grew through the most trying of circumstances. And the miracle was that he started small, weak and incognito. Then if you happen to gaze at the eye of its bark at mid-trunk you might even detect a wink and hear some words spoken. “Learn to grow old, never give up.”

Shall we or shouldn’t we?

Ever since Mankind decided to protect land or property the problem of security is in every agenda. Before the days of computers and intelligent cameras the practice was to have humans dressed and equipped to patrol boundaries, screen visitors or provide vigilance. Today, if you meet such smart-dressed, impressive security personnel at entry gates – think for once how demeaning the job can be. For hours your role in life was to watch and check, until the next change of guards. For most the personnel you admit contributes more to the establishment and you might even detect a smirk of disdain for such a lowly job. But we need not dehumanize them. We could use computers, cameras and robots. Or dogs? Let’s begin here with the story of two watch-dogs Trudi and Brighty.

Trudi, the brown Doberman Pinscher is an 80-pounder with a playful personality, comical even. His partner, another male with a shiny, almost bluish-black coat is stubborn and also strong. But he’s a coward inside, as much as Trudi having a funny side. Both are still six-month puppies as they have yet to reach the matured weight of 100 pounds. Their mistress, Amy Doolittle is diminutive compared to them, shoulder standing only a foot above their shoulders and is often bowled over when they get too enthusiastic for a lick on her cheeks. But she lives alone in her mansion and was persuaded to keep them after a burglar got away with some of her heirloom jewelry. They completed their training school and as their devotion is second to none, both thrive on Amy’s company. However Amy travels frequently on the job and so the dogs were specially trained on what to do alone – such as when the gate accidentally flings open, or when the postman calls for delivery. Just looking at them would make any trespasser flee, as a dear friend used to say, “I don’t need a fast car, just a car that looks fast.”

One time Amy was away on a month-long assignment. Trudi was entertaining himself digging at the root of the palm tree and Brighty, as usual snoring next to the cooling fountain. Suddenly the electronic gate flung open. Somehow the programming had been glitchy and a neighbor’s controller had a bandwidth surge that triggered the controller relay. In this situation the dogs have been trained to sit still watching for intruders, but never to escape out to the street. Trudi turned his head at the shaking door as it rested open, then turned to his partner who was stirring from siesta and licking around feeling annoyed. Then he sat up and Trudi joined him at the fountain, both looking earnestly out to the street, with a quizzical look on both faces. There was nobody around. After sitting statuesque for a while, Trudi dropped his jaw, as if to give a comical grin. Coming down the right side of the gate were two Siamese cats. Meowing away one seemed to be the amorous male, tail twitching, trying to persuade the other for who knows what. Brighty however perked up his folded ears and gave a muffled growl. He has never seen a Siamese before and it wasn’t in the training manual. Trudi meanwhile widened his grin and shook his tail quickly, keen to play with the felines. Brighty? He suddenly got the shivers. What if they’re more vicious and overcome us? Brighty seemed to say, and slowly lowered his stance to lie flat on the floor. Then Trudi let out a playful yelp. That shocked Brighty to his feet and he sat upright, turning his head to look at Trudi for signs of what to do next. Shall we or shouldn’t we?

Why not? Training manual or not both started trotting slowly to the gate. Then both sat down almost together at the imaginary line where the gate doors should close. Shall we or shouldn’t we? This time Trudi looked at Brighty for consent. The cats meanwhile have taken their slinky stroll down the road, feckless on what’s happening 10 meters behind them. For a split second Brighty lowered his head, then GO! Both dogs sprinted towards the cats, tiptoed fashion as if in play. As they closed in the two playful giants (compared to the cats) got a shock of their lives. There from the cats was an ear-piercing scream and a fearsome hiss that almost turned their Doberman coats white in terror. Both canines shrunk back, ears quivering in bafflement. The Siamese bared their fangs and arched their furry bodies in strike position. Still the giants didn’t know what was coming and Trudi almost laughed out loud in fun. Seated he raised his paw and clawed the air undecidedly while Brighty was already cowered on the ground in abject fear. Come on! let’s play Trudi seemed to say, whimpering. Brighty? His fears had advanced to attack mode. As he leapt at the raised claws the cats let out another piercing scream before slashing down. One claw found its mark on Brighty’s left ear. What happened next would have made the dog training company apologize in shame. The “giants” ran back into the mansion as fast as their tail-covered hinds could carry them. So the next time I visit someone with Doberman watchers, I think I’ll carry a cat.

Another incident happened at Halloween. Amy was in the shower when the dogs caused a commotion. A group of children, one as young as five, approached the gates dressed grotesquely. Trudi and Brighty have never seen ghosts nor ghouls. So the kids stayed a distance as Amy came out shower-capped. Oh sure, she said to the nervous kids. As she disappeared into the kitchen the little one approached the Dobermans, seated behind the gated bars. The five-year old had big dogs at home and so was unafraid. As he offered a candy-pop thru the bars Trudi turned to Brighty. Shall we or shouldn’t we? Brighty licked his licks. Why not? Then both started licking the candy and the child’s hand as well. And so the rest came around the dogs when Amy returned with the treats. So you see, the Doberman is fearsome to behold, but all dogs can sense the innocence of young children. And by the way I’ll keep my miniature dachund. At least his bark is louder than his bite.

March of the mighty wag

According to FBI’s NCIC in 2018 there were more than 420 000 missing children worldwide. Many runaways are removed from the statistics but the consequences of their well-being can be horrendous. The mental anguish of parents must also be unbearable, besides the tremendous cost of looking, locating and caring for them. Related to this there are more than 700 million people aged 65 or over in 2019 of which over 46% are estimated disabled (UN). So the most vulnerable in the world are among the very young and very old. What of animals? Unimaginable.

The little town of Maple Bluff next to Lake Mendota has an interesting unwritten rule: give way to wildlife as you would to children crossing. Who wouldn’t? If you happen to drive along the lake, or the shores of Winnebago, in spring your heart would shout your foot to hit the brakes at the downy little puffballs stumbling along the reeds after a flying morsel. Come Monday morning excited schoolkids wait at the lights for the marshal to halt traffic. But then comes a column of yellow fur-balls waddling non-stop towards the road crossing and the traffic stops, marshal or not. Their little tails would do a finger-like dance as they hurry ceremoniously across. Stopping the leader mother would cause a chain collision. How do you know that they’re ducklings and not goslings, other than color stripes? I may be wrong but I think ducks like to sing while marching but geese would rather hiss. And there’s no turning back once the order to cross comes to mother duck, else the mission to get to the other side would fail. What’s the real mission anyway? We recount the story of Dee and Dah.

Dee is a North American mallard while Dah is a Canadian goose. Both females with a penchant for reproduction. However Dah has a story to tell. She loves kids. But these past two seasons she could only produce two, dear to her heart. Still she would go around the nestlings and after many occasions collected two dozen orphans. Many either were abandoned, lost or just runaways. In the animal world, the young would somehow find strength in numbers. And what’s more enticing to a cold lonely gosling than a willing mother with a dozen potential siblings?

Also in the animal world are two over-arching concerns – eat and reproduce. Once Dah had her hands full the daily chore is to find food. So on this side of the road where the marshal does her daily routine Dah dabbles around, hoping there’s enough for the brownies to fill their tummies. On the other side? Well you guessed it – Dee corrals her little grey downy ducklings around the Mendota coastline. Yes, often the twain would meet. And then, pandemonium. You see, there’s a fundamental equation that models the population growth of species with a limited food resource. Rather than starve and stagnate, Dee and Dah is constantly looking for new ground. So one early morning, Dah decided that the mission for the troop was to get to the other side. Then there’s another challenge.

You see Dah’s own two kids Abby and Etty are what mothers today would call “hyperactive” than to use the grandmother term “mischievous”. At any chance they would run off, chasing butterflies, mayflies, birds or “anyflies” – even a young rabbit or snake. The mother often had to hiss a warning when they get too far to a water’s edge or a cliff. Unlike the other 20 “surrogate” goslings they are always the last to join the ranks and the first to be lost. As all mothers well know, one often wonders how these rebels and stragglers will grow up. In the animal kingdom often they wouldn’t get the chance. Abby and Etty were just lucky. So far. The day for the march to the other side and both were in the rear. Meanwhile Dee’s entourage was coming from the other direction. And luck would have it that the two columns would have to face each other on the narrow bridge. Helter-skelter, as ducklings and goslings intertwine like doing a square dance gone haywire. Quacking loudly, Dee turned back to encourage the dark-feathered ducklings, beaks pointing here and there, to regroup. And the goslings? They were stronger and faster and most were able to stick to Dah. Except Abby and Etty. Now they have become part of the duck army, heading away from the goslings. Dee didn’t have time to sort out the turncoats and soon Abby and Etty became part of her retinue. The rest of the ducklings were none the wiser who the new recruits were, or why their coats were different. But Abby and Etty stuck close – except they wondered why their siblings now speak a different language. Soon they would have to face a culture-shock. Goose swims but don’t dive. But mommy duck Dee didn’t mind the yellow additions to her brood – after all she only had ten after two went missing. But as the days passed she began to wonder why the new babies didn’t learn to speak. Abby and Etty watched in fascination as the ducklings tilted their bodies into the water to catch food. “Com’n you can do it!”, Dee would quacked at them but tried as they might goslings just have too long a neck to go under. A few months passed and the goslings began to outgrow the others. Abby also started to get the trick of fishing for food underwater, using her long nape as a fishing pole, except her body is just too large to tilt over. Etty meanwhile had to content with whatever vegetation floating on the lake surface. He was miserable. Then a lucky break.

The ducklings were dabbling by the lake shore when one of them noticed a column swimming toward them. As they approached Etty and Abby somehow sensed something familiar. “Mommy!”, Etty seemed to shout in joy. As swiftly as his webs could paddle Etty swam forth to reunite with his lost siblings, napes of their long neck turning around in joy. Dah couldn’t be more excited, hissing lowly. But Abby? No. Abby edged closer to her duck mother in the water. Dee gave a few querulous quacks. But Abby chose to stay, moving around with the other ducklings in the water. Her decision was to turn out into a fateful outcome in the coming winter.

So severe was the winter that hardly any vegetation could be found on the packed ice. The only way for the waterfowls to find food was to stay in the unfrozen lake, where occasionally some underwater vegetation would surface. And then the ducks have already skilled themselves to snatch small smelts or minnows coming by. Abby already qualified. But not the rest of the goose family. Their survival routine was to migrate. Hence Dah took to the air, leading her retinue of down-feathered goslings, almost fully grown and wheeled South. Except Abby, who would winter with her adopted family. But before long the duck-pond began to shrivel from the closing ice. Time to fly too – but ducks do not migrate long haul – they would go to the next best body of water. As they took off running on the water surface, Abby stumbled. She just didn’t have enough practice as would her gosling family. After several ungainly runs she joined her sister ducklings. In that wintry sky you’d see a queer sight – a bunch of grey flyers accompanied by a white goose. When they landed in a pool nearby, it was feeding time again. What about the goose family?

Dah found another lake further south. As they explored for food, Dah sensed something amiss. Around the lake shores were at least three furry animals. Foxes! On the hunt they would trot quickly from a clump of vegetation to the next, stopping suddenly to forage for young birds or eggs. For the geese the lake shore is the place for a prodigious supply of leeks, leftover grass and maybe some cracked corn carried by the water. But no – Dah decided safer to move on and off to the sky they took. After circling widely for sometime they ended up back in the southern shores of Mendota. Of all the lakes in Wisconsin they found themselves in the same pond as Abby and her family. Quacking loudly Dee welcomed the geese, tired after making so many false runs. But there’s still a problem. There’s just too many of them to eat from the same shores. As the winter deepened in severity the goslings became malnourished, some on verge of starvation. So one day Etty swam close to Abby, watching her pushing her long neck underwater and emerging with a loach in her beak. Hungry, Etty followed. Nothing. Again and again Etty persevered, until he managed to grab a small insect. The floaters were easier targets though not a sizable meal. But that’s enough for his hungry stomach to persist. Meanwhile Dah and the other goslings were watching. Soon the geese family began their fishing lessons, eating mostly floaters and mayflies, and an occasional loach. Then a snow storm arrived and almost fill the small lake with ice. The birds would have to move again. Dah led her family northwards, probably because her last southern expedition failed. The lake she chose to land was large and had few competitors for food. But the lake shore still presented a formidable challenge – this time raccoons and badgers hunt for weaker prey. No problem. Dah and her family had already learned to fish. There were plenty of trout below. As they continued their relentless pursuit of food in the cold wilderness Dah had one comforting thought. The holy terror Abby that she had patiently brought up to be a fine goose had saved the family from starvation.

The Kudu’s chalice

Prejudice, bigotry and discriminations have hurt and ostracized more people in history than ever imagined. They discolor the future and place of many, starting from schoolchildren bullying to even injustice in the courts. Though not inborn, the innate ability to rate a fellow being as inferior or superior starts at home or in society. Worse it predetermines our judgements consciously or not in the social intercourse that daily builds our values and character. Animals can teach us a big deal about prejudice and unlearned behavior. The greater kudu is a majestic animal by itself but has to hide from trophy-hunters. Yet it lives a lifestyle along with a host of other animals, big or small.

Stretching from South to Eastern Africa, the greater kudu (T. strepsiceros of the genus bovidae) a large woodland antelope lives a sedentary life grazing. Because of its size (bulls can easily weigh beyond 500 pounds) it needs a large grazing area inviting two threats of its existence – habitat loss and its spectacularly twisted horn. Kanda is such a bull, happily protected in the South-eastern African country of Namibia. But protection is from humans – in the wild antelopes are game meat for numerous carnivore predators. So Kanda lives a shared existence with other game animals. It is a cunning strategy because kudus do not form large herds and since they are a larger target, living with numerous smaller herds gives them a chance to escape. Being large his skill of escape is jumping over bushes and hiding in the woods, especially when he cannot run as fast as gazelles. However Kanda’s daily preoccupation is food – getting enough shoots, leaves, grass and even fruits such as tangerines. But its most important life-dependent resource is water. One dry season Kanda was up in the highlands (up to 2400 meters) looking for water in tubers and roots. A truck was travelling through his area. The driver, a missionary to East Africa was moving to another town. Several large trees had fallen (probably due to dry roots) in his path and he had to do a detour up the hills. Over bumpy terrain something fell out of one of his bags in the rear and rolled into a bush. Unaware, the missionary moved on. In the evening, Kanda and some impalas were passing by the bush looking for water. There lying upright in the bush was the chalice (which the missionary probably hastily threw into his pack at the last moment). It is beautiful, studded with gleaming glass inlay, an ornamental cup used in observing communion. Kanda sniffed at it and licked off some of the remaining wine at the bottom of the goblet. Little as it were, it was still a refreshing sip. Thinking nothing further of it Kanda moved onto the woodlands to hide for the day. And little did Kanda knew that that little sip of sanctified wine was to affect him in a most wondrous way.

Kanda survived the drought season and come summer it was time to mate. Greater kudus mate with only one cow and usually one calf is born. Even during foreplay, males rarely fight each other for superiority in mating unlike reindeer, caribou or elk. But come the next dry season, Kanda had a family to feed. So they roamed the hills again, looking for moisture in grass, leaves or tubers. But that dry season turned out to be drier than the last. Kanda was desperate. Then he happened to pass by the bush. There was the chalice, still upright. But this time it was full of water. Kanda, his mate and the baby calf was nourished. Turning to the impalas and gazelles, he generously told them to also drink from the cup. Everyone was nourished – the cup of water did not run out for the entire herd! How? Indeed the water was so sweet that one season a male gazelle carried it in its mouth and ran with it for himself. Kanda was sad. If only everyone learn to share, there will always be enough, he seemed to think to himself. From that summer on Kanda could not find the chalice, his last hope for water in the driest season. So he stood by the road where the truck happened to drop the chalice. After a long wait the truck came. The missionary was returning from furlough. Seeing the antelope by the side of the road, mouth opened, he alighted from the truck. “Are you OK?”, he turned to Kanda. Strangely Kanda didn’t run away. Faint from the heat the kudu lie down. The missionary wondered what to do. Then he went into the back of the truck and took out the bottle of wine, as that was all he had. Refreshed Kanda stood up and grunted a bark, then walked slowly up to the woodlands. Halfway up he stopped, and looked at the missionary, as if beckoning him to follow. He followed, but didn’t have long to walk. On the side of a dried stream, half buried in the mud, was the magic chalice.

Not so fast – let me think first

Speech or sound, the operating medium between all living things tells your feelings, your character or even your upbringing or education. For some society either you speak up or be branded a fool or an alien. But there’s elegance in the speech of silence. An astute hearer not just listens to words but also the silence. What you do not say speak volumes. Yet for all the ugliness in an ugly Singaporean, or an American for that matter, the way they insist on their rights can be most despicable. The words “social graces” is as foreign to them as an airplane to a caveman. Why are they so combative? Is it because of the smallness of their country or the narrowness of the “me-only” society. A caveman venturing out for the first time would grab at anything outside their caves. The ability to speak elegantly for your own rights seems to be a hallmark of a confident successful achiever. And then what’s wrong with meritocracy? The backbone of growing countries for about half of the world it has become corrosively divisive. Driven by KPIs and what not it breeds the elite to govern other less accomplished or unqualified, and consciously or not, lord over them. For those contented with economic subsistence level they can get off the bus and cruise to their retirement. For those who don’t they form a group of seething malcontents, lashing out at the “establishment” with our modern means of free expression. Some may even have become like wounded creatures fomenting their disgusts to let steam. Resulting from this is the litigative tendency between the layman and professions. High earners must have mutual trust with customers, or the grumbling have-nots or miscreants will always sue at every whim. Worse it creates a corrosive cynicism in professional services – a sure way to kill entrepreneurship. Yes, meritocracy is great because without it a country descends to corruption, favoritism, malfeasance and nepotism. And with it if not accompanied with the heart of kindness and charity the country eventually will become fragmented, or worse self-destruct. There is an animal that indirectly learned some of this, by the fluke of a long shot. It’s only property are the leaves of the tree it hangs on. It’s ability to express itself elegantly or loudly is next to nil. Meet the “absurd” three-toed sloth.

From the family of arboreal neotropical xenathran, this animal is anything but lazy. Their lethargic, slow metabolism resulted in this behavior and is even adorable by human standards. Hanging upside-down in the tropical rainforests of South/Central America, they feed mostly on leaves especially the Cecropia tree, sometimes insects and small lizards.

Sam the 3-toed sloth lives in the treetops of the Amazon. As all sloths are, he is shy and deliberate. Perched high in the tall branches of the Cecropia he watches the world below. Quietly he sees scores of baboons, noisy and boisterous pass below the tree shade often, flaunting their strength in numbers. Their leadership is judged by how loud and aggressive one is. Then right below him a rival troop descends on the troop, screaming, scratching and biting. Stay away from squabbles – he thinks to himself. Then at midnight, when he is most active, in the full moon he sees a pair of yellow dotted light approaching his tree.

Stay high and dry – he says to himself, as the jaguar turns to seek other more convenient prey. Minding his own business, Sam was climbing higher for fresh leaves when he saw it – a tree climbing boa. Sam knows his limitation all too well. Even a 6 foot boa constrictor is worth running from. So with his sharp claws he moved to the tallest and slenderest branch. The snake tried to follow and soon found it beyond its weight, plunging 20 meters to earth. Sam moved off deliberately – the maxim is avoid confrontation as much as possible. Then a herd of capybara sauntered through the trees, barking occasionally. Sam turned away, saying to himself – “go placidly in the safety of silence“. But that following night, in the light of the moon reflected off the nearby stream Sam saw it again – yellow dots. This time the jaguar not only came right up to the tree, it actually tried to make a jump for the lower branches. After a few attempts it managed to cling on to the branch, but could not muster the strength to reach the next branch. Sam then knew that the jaguar has been stalking him and it will be a matter of time he would breach the second branch and within leaping distance of him. What should he do? Then it dawn on him – his coat. Sloths have such long furs that algae thrives in a symbiotic benefit – it provides him the vegetative nutrients as well as camouflage in greenish environment. But its scent gives him away to the sensitive jaguar’s nose. Sam had a plan. It must be executed in daytime when jaguars sleep, or rest, as otherwise he becomes slow meat. But then he had the help of a friend.

The next day he saw his bonnet macaque friend to which he asked. Would you be my lookout? His friend would be watching for the jaguar when Sam makes for the stream in a nearby tree. But before he climbed up, Sam made sure that he rubbed himself to deposit his scent thoroughly on the opposite tree. So early in the morning light Sam set out and climbed outwards to the branch overlooking the stream. As his friend watched, Sam jumped. Sloths are great swimmers. Sam made sure that most of his algae were soaked out before returning to shore. Then he rubbed his fur on the sand and mud. Instantly many moths flew up from his fur, having made it a habitat for months. Meanwhile luckily the coast remained clear and he could settle safely up in the second tree overlooking the stream.

That night Mr. Two-dots returned. Sam was watching. The jaguar made a running leap and secured a sound landing. Sniffing around it looked for Sam. Nothing. It was the wrong tree. Then looking hesitantly for a while it jumped off languidly. Sam stared at in in the moonlit night as two yellow dots danced lazily into the forest. Maybe I’ll live another day he sighed. Unless the terror from the sky gets him.

Men still don’t get it

Any man like me staring at a voluptuous girl in a girlie magazine would’ve felt aroused. But not all men are like me and I reserve this story with exceptions. Sexual attraction are around since Man (and women) were invented, and boy what a wonderful invention it is – to procreate the species. And this theme has been recurring in these stories on animals. Built into their DNA just as any living organism, it still remains the most mysterious and confounding topic facing mankind or animal-kind. If you accept that the drive to procreate is in our DNA then the following story describes a paradox – it takes two to tango but which two? Meet our protagonist – Daisy the King Charles cavalier.

Daisy has been taken into the dog shelter recently. Normally, not everyday would a shelter receive such abandoned pedigrees. But these are not normal times. The pandemic has been raging and the economy of individuals to support even themselves is disappearing. Daisy is only six months old, and pretty as she is she’s hardly aware that her owner left her there for her survival and welfare. But it is a shared space and that is where the problem arise. As anyone would understand where there is a stunning girl around many boys would take notice. The first was a cute bull-terrier.

Actually Dorsey is more than cute for a breed that is known to ravage a child to death. One look at his face you’ll feel as if he’s about to cry – like a child wanting all the attention in the world. But why fall for Daisy? At first meet she ignored him. Just like any girl would ignore a boy of little interest. But Dorsey persisted. Daisy bared her teeth. Then he jumped on her. The response was swift. The snap and snarl was so furious that Dorsey didn’t know what hit him. He retreated to a corner, whimpering incoherently. He is actually no tramp – a well groomed 4-month pedigree. And so Daisy has her reason, whatever it is. When Dorsey was nursing his wounded male pride in the corner of the exercise yard, a boxer came near to Daisy.

Buddy was a bit unsure, but the stump of his tail was rotating here and there showing willingness to start a friendship. Daisy eyed him over, her body shaking in nervousness, but her tail was drooping. Buddy stamped on his front toes and skipped around, willing to play. But Daisy stiffened and lowered herself flat face-down on the ground. Buddy couldn’t make out what that meant, so he turned to the other dogs in the pound. Daisy glared at him as he trundled off, her eye following his movement suspiciously. What a snitch! Isn’t there anybody this girl can be reached? This love chasing parody has been played over and over since time immemorial and no science can predict what qualities or processes make a love match. Is there a perfect match? Will a perfect match turns sour with time? Or maybe none of the above – a union just has to be learned and worked through, as some might say. So it went on. A whippet came by after morning meals.

He was nervous too by the charm. Daisy ignored him but was fascinated by his gentleness. The whippet walked around her to sniff her as would any dog explore the opposite sex. Daisy was disturbed and ran off. Then came a corgi. At least they were both of the same stature and smelling around wasn’t so imposing. Daisy could be aroused, but she remained choosy. The rest of the female dogs were being sterilized but the staff watching Daisy’s behavior thought she should be done last. So Daisy, in heat, was courted by most of the male, except for those hospitalized in cages which included a poodle with skin problems and a miniature dachund with a weak spine. Daisy doesn’t get near to their cages except for anti-distemper shots.

Finally came the day for Daisy to be neutered, as the shelter was getting more abandoned pets. The volunteer came to pick Daisy up exclaimed “Oh Daisy you’ve put on weight!” Then when a more experienced staff looked her over the table, she knew what happened. Daisy was pregnant. But who? The next few weeks Daisy was neutered after delivering five pups. People were still guessing who the sire was until the pups were growing longer and longer. They were mixed dachunds. Daisy must have stole into his cage when the staff were looking for the medication. So the men still don’t get it. But get what?

Needs, Wants or Desires

It has been said that squirrels and chipmunks don’t know where they hide 74% of their nuts (University of Richmond). Also about 25% of the food they stash away end up taken by somebody else. Some like the Eastern grey squirrel often retrieve and rebury their nuts, either to confuse the thieves, or themselves! The innate propensity to acquire food, property or wealth even has an English word for it – avarice. Mayo clinic has identified a human psychological disorder called hoarding. The persistent difficulty of parting or discarding possessions with a perceived need to save them excessively in case it will be needed someday is considered a mental disorder. Indeed today the tidying profession has taken organizing one’s life to new levels – even to liberating the soul from the clutches and limitations of possessions. This is the continuing story of Chips the chipmunk liberated from the squirreling life.

When it comes to scavenging nuts Chips is fastidious. He will discard pine cones that have the slightest discoloration and his acorns are always fully developed. When they are not quite matured, he shuffles it into his cheeks for storage somewhere, otherwise they get eaten immediately. So that autumn Chips did collect enough to store for the coming winter, but he has to learn to draw a map – because things were going to change in the following Fall, unless he could retrieve all that he stored away.

Come September, Chips crawled out of his tree-hole to begin his round. After running around looking he felt things were strangely different from the last time. He couldn’t find as much acorns. Those he found were not as big as before. What happened? Did someone come before him and stole it all? Actually someone from the Coventry University was also about. He had discovered climate change that year (2015) had affected the quantity and the size of dropped acorns from oak trees. After thousands of observations he found that if the first oak flowering vary more in spring due to warmth, the crop could drop as much as 20%, as compared to synchronized flowering in cooler springtime. In Britain, leaves turned color later and took longer to shed compared to 30 years ago. Skipping around, Chips discovered something else. There were much less pollinating bees around. Somehow the climate had miss-timed the arrival of bees and the ripening of flowers. By the time bees arrived there were less pollinating to be done, and hence less honey and less fruit. Chips didn’t know that, but he had to do something different this time in order to be fed in winter. What? He became a thief.

Chips would go the the nearest vegetable garden of some houses and helping himself to strawberries, tomatoes or even green unripe apples. As was his habit those he could not consume on the spot he stuffed them in his cheek pouch and carried them to his tree-hole where he would find some place to hide them. So many residents were irate and thinking how to catch the thief. But one of them understood. It was Tim, who did the study on the vanishing acorns. And then the most severe winter descended on the area. Chips tried as he could and he could not get enough to sustain himself. Besides the snow was so thick on the ground that whatever soft fruits he stored away were either lost or frost-bitten. Chips was famished – his wants had turned into a dire need for nuts. So one day while Tim was studying the photographs he took on the vanishing oak trees in the environment he heard a slight knock on the kitchen glass window. Pulling back the curtain there was this skinny chipmunk, paws together as if he was begging. He pulled some uneaten walnuts from last Christmas. Chips took some hesitantly and then ran off nervously. But he was to return some time later, as the temperature had fallen much below zero. So gradually the thievery in the gardens reduced, as Chips found a ready supply of nuts from his new human friend. Then an idea hit Tim. It turns out that with the reduced acorn droppings, there has been less and less of new oak saplings in the forest. Tim decided to buy some fresh acorns from some farmer and starting feeding Chips in his usual visits. After several seasons, the idea started to bear fruit. Tim would survey more new saplings with Chips burying them in places he knows best. As time went on, more oak trees matured and Chips stopped coming to Tim’s house. Tim thought that the story of the hungry chipmunk would end there. But no.

In one of Tim’s field visits to the area he stumbled upon a wild garden deep in the forest. Wild strawberries, tomatoes, nuts of every kind appeared to have sprouted from only one area. Nobody seemed to be taking care of the patch, although some plants were not in the best condition. Tim was baffled. As he walked around a tree wondering who the gardener might be he happened to look up. Out of a hole in the trunk a brownish head popped out. Tim could recognize Chip’s dark brown lines of fur coming down the sides of his ears. And then “Plop!”, an acorn plumb as can be dropped out onto his feet.

Just fishing

“Fishing is like life – if you don’t cast nothing happens“

The quality of determination in pursuing one’s goal in life can be elusive. You will hear to never give up, never settle, never tire. For most of us, giving up means the end of life – the end of a dream. But where do you find the grit, the push, the second or third wind? Motivation comes from more than just a dream – the hunger and thirst, the humiliation of past failure, the desolation of not giving the best and the shame of shoddiness. This time however we’re not talking fish but the humble spider.

Some spider species such as the Araneidae, the Tetragnathidae and Uloborida spins an orb web to find food. The spider’s silk for the same diameter is five times stronger than steel and twice that of Kevlar and the orb, consisting of radial lines circumvented by spiraling threads is structurally the most efficient to cover an area for the optimum force to resist an insect’s struggle. Besides they are also tough – extending by as much as 30% by stress. Although no two webs are identical, even if spun by the same spider, it takes only about an hour to complete, although it is well observed that the owner has to do numerous repairs throughout the day. Lets meet Stan – a member of the araneidae family and follow him on a typical day as he begins fishing for his food. He sets his net called an orb as follows. First he senses which direction is the wind blowing where he perches. Then noting that the wind would blow his thread to a particular branch he starts his spinneret gland to produce a first thread, long enough to hitch it to another nearby branch. Then he lets the wind blow his first thread to catch another branch, forming the bridge thread. He then releases another long thread (called anchor thread) so that it falls to a lower branch point called the anchor point. Then he crawls along the bridge thread to the other branch in order to release a third bridge thread to complete a triangle. Next he runs radial threads along a bridge, where the radial threads meet at some opposite bridge thread. In order to tighten the radial lines he runs three frame threads so that the radials do not end at an apex point of the triangle.

So far so good, but he only had the skeleton of an orb – the web will only have strength when he starts running spiral threads from the outside of the radials towards the center. This is called the capture spiral and the threads on the spiral are more sticky in order to trap prey. Incidentally the radial threads are not as sticky – only enough to hold the capture spiral. But there’s one last job. He crawls counter-clockwise after making a U-turn so as to construct the auxiliary spiral. Once he reaches the complete orb, Stan must be pretty tired and hungry after expending all his proteins to the net. But where’s the grub? He must now wait patiently for the catch. By staying at the center of the orb he can feel where the vibrations come from when a prey is caught. Just as Stan settled at the center the wind picked up. Crash!!!

A heavy branch fell through his web, knocking him to the ground below. Stan looked up dazed, his web swinging loosely in the wind. Aargh! Then a swarm of mayflies flew through where his web was to have caught them. Stan got up shakily onto his anchor line, which happily was still taut. Again he pushed out more threads to repair some of the radials torn by the falling branch. When done, he started on the spiral. Feeling faint for lack of food, he swallowed some of the torn threads and renewed his energy to spin. Half-way through his circular swath he had a lucky break. One of the mayflies was caught at the end of a sticky thread. Energized, Stan completed repair of the auxiliary spiral and crawled to his resting place. By now the sun had completely set. Then he felt a cool wind. Then thunder and lightning. Before long rain started pelting down on his orb. Stan held on. His faith in his threads held true. But the wind became a storm. Even the branches on which his bridge threads depend started shaking. Before long one end gave way and part of his web started flapping like a torn flag. Still Stan held on. It was a blessing. The flapping web was prevented from further damage as the stresses on the other anchors were relieved. By morning Stan was at it again. He dropped two guide bridge threads to replace the dislodged one and started to pull on the frame thread by hanging his weight over it, thus pulling the entire orb taut. Just when he was reaching the center to rest suddenly the entire web shook. Stan was in luck.

A giant moth, out in the morning sun had unwittingly flown into his repaired web. It was too big a meal for Stan but he wasn’t complaining. After several minutes of shaking the web, the moth tire and remained still. This was Stan’s moment. He came near and injected his venom that would immobilize his meal, while also break down its tissue for consumption. Stan had his food supply for the day and after a reinvigorating meal he crawled into his parlor, a happy clam. But Stan must be vigilant. In the wild often a prey is not completely yours until you’ve consumed it. Out of the corner of his eye Stan espied another arachnid approaching. It was a predator mite belonging to the  Phytoseiidae family and is carnivorous. It approached Stan’s booty for a free meal. Stan went into action, coming towards the intruder with his greater mass and swinging legs. The mite didn’t stand a chance and was lucky to escape rather than ending up as another meal for Stan. As Stan regained his posture, another arachnid trundled by his web. A giant by comparison the tarantula sneered at Stan – “I eat my food as they arrive but you only fish for others!” But Stan’s lesson for determination was just beginning.

The following few days were sunny and nice – Stan’s net caught quite a few fliers that would feed him for several meals. But there remained a problem – the many insects wriggling on his orb were too obvious. Before long other predators were looking for an easy meal. First a skink came by and could not resist taking a bite at the trapped moth. There was nothing Stan could do except staring like candy being taken from a child. Then a frog hopped by and it didn’t even come near to the web. With its long spit it neatly picked off several trapped insects. Stan had to hide himself, in case the frog turned on him. But the worst was yet to come. Just when he was about to finish off what was barely left a flycatcher swopped down in front of him. Stan almost screamed in terror, if spider could scream. The flycatcher made a swift peck at him but missed. As Stan clambered off behind the trunk the bird cleaned up his web. To add injury to insult, it even mangled the web with its legs before flying off.

After ensuring the coast was clear, Stan slowly crawled back. The orb was nothing more than several strands of twisted threads. He had to start all over again. And night was descending on his broken orb. He swallowed a few strands to restore his protein. Then worked through the night.

In the morning his web was ready. It wasn’t clear whether spiders sleep, but Stan did not appear tired. Just hungry. Then when the morning sunlight slanted lazily over his orb with the rays highlighted by the stream of dust he was happy. Maybe today I will catch something nice for myself, Stan muttered resolutely. And so it was. Several dozen mayflies in their mating chase fell victim. Stan decided this time he would feed himself before any of those marauders repeat their robbery. There were many common moths too and not a few beautiful butterflies. Stan gorged himself, as if in revenge. Then he retreated to his headquarters for a nice rest. He couldn’t rest for much time. From somewhere nearby he could feel the vibration of a car door slamming (spiders don’t hear for lack of ears). He shuddered on his web – no human beings have ventured on this neck of the woods as long as he could remember. But he was happy with a full meal with lots to spare and even felt like jumping with joy.

A young couple sprung on the grass nearby screaming happily. The young girl got up and ran off while the young beau gave a playful chase. Stan could sense from the vibrations from their cheeky noise coming nearer. He shuddered again. Then it happened. Not being able to see his almost translucent web in the sunshine she ran straight through it. She screamed, her arms flailing for the sticky threads that covered her hair and face. The boyfriend came near laughing wildly. There was silence for a moment. Then she saw the yellow spotted spider sitting on her left shoulder. She screamed again and again, this time a choking crying utterance of fear. The boyfriend came near for a serious look, then flicked Stan off her shoulder with a brush of his hand. Stan desperately scuttled along the grass, but sadly was heading the wrong direction, towards the still-screaming girl. Then a heavy boot from the boy came down hard on Stan. He crumbled into a yellowish heap. So ended the life of an earnest arachnid, with the determination to live just like you or me, despite adversity that we could never imagine from our comfortable homes. The next time I see a happy spider on my window’s ledge, jumping for life, I will never kill it with my Shelltox again.

The zebra’s defense

Unique. That’s what the zebra stripes are among other animals. People have been talking about them for over a hundred years. But you will never guess why it is so different say from the stripes on the kudu or the young wild boars. Anyone who has seen just one zebra in a zoo or circus would not have the same effect as seeing them all together in the savannah, or the woodlands of Africa. It is due to the Moire effect – or how the eyes trick you, described as aliasing in signal processing. Stated simply, our eyes can only sample images of object at a maximum rate and when numerous alternating lines meeting our eyes exceeds that rate our processing starts to interpret these line frequencies differently, a rule that can be attributed to Shannon. There are three extant zebra specie of the subgenus hippotigris – the Grevy, plains and the mountain zebra, each with slightly different stripe width and direction. But why?

So this question has generated several research studies. Lets go through these experiences with Zorba, our young zebra. Zorba had to face three crises in his life. The first was being eaten by predators such as crocodiles or lions. So while he was growing up he found strength in numbers. He was assured that when they are in danger from lions they should stand with their backs or their sides facing the predator. So when the lioness stalk the herd, or any group of prey for that matter, they need to focus on just one target. They would fix their eyes on that one individual right through the chase to the kill. So one day when a lioness was stalking him, the other zebras nearby would move their backs and sides hither and thither producing the Moire effect to throw off the lion’s gaze. Zorba thought that that would derail the lioness’ dash, giving more chances for escape, whoever the poor individual was chosen. Fortunately that time he escaped. But unfortunately, not his sibling. The lioness still got her prize. So that reason for the stripes was put in doubt. In point of fact, a wildlife zoo-biologist could show that a lioness’ ocular worldview of zebras do not show the Moire effect so clearly like in humans and hence predator confusion is unlikely. Then the dry season came around and in the savannah it can be pretty hot – so hot that zebras must have a panacea. So what is it?

Turns out that the heat transfer theory of radiation could explain what the stripes could be useful for – thermo-regulation. In physics a perfectly black body will absorb the most radiant heat from a perfectly white body according to the fourth-power law. So that a striped coat like the zebra’s will more readily release radiant heat from the white fur stripes to the dark fur stripes, and in the process taken away by convection through the surrounding air. In fact various experiments were made and a UCLA study proposed that overnight, the cool dark stripes would absorb radiant heat to warm up the zebras while in the hot afternoon the white stripes help dissipate heat to the surroundings. However the experiments were inconclusive when tried on horses or barrels camouflaged with zebra-like blankets. And so it goes – someone suggesting that sweat of animals must have a modifying effect. A far as Zorba is concerned, he just needs to eat a lot of grass and keep out of lion’s way and so overheating is not quite a crisis for him. But he has one problem. Zorba hates flies.

The flies found in tropical Africa are not like your tame housefly that can be easily disposed with a fly-swatter. Coming from the species glossinidae, their larger, blood-thirsty cousins have a long stinging proboscis and can deliver a painful bite, especially from the female, egg-carrying ones. Flying in groups they also carry parasites that transmit the human sleeping sickness or the animal trypanosomiasis. Zorba is thin-skinned and would like to run from these pesky intruders. But he may not need to. A study by the University of Bristol proposed that zebra stripes help repel flies and had conclusive experiments to show. So the tsetse prefers smooth plain coated animals like horses and pigs and it was hypothesized that the flies are optically confused by the stripes and bump off the bodies of zebras. But Zorba takes no chances with these blood-suckers. He befriended someone to help his herd – the paradise African fly-catcher.

So one hot summer’s day the herd was already feeling the heat at mid-day. Zorba knew that soon the pesky flies would come, though most of the zebras have gotten to live with it. He started moving the herd to the shade of a tree that he knew well. His fly-catcher friend had recently built a nest and she had at least three hungry mouths to feed.

So if you happen to be visiting one of these national parks in Africa safari, don’t forget to look out for just one of the zebras that loves to carry these flycatchers on his back. It might well be Zorba the Greek, or just plain zebra.

To eat you’ll have to wet your feet

Puffins are pelagic birds of the family fratercula. Its a different family from penguins although both feed by diving for fish.

SCARF9

Dreading school – Shutting out past demons

Humans are strange. That’s what some animals would tell us, if they can talk. And the most bizarre of human behavior involves our prejudices and disdain for our own species. We grow up with them, some to a less degree with enlightened parents. But nobody teaches a child to hate another – somehow it emerges in the DNA of who we like and who we would avoid. Some children can be so hurt and marginalized as to be driven to suicide and this is not even the subject of school-bullying. Unless you are a rare exception all of us carry baggage through life. Some are so insidious it will literally mark us for life. The most toxic of all are those acquired in the early years of adolescence. I am referring to the cruel practices of social rejection. Young people and even young toddlers can be inhumanely cruel to others. Call it a punching bag, or mere fodder for others’ instincts many with weaker psychological disposition can be so scarred that no amount of time can cure the wound. Somehow the chemistry of rejection among the young remains a basic instinct that many teachers fail to detect and correct.We begin with a story of an angelfish name Pi-Ern. She’s a charming little thing – except for some reason she’s not so well accepted in her school.

But it wasn’t always so when she grew up as guppies in the clutch. Everyone was struggling to live, although it was each one to himself. Her parents would initially hide her in their mouths from predators but it was too soon when she had to face up to the world. But there were others in the group to find company. And that was when her troubles began. Firstly some would sneer at her color – it wasn’t exactly the emerald of the species. But Pi-Ern just wanted company as numbers for safety. So when the school swims off she had to keep up, being always the follower than a leader. Then they scoffed at the way she swam. It wasn’t exactly the elegance that the best swimmer in the shoal boasts of. It was a slight left tilt due to some unbalanced thrust of her fins. But she ignored their dislike and just kept up with them, not knowing what otherwise to do. Then the entire shoal would work together against her – no telling her when there was abundant plankton and leaving her to find out herself. She was just a nuisance to be around and not acting together as a group. Pi-Ern just had to tolerate the social distancing, instinctively sensing that that was her best chance for survival. But it was soon to end. One day while the shoal was peacefully feeding on a rush of plankton, out of nowhere a barracuda appeared. Everyone darted helter-skelter. Pi-Ern hid herself under a rock. It was some time before the danger passed. But when she emerged everybody was nowhere to be seen. They had swam far and probably regrouped themselves away from her. Pi-Ern moved clumsily among the corals, her fins aimlessly turned here and there, not sure how to live on. It would be a matter of time when more trouble comes. Sure enough a reef shark appeared, and she darted back into the rock. She would soon become a rock fish if this habit persists. But she just had to manage, eating scraps at the bottom and frantically looking for her shoal. But she met something else.

It was solitary like herself, floating gracefully with streamer-like fins waving against the corals. As Pi-Ern approached she got a shock – its face grotesque like a kabuki-dressed villain, its numerous poisonous spikes quavered menacingly. But the lion-fish took no notice of her, in fact like Pi-Ern she was just minding her own business finding prey. So out of needing company Pi-Ern stuck around the lion-fish, making sure to stay away from its spears. And so they spend their days feeding off small crustaceans. Until one day, just as it did before the barracuda appeared, this time it headed towards the angel-fish. Pi-Ern darted behind her friend and just in time, as the barracuda came for the lion-fish. But it was an unwise move. Its venomous spears hit the rogue fish on the snout and cheeks. It retreated, pulling away several spikes embedded under its skin. Pi-Ern was glad she found her nightmare friend. She would certainly be a casualty if she had stayed with her original shoal that bullied her. Anyway she still felt amiss with her kabuki friend. It would be nicer to be home with familiar siblings. And to show them how she’d survived on her own against the barracuda. The chance came after a long time. They were in stormy weather, but the sea was calm below the waves. Pi-Ern was cruising the corals when she espied her group of angelfish floating gracefully on some Sargasso kelp ahead. She was excited. Now I can show them how much I’ve grown striking out on my own.

But as she approached her own people the response was cold. There was no change – they were just as snooty to her as before. Even worse Pi-Ern began to feel inferior again in their presence. She even started reverting to swimming in a funny way. The confidence for having left home and survived against all odds evaporated. She was back to her decrepit self, unloved, unworthy and unwanted. She had fallen back into the dark pit of desperate living, and a horrible thought that her company was right about her after all. A few weeks passed and Pi-Ern started thinking. Enough! Why should I live the rest of my life with the people who hated me just because of what I look and born with? And why should I limit myself with people and their prejudices, who would not give me a chance to grow and be valued as part of their society? It took a lot of courage but Pi-Ern decided she had to do it. One fine sunny morning while trying to keep up with the shoal she took off in a different direction. No thanks nor farewells. She would live her life as she knew was possible, even without the family. She would go out again and find her company who would treasure her and let her grow to be her true self. She would not be forced into a groove of subjugation nor demeaned. She was free, finally.

But Pi Ern continued to achieve greatness. She had traveled far and wide from the school and allied herself with great creatures. She became friends with the dolphins, whales and even sharks, making a name for herself as the plucky angelfish. All this time she had often returned to the lion-fish as her mentor. Then again every time she felt the urge to see her family again, out of old time’s sake, the demons return – she became belittled to her old state. Even the thought made her swim funny. The depression always hit her again and again. Never again will I return to my school that despised me, she swore. Never again to the country that took life out of me! She went on to become the champion angelfish of the region, leading the largest school around. One day several of her old school friends who had left to join her asked. “What changed you into greatness, you were nothing in our school? A good-for-nothing that had no future.” Her reply was short. “I needed a teacher to believe in me. Just one.”

Random tiles of brilliance and madness

The human brain is highly non-linear. Well firstly, its structure is not connected linearly in single or two dimensions. The neurons that fire our very thoughts come from all directions and from multiple stages of action. Secondly, our brains can multi-task. We may not even be aware that multi-tasking is ongoing – suddenly an idea may fire up seemingly from nowhere. Even the process of thinking can be recursive or regenerative – no computer in the world can simulate the human brain processing all the information within its realm. It is precisely that humans cannot fully understand its structure and operation that we continue to misabuse it. How? Well for one by the unsuitable methods of teaching our young. Take learning arithmetic. the multiply tables are learned by rote in most traditional schools, as well as in vocabulary and rudiments of music. But multiplication tables are entirely linear! The brain abhors it because its non-linearity is supremely more efficient that rote learning. But most people had to go through this abuse at some time in our schooling. And then we are often tested on how well we assimilate rote learning. But most animals don’t go to school to learn multiplication tables or repetitive memory tasks. Unless they are in a zoo, or in such programmed learning such as kennel training. However it is still highly unsuitable to teach animals by a repetitive reward system. They should be more capable than that – their brains are highly nonlinear too. But animals don’t need to qualify for high school or university entrance, or law exams, driving or flight license. So for most of us in modern society we are marked by our performance in tests – whether we like it or not, it is saved somewhere as a possible lifetime reference to condemn us to a hierarchy of performance. But not the experience of these two creatures we’re about to meet -the tree hopper Philippine tarsier and the unassuming iguana.

Lumi the tarsier (tarsiidae) a primate between lemurs and monkeys, lives in a branch of the mangrove forest common in Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines. Their small bodies (average 10 cm) allow them to hop on insects that fly at night, navigating well using the over-size eyeballs. But what has Lumi got to do with Guzo the iguana? Well, Guzo is the pet iguana of Hernandez, who lives in a southern Philippine island of Leyte. Lumi and Guzo became friends when one evening Lumi hopped onto Guzo’s plate of leftover leaves which had attracted dozens of midges. When Lumi helped himself to his insectivorous diet Guzo just watched bemused at his funny looking new friend. As time went by it became the habit of Lumi to drop in to his friend’s plate of leftover leaves. Hernandez also noticed that ever since the wild visitor came, there were fewer mosquitoes and pesky insects coming to his porch. One day Hernandez could not find Guzo. Searched as he could but no rock nor tree branches could reveal his iguana pal. Then an idea came to him. Perhaps Lumi could help. So he laid out Guzo’s dish of leaves as usual and waited for nightfall. Nothing. For a week Hernandez checked the plate every night, until they started to dry out. He had started to imagine his pet was eaten by the jungle fowl that roamed around his house. Then the typhoon came. His roof started leaking badly and the word was the onslaught will turn into a devastating flood. Something must be done to stop the leak. So he set up the ladder and looked. There next to the culprit hole in the roof where rain water was rushing down, he saw a plant. Somehow its seed must have blown onto the rooftop and it had grown a meter tall. As he looked closely he had a pleasant shock. There tightly clutched to a furiously shaking branch was Guzo. On the next branch was Lumi, holding to dear life against the howling wind. Both had become fast pals and decided to move into the rooftop plant of Hernandez’s house. They have been home together all these time. Hernandez realized later that the tarsier had used the plant as his home base, hopping out at night and returning every morning to be with his iguana friend after hunting insects. What an unlikely pair of friends!

Up in the highlands of Scotland the sheep rearing family of McFawley had always kept border collies. Fiercely loyal and dedicated, the sheep-farm dogs are somehow born with the instincts of herding sheep. So when Pepe was not even a puppy of 6 weeks he was beginning to herd the family of 5 kittens and the chicks in the coop. Sometimes there was nothing to do and he would upset the master’s basket of tennis balls and practiced herding them into the corner. So keen was he at work that farmer McFawley started Pepe before he turned one, bring home sheep, goats, ducks and chickens at sunset. For him it was play et nauseum, but little did the farmer realized that Pepe was turning into a genius at counting. One misty day after he thought he had collected every livestock home, Pepe remained unsettled as the farmer settled down to his usual ale. “What’s troubling you Pepe?” he would ask and Pepe would twitch his ears and gave a muffled bark. So the farmer recounted his sheep and indeed there were three missing. Armed with his shotgun he headed back out to the hills that evening, suspecting wolves around. But he had no need of using it, as Pepe finally found that they had fallen into a ravine. “You counted did you?”, the old farmer asked, but he did not expect a response. Pepe merely crouched low, expecting a command from his master. But a surprise awaited the farmer the next summer. Four of the ewes had given birth and the herd had increased by a dozen. Another misty day in autumn, the same thing happened. McFawley though he had collect all the sheep but Pepe discovered two still missing. But how did Pepe know, unless he knew how to add and subtract? So he did an experiment. He kept 5 chicks and had Pepe coral the chicks into the enclosure. Then the next day he returned the 5 chicks. Pepe didn’t complain for the extra chicks. But the following day when he kept the 5 chicks again, Pepe was unsettled, sensing some had been missing. Here was a smart dog indeed. Somehow he learn that he must check his sheep at the end of the day to ensure nothing is missing.

Beauties for a lonely stag

The flower elk is stunningly elegant. Males can grow up to a meter tall and its antlers can weigh several kilograms.

Some of the antlers were too beautiful for their owner’s good. Many a hunter had their eye on the trophies. Take the story of Elmo the Irish elk. His flower stag measured 3.5 meters across from tip to tip. Together with his mate they roam the woods in freedom. Until a hunter chanced on his stupendous horn. Elmo was no greenhorn towards hunters as it had happened before. Sensing danger he pranced forth when the hunter took aim. As the shot rang out it echoed throughout the woodlands. But Elmo didn’t fall that day. His mate did. He didn’t know as he took refuge in the woods, fearful that the hunters would pursue him for his prized antlers. For the rest of the hunting season he hid in the deepest forest – he could hear the shots of hunting rifles all that time. Then he felt lonely. He was still young and the instinct to mate stirred in him. But there was no prospect deep in the woods. One day while sipping from a creek he espied a fluttering beauty among the flowers at the water’s edge. It was a common posy. There was a serene peace as he shared the moment with the butterfly.

Elmo spend his remaining days of the hunting season in loneliness. He wished he could find and settle with as many mates where available like all males of his specie, but it didn’t happen. He was a dying, lonely stud.

Summer arrived and he ventured out since the sound of hunting had stopped. He finally found a herd, with quite a few doe among them. But despite his amorous advances somehow none of the ladies wanted him. Elmo felt resigned to find solace in butterflies and he did find quite a few. Time went by and as he got older his chances with the ladies grew dimmer. Until the hunting season returned.

He was admiring a clutch of fluttering beauties at his usual waterhole. Then a shot that rang out startled him. Fortunately he was hidden among the flowering bushes and the target was somewhere nearby. Instinctively he lowered his head and hid his newly crowned stag from view. But no more shots came. Then a doe ran past. He looked up and noticed hunters approaching a fallen stag. This time the hunters did not miss. Elmo rushed away to the cover of the forest. After some time in hiding he could hear the sound of the hunter’s vehicle moving off with their prized booty. He let out a soft grunt of relief. To his surprise came a grunt in response from somewhere near. He twitched his ears and turned towards the object. It was the frightened doe whose mate was taken. She stood shivering and Elmo approached slowly. She didn’t run but let him console her. It was a defining instinctive moment of two beasts whose partners were cruelly taken. Elmo had finally found a replacement. It wasn’t a chosen partner like humans do. In his world, mating is with anyone available and there are no restraints – like polygamy laws from the courts nor adultery or fornication tongue-wagging from churches. But it was enough.

Baby love

The beluga whale is an arctic mammal with a highly social personality. It is unimaginable why humans used to hunt them to the point of near extinction and they are near the red-list today. Still they remain curious and forgiving of humans they come across. You can be mesmerized by stories of music -loving belugas nodding their heads to the beat of aquarium bands. Beluga babies must be the most curious and playful mammals north of the equator. Here’s a story of a baby-loving beluga.

Doodle was overjoyed when she had her first litter of two bubbly beluga calves. As for all loving parents she would spend the whole day cavorting coaxing her newborns to swim or dive. The young must not only learn to swim but hunt for krill or bait. The “melon” or echo-location on their foreheads navigates their movement. So like bats they estimate distances by sending out sound, except it travels about 30 times slower in water.

Doodle was lucky – normally a beluga gives birth to only one offspring, but she had twins. So time flew by and the babies grew up and swam further and further from their mother. Doodle desperately loved to have more. But it was not to be. Then her sadness took a surprising turn. One day an aquarium crew spotted her and decided to trap her. Doodle was initially stressed why she had to be strapped and lifted onto a truck. But after a short while she was carefully lowered into a huge tank. Everyday she was well fed and became a star attraction to the curious humans who came by her glass panel. She took well to humans. Some even came by to serenade her and she loved music! Her echo receiver seemed lulled by music that she would nod in pleasure when the music crew came to entertain the crowds. And then there was something special about her. The aquarium crew found it out by accident.

One day a mother of 4 children came to her glass panel to admire the sea turtles. The children were entranced. The turtles were not. As they began to swim away one of them an autistic child, started screaming in tantrum. Nothing could be done to appease him as the staff came around to help. It looked as if the child would not stop. Then it happened. A large white shaped shadow came slowly to the glass panel in front of the hysterical child. Softly, it nudged into the glass right in front of the child and mildly surprised him. The cries stopped and he looked wide-eye at the curious white head nodding gracefully. More children ran to the area, shrieking excitedly. But Doodle just stayed there looking curiously at the troubled child and gracefully turned her head here and there enjoying the presence of other kids crowding around. Nobody knew how long she stayed with the kids. At closing time the parents came to bring the kids home. But Doodle would swim around, as if to say goodbye, lifting her fins like a human gesture. All this time the aquarium staff realized how much Doodle loved kids. They even planned children’s show times so that the kids were entertained by how Doodle respond to human gestures. Doodle remained the aquarium star for several years. Then an enlightened staff decided that Doodle should be released back to the wild so that she would have her own offsprings again. It was an inspired decision. A good-nature mammal like her will never forget her pleasure of enjoying children, even if human.

The economy of Death

Death is very likely the single best invention of life. It is life’s change agent, clearing out the old to make way for the new. Someday we will all become old and cleared away. Your life is limited so don’t waste it by living someone else’s or trapped by dogma of other people’s thinking. So as always. stay hungry, stay foolish. Those were in essence Steve Job’s commencement message at Stanford in 2005. Death is humankind’s last quandary. Societies from time immemorial had always to grapple how to care for the old and infirmed as they passed their last days. In olden Japan there was a grim practice called ubasute or oyasute to rid off an extra mouth that had become economically useless in old age. The young would eventually carry their decrepit old into the forests to leave them dying of starvation or some animal carnage. One such young man had his mother on his back for the long trek to a remote forest. As he piggyback his mother with a heavy heart he noticed the old woman pulling leaves or flowers from whatever vegetation she could get her hands on. As he turned his head he noticed the mother had dropped pieces of vegetation as he walked. Why, he asked. “So you’ll be able to find your way home.” Sobbing, the young man carried his mother back. Here is a continuation of the story.

Akiko, the mother who escape senicide by his family had nothing to do and spent her time walking around the fields where the rest of the community was trying to eke out an existence from the famine. Everyone was hard pressed but she would go around trying to help although she could hardly see or walk. One evening she was trying to look at the blooming spring flowers at the edge of the forest when she encountered a visitor. There, admiring the butterflies that flipped around was a raccoon-dog. Usually they are shy and keep away from humans, but for some reason he didn’t fear Akiko and kept a safe distance where she could see him. Akiko thought it was the family dog and reached out to him – and he responded by sniffing her fingers. Then he turned slowly to walk off into the forest. Akiko followed, though shakily with her walking stick. But she couldn’t keep up and in the distance she could not see that the raccoon had discovered a beehive. After a while the bees seemed to have left, leaving several pieces of honey combs to the raccoon. He looked up at the approaching Akiko and seeming to say, “go ahead, have some”, he trotted off. Akiko tasted a piece and took the rest home to her family.

“Where did you get them obaachan?”, the grandchildren asked, slurping the rare treat. Oh, it was Rinchan, the family dog who found them. So nobody thought nothing further of it. Until she brought home something else the next day. She found a freshly killed quail lying on the path where she thought Rinchan was leading her. The family was thankful that Akiko was contributing to family food, but still mystified how the family dog could do that. So it happened again and again. Among other fruits Akiko would bring home quail eggs, some large frog-legs, slightly eaten escargot snails and even a harmless tree snake. At a time of famine the family was grateful and even the family dog Rinchan was getting fatter. Lets follow her, one day the son’s wife suggested. So she did and secretly watched Akiko reached the edge of the forest. Akiko waited and waited while being watched. No raccoon. Evening came and the sky darkened. Nothing. Akiko turned to go home, empty-handed. Then Rinchan the “real” family dog raced toward her. “Rinchan, go home! There’s nothing for us today”, Akiko said quietly. The wife reported all she saw that day. But nobody was wiser. So the family left Akiko alone. Some days she’d bring home more edibles but it was common knowledge that it wasn’t Rinchan that brought home bread. This went on for two summers.

One autumn day Akiko didn’t come home. The family went out early next day looking and calling her name. When they entered quite deeply into the chilly forest they noticed it. Strewn along the forest path were pieces of vegetation, pieces of flower petals or leaves leading here and there in the tortuous path up the mountain. After several hours they saw her body, cold and slumped over a fallen tree. Nearby was the carcass of the raccoon-dog, obviously dead for sometime. Akiko had been looking for her missing provider, and after finding her closest friend, decided to die in the mountains.

Slither, hither – if you eat me I’ll eat you first

If only men goes out to work and all the women keep house half the world’s population would spend their entire working life at home. This is not just a no-brainer statement. Consider this – in 2015 23% of US women returned to the workplace 2 weeks after childbirth mainly to keep an income. Figures from farming communes in the rest of the world would probably give a higher figure, simply because agricultural work in less advanced economies benefit from an extra pair of hands. But recent events made working at home a real necessity – either to avoid a pandemic infection, or simply a matter of convenience because of technology. There exists a creature that mostly work from home all through its adult life.

The moray eel is an accomplished ambush hunter. Often the unfortunate victim would not realize whose house it was swimming past until its too late. There are over 200 species of morays with lengths of 10 cm to 3 meters with the heaviest recorded at 30kg. Most are colorful and spotted but few are aware that it has two jaws – the inner or pharyngeal inside the throat pulls prey into its gullet. Like some humans moray eels are homey, simply because it is the most convenient to ambush their prey. We begin the story of a moray named Mossy who like most normal people instead loves to go out. Mossy had learn by instinct that the modus operandi for food is to surprise her prey. However that would be difficult if she’s not home.

So one day Mossy was out trying to hunt without success. With no element of ambush she was frustrated enough to retire back to her dark hole. Then a grouper glide by. “Hey moray – no luck eh? Would you like to hunt with me?” Mossy had never hunted with another fish before. The grouper’s head continue to nod, like asking Mossy for a reply. OK but how was her reply. You go hide behind that rock and when I chase a scad you ambush, was the reply. Mossy thought that a bright idea – at least brighter than hiding in her cave whole day waiting for a catch. And so they did, the grouper would herd the prey into Mossy’s direction and she would pick them off in ambush. After a while the grouper felt something amiss. Hey you’ve been getting all the food while I chased them all day! How about giving me some from your jaws?

Mossy didn’t know how to do that. Every prey was caught right into her jaws, with an inner jaw pulling into her gullet. There was no way she could regurgitate a prey to her accomplice. Meanwhile the grouper was getting agitated and hungry. Then it dawn on her. She turned quickly and ran with the grouper hot in pursuit. The partner was becoming the bounty. Mossy made it just in time to her cave except for a bit of her tail snapped off by the giant. It was too big to go after Mossy into the cave, besides it was dark. The grouper swam around lazily outside the cave for a while and after some time decided to call it quits. Then as he turned to go suddenly a dark shadow shot out of the cave. SHOOSH! This time Mossy had part of the grouper’s tail. Moral of the story? Sometimes it is better to work from home. And there exists many that does everything from home – the spotted garden eel is one of them.

Precious is my unspeakable companion

The guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor a pig. Coming from the rodent family caviidae it is a close relative of the capybara and originates from Peru’s Andes. It has been suggested its squeals led to the notion of pigs. They were hugely popular as laboratory animals numbering 2.5 million in the ’60s decreasing to 375K in 2007. However they are perfect pets for young children for their serene and lovey-cuddly behavior. This is the story of Coffee who was rescued from the university laboratory. It must have been the color of its coat that caused one researcher Daphne to bring him home as a pet.

But Coffee took to Daphne’s mother more, because she works from home, as a jewelry designer. Every morning Daphne’s mother would feed Coffee his vegetables then set down to her computer, coffee in hand. Her work had already produced several acclaimed pieces and lately, she had been busy with a flood of customized orders. At the end of each workday she would welcome a jewel cutter and produce the pieces in her adjoining workshop. Then she would polish or finish them for further evaluation the next morning. Sometimes she would put on a ring on her fingers to view them from various angles or look herself in the mirror for earrings or necklaces. Sometimes she would make more than one piece for the customer’s evaluation. She had to organize where to keep her finished and unfinished works and she was not very good at organizing her workplace.

One evening she produced several pieces for a favorite customer. So absorbed was her that she would work till the early hours. Still it took more than a week to finalize the details and narrowed to two diamond-studded rings. The day before the customer was to view the proposed pieces she had a setback. She could not find them. She searched all over and the more she tried the more frustrated she became. She postponed the viewing so as to organize her work better.

The week passed and still no jewelry found. She began to suspect that they could be stolen. Many customers had come through her workshop that week. Could it be the delivery man? Or the part-time cleaners? The aircon maintenance? She reviewed her security cameras. Nothing unusual. She had to redo her work. But as all artisans can tell you – each individual work of art is different. She tried and repeated each prototype and every time felt that her first effort was the best. Being a perfectionist she felt frustrated having to sell a piece that was below her best results. She decided maybe the best outcome was to cancel her contract with the customer. She would call the customer first thing in the morning.

After telling her disappointed customer she settled down for coffee. But not before feeding Coffee. She squealed in delight whenever she opened her fridge. Excited, Coffee started twirling her running wheel. As the cage was opened a pulsating light seem to shine out of the cage from behind the turning wheel. Then Coffee stopped to eat her vegetable and the mistress looked closer. There it was, her lost masterpieces half covered in poo. “Coffee. you darling!”, was all she said.

The next day the customer came. “You know, I learned a new word today. It is coprophagia, where mammals eat their own poo to re-digest the caecals we feed them with. Since your finger is fatter than mine, it must have slipped out while I was putting in her vegetables. But if you’re not sure of today’s ring you may have to come back later this week. It is still in process!”

The gorilla with a problem

Andrea Kate is a dentist. But she also loves animals. Her father, an anthropologist would leave pictures and articles of wildlife in the study and at a young age she would pour through articles of primates on his research on animal cultures. Then in the third year of her practice as a dentist a chance jumped at her. There was to be a study trip of mountain gorillas and how they cope with eating problems. It was a first foreign trip out to the Congo region and Andrea loaded whatever dental tools she might need in her interaction with the team of veterinarians and scientists. The first week of their month-long stay in the forests was to observe and make notes of feeding habits and how the endangered gorillas lived. Soon the troop began to settle down and gotten used to the humans watching them with binoculars from their tents and tree-houses. Andrea was taking copious notes on how the gorilla family tend to their young and relatives. Then one night little did she realized that she’d have a first-hand experience on animal dentistry. A young juvenile broke into her tent and took away much of the snacks she had brought along to the trip. Peanuts, walnuts, hazels were missing from her bag. But that led to interesting observations the following day.

The next morning Andrea saw something interesting through her binoculars many scientists suspect is true. While the younger gorillas were gleefully eating the shelled nuts Bono cracked the walnuts with his teeth and digging out the edible flesh with a twig. He went on for a while with the pecans and hazelnuts, then suddenly put the twig into his mouth to pick at his teeth. It was a “aha” moment as evidence of gorillas using implements to clean their teeth is rare. As Andrea collected evidence using her zoom video-camera she also noticed something peculiar about Bono. After every meal he would pick up a bunch of roots and chew on them, as if flossing his teeth. This went on for several days. Then the following week he stopped eating. Andrea was troubled and asked her veterinarian colleague to help. They observed Bono lying on the ground while the rest of the troop ate, as if in pain.

The mountain gorillas that live in the elevated regions (3000 to 4000 m above sea-level) of Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Rwanda and Uganda were critically endangered due to habitat loss, disease and incidental poaching. With more awareness and research, numbers were increasing to over 1000 from about 400 in the Virunga area. Yet, war in the surrounding countries such as the DRC is making restoration difficult and dangerous.

A group of vets together with Andrea decided to help Bono, thinking that he might be suffering from an intestinal problem, a common complaint. He had to be darted for close medical examination. But Bono ran away, thinking he might be harmed. So after some tracking the anesthetic dart found its mark, but they still had to follow some distance. When they finally found Bono and was about to transport the rescuers was suddenly surrounded by armed militants. Through the forest guide the medical team understood that militants were demanding them to surrender their medical supplies. They had to negotiate quickly, before Bono awoke. Let us treat this gorilla first and you can have our leftover supplies was the agreement. A quick examination showed Bono had no abdominal irregularities but Andrea found two teeth on the verge of decay and infection. Never in her practice did she had to do tooth-extractions as quickly. Also she needed help to pull larger gorilla teeth. But it would certainly be for the better for the ape, even for losing two molars.

But as she worked dozens of pairs of eyes were watching her, mouth opened in awe – the militants had never looked into the mouth of a gorilla, let alone seeing her pulling out teeth. Then as Bono awoke from the tranquilizer and stumbled away the militant leader spoke up. “Can you fix my tooth too?” was the request. Then a dozen other came forward, each had one or two complaints about their teeth. Andrea looked into her bag and decided that she will have to use all the dental supplies she had, and maybe even not enough. And as she worked on their teeth, others came forward, asking for medical help on their wounds and injury. So the day was spent using up all the medical supplies promised to the militants. “Come again, anytime!”, the militant leader lastly said to the rescuers, grinning. Furthermore they led the medical team back to their tents in the forest – warning them that otherwise their enemies would attack them should they stumble into their hideout. As Andrea and her colleagues arrived back to their tent, a pair of eyes were peering out of the bush, out of sight. If Andrea had seen him, she would have noticed a gorilla grinning too and opening his mouth in relief, revealing two missing teeth.

Read more at: http://www.calicavycollective.com/2011/11/its-normal-for-guinea-pigs-to-eat-their.html

Copyright © 2015. Cali Cavy Collective.
All Rights Reserved

Illustrations from Volume 2

The zebra’s defense

Toucan the peacemaker

Smile with me will you?

The tumbleweed tortoise

The anteater’s pledge – meet at the periwinkle rock

There’s more – Two is not enough

The Kudu’s chalice

Make my day a dentist

Never a dull match

As many as your eyes can feed

Love keeps my cold world warm

The hawk befriends a peregrine

A warrior you can be but once

Shall we dance? Friesians who more than galloped

Not on my blood you don’t

Summers that made my life

SCARF8

Lest we forget – pointing noses in the right direction

Not since the end of WWII, when a world weary from the ravages of two wars needed to be reminded of the need for sensible leaders as we do today. Even if you shout hoarse that all man and women are equal I will still say that in the human or animal world there will be some leaders and the rest followers. It is just the foundation of all plural societies – the ablest and bravest will lead. And it is often in the interest of the others to follow or oppose. But leaders take the initiative. Most of us value leadership after we suffer from lack of it, either in ourselves or in others. It doesn’t matter what station you are in life. When people in a group needs to move someone has to initiate, whether for a moment, or until the goal is reached. But how do people develop into leaders? We learn it here from animals.

Freeze and point

The pointer or setter is a hunting dog. Traditionally it is bred to sniff out game or retrieve for hunters. Discipline is foremost in a good gun-dog. But obedience and concentration separates a good hunting dog from the others. Several principles stand out from our dog story. Firstly, a good leader knows when to follow. When the master Dick has done his work he signals the dog Rip – it becomes his call – from following Rip becomes the leader, knowing what and where to go. In the animal kingdom, just as in humankind the leader has the knowledge. During the hunt Rip sets out excited and active with the rest of the pack, their noses trained to sense quickly the way forward. Then when they see the game every inch of their senses work. But instead of rushing the booty Rip will freeze at a safe distance and assume the stance, while waiting for the slower master to arrive. Rushing the booty might cause the injured game to run or hide. One time Dick was riding his horse and while looking for game, his horse was frightened by a strange sound and bolted off without him. Instantly Rip got the cue and gave chase, sniffing as he goes, Dick running slower behind. That’s the second quality – a leader never gives up on unfamiliar tasks. After some time they came upon a hillock and Rip circled around and then twang!! – he froze into a pointer stance. There was the horse, its head shaking in confusion. The third principle – leaders don’t give up. They do their job until there’s nothing else to do. Once a game that Dick shot flew over a marsh and landed in a lake. So when he signaled Rip he half-expected him to return empty-handed, or in this case, empty paws. But no – Rip ran as far as he could – thru marshy flats and then to the edge of the lake. Then twang!! Rip froze in a stance pointing at the dead bird floating in the middle of the lake. But Dick stood far off and signaled him to fetch. It took a while for Rip to circumscribe to a nearest point, then swam out in freezing water to retrieve the bird. With hugs and praises Rip learnt that no obstacle was not worth a try. But leaders must also admit they aren’t perfect. One time after he was signaled to go after a game another shot rang out. Rip was confused seeing two birds falling from the sky. When he pointed out the wrong partridge Dick was amused. But everything was forgiven. Many weak-willed children today give up at the slightest of difficulty, or stood up promises to appear at the most paltry excuses of inconvenience. Not Rip. Even when he goes hungry. It happened at an accident.

One day Dick was so excited after he spotted and running after game that he did not notice a small gully. When he fell into the burn Rip ran around barking excitedly but not knowing what to do next. He could however hear the feeble groans of his master. But he stuck around faithful to be nearby. After sometime, Dick came to and weakly called out to Rip. Go get help were his words. It was several hours later when the sun had started to set. Rip had never heard such instructions, but something within told him that this was something urgent. Whimpering a little, Rip tried to jump in after his master but withdrew after sensing its depth. Go home Rip – get help was the faltering words. So whimpering and half-barking Rip sped off, using his senses to find home. Leaders always have something within themselves to do the right thing. After reaching home in the cold Rip could not settle down until somebody realized something was wrong with Dick. All that time Rip never rested to recover himself or even sip a drink. So they set out to look for his master with Rip panting and in a hyper state. Then when they neared the fated gully, twang!! – Rip gave the signature pose, nose showing where his master had fallen. Only after his master was safely resting at home did he eat or drink. But leaders never rest for long – there’s always the next hill. Twang !!

Sharing feathers in Life-long friendship

A December 2016 study reported that there are 18 000 different bird species in the world, compared to 15 human species stated in 2014. Today only one human specie – the homo sapiens thrive. Yet they both share a distinct trait – social interaction. Birds can identify themselves by their plumage and sounds important for breeding and safety. Humans? That is our topic now – friendship. It is the origin of all activity in our conscious life. Children had their frontal lobe development thru the early years from relatives and school friends. Such social interactions are now recognized as the foundations of all human enterprise. Take the story of Sweetie, a trump trogon and Lavelle, a banded kingfisher.

Scarlet trump Trogon

Banded Kingfisher

They first met as chicks when they gathered at a watering hole in the Bornean forests. As they played together they found a deep bond which lasted a lifetime. But both have very different backgrounds – Lavelle nests along a stream where fish and water snails and swimmers provide food. Sweetie however thrives in the bush where insects form her staple meal. Their long friendship holds a similarity between a Singaporean girl and her Japanese friend whom she met at a primary school summer function organized by the Japan Association in Singapore. Keiko and Sue struck it off when they first met and had kept in touch long-distance, through the years from different cultures and language. Sue had gone to Japan to celebrate Keiko’s 7-5-3 children’s events and Keiko had returned to travel Malaysian beaches with Sue and enjoying Lunar New years. Each time they met nothing could separate their constant sharing of diverse experiences and deepening friendship. Whenever school holidays come around Sue, with her parents would plan to visit Keiko such as a summer break at the Itami hot-springs. And because they are so far by distance and culture nothing will separate the girls whenever they meet, chatting delightfully late into the night and planning what to do with each family. And the birds? Well Sweetie and Lavelle would flit off hunting insects together. Then they would play along the stream where Lavelle would occasionally snatch a fish or shrimp from the water and share it with her friend. When the storms come both would hide from the showers under their favorite tree covers and sing different tunes while perched for the rain to abate. Sometimes they would meet other species in the shade, each with their own characteristic cries. Such as the blue jay, orange titmouse or the screaming red-breasted robin.

Blue-jay and the red robin

Green jay and Blue tit

But birds are vulnerable. Whenever a bird of prey swoops around in the neighborhood everyone takes cover. Lavelle and Sweetie would tweet a cry of exasperation and sometimes one would decoy the attacking hawk in order to protect the other. Such devotion in friends. As such Keiko would take it on herself to make sure that Sue doesn’t get lost in Japan’s crowded railways. But it was such adventure travelling in each other’s country’s transport system and exploring shops and books. One time Sue even spent a week as visiting guest in Keiko’s junior school, meeting her friends, enjoying Sport’s Day and participating in day trips. But precious time flies. Soon came the major national exams and the girls were too busy for visits – except for an occasional card or skype phone call the girls grew up quickly and apart. But they made a mutual pact – that they would not let boyfriends replace their friendship. It was a timely pact.

Northern red and yellow cardinals

When Keiko turned 20 Sue was invited to her coming of age ceremony. Of course Sue was excited to be in a kimono as well for her own 20th birthday. It was a memorable reunion. Keiko had qualified for medical school while Sue decided on zoology and veterinary medicine. But both excelled in sports and decided to play tennis and golf together. Sue also loved Haiku and got much of Keiko’s teacher-mother to help. When that New Year holidays ended, it would be a long time for the girls to meet again. Sue left for New England enrolled in veterinary grad school while Keiko got really busy at Juntendo Medical. The birds? Well animals don’t make pacts and both started nests for which to hatch their eggs. Family, instead of studies kept them apart, but a new summer found them together again playing by the waterhole with the other colorful Bornean species. Not for the girls. Sue had a new world of friends in the western hemisphere while Keiko found a boyfriend during her intensive internship. Sue deepened her love for animals and vowed to always relieve them from their hardships. Keiko, with her international outlook resolved one day to be in NGO medical missions. For several years the girls lost touch, busy with grad school. But it was a twist of fate that brought them together. Then what about the birds? It became the end of their lifespans. Sweetie’s chicks had grown up and befriended Lavelle’s children. They became close friends as well. But the parents were no more – Sweetie was too weak to catch insects and fell from her tree, while Lavelle made a last dive but failed to surface. Now what happened to the girls?

It was the 2004 Indian ocean tsunami. Keiko had just gotten her license and immediately signed with the NGO’s mission to the “warzone” in Acheh. The devastation was so widespread and helpers shorthanded that soon the neophyte doctor was called to lead a medical center. Daily, everything poured into her hands – injured, dying, starving children and a mishmash of supplies. Public health management was a nightmare – with shortage of water and clean linen to line the operating tables. Meanwhile it was winter in Maine where Sue had just received her diploma in veterinary medicine and surgery. She was celebrating Christmas dinner with her host family when the TV flashed pictures of the earthquake and destruction. Over – awed with the homelessness and wandering victims she asked herself “what can I do? A vet?” Then pictures of wandering livestock and pets appeared and Sue made up her mind. After reuniting with her family and friends a week later, Sue got on a plane with the Singapore military mission. After settling in Sue was pointed to a medical tentage to sign up for duties. Keiko was in charge directing operations when Sue staggered in, still stunned by the scenery. “So you just arrived with the new volunteers?”, Keiko asked, not recognizing each other, because Sue had put on weight in the north American life while Keiko had gotten freckled and masked in medical garb. As Sue wrote down her name on the lapel Keiko gasped. “Suet Ying! Its you!”, flinging off her surgical mask. For what seem like a long time the girls held each other, half crying and laughing in tears. It was a magical moment for lost friends reconnecting after a decade. But they soon got to work in the field, Keiko patching up people and Sue managing livestock and lost pets. Occasionally Sue was a valuable nurse at Keiko’s operating table, having trained in animal surgery. However life in the desperate straits had become so much better with close friends around. Keiko would travel to Sue’s home to recover before resuming her hectic schedule and Sue’s family couldn’t be happier reuniting with her. So time passed quickly. The year became 2011 and the day March 11.

Sue was working in a clinic and left the examination table to check on the supplies to administer the pet medicine. On the TV was another tsunami. The first thought on her mind was that Keiko would be on her way to Tohoku. That evening she phoned the Kimura home and left the message to Keiko that she would be volunteering in Tohoku. A week later was another tearful reunion this time in Japan. And also work to do – can you imagine how many pets and livestock lose their homes and their lives, besides human beings? Sue spent many months doing whatever she could to also help Keiko’s fellow citizens this time and the two friends became close again, in middle age. Sue also found that Keiko, due to the stresses of medical work had just separated from her doctor husband and living alone with her 7 year old daughter while her own parents have become really aged. Thanks to Sue, Keiko found a family again. That summer Sue’s parents came to stay with Keiko after travelling Japan with Sue’s younger brother. It was like a family gathering. The day before she left for home Sue’s mother, seeing how lonely and stressful Keiko’s life have become, brought Keiko to her side and spoke softly to her. “Keiko dear, you are so much just like my daughter. As it is unlikely for Sue to have her own family now, please let your daughter to be like my grand-daughter. We’ll be thrilled to be your extended family.” Then as Keiko held her hands there was a rush of endearing tears.

Imagination the spice in becoming a genius

The European bee-eater breeds in Southern Europe but winter in tropical Africa. The male in its flashing orange wings and blue tips and tail is also a superb flyer, flitting from branch to branch picking off insects or grubs. The busyness intensify come summer – time to build a nest. The bee-eaters of Southern European shores had a challenge – their nests are burrows on the shoreline beaten by the wind. Each time they lay their sticks and hay the breeze blows it off.

Little Albert was 8 years old. His parents lived on the coast and he liked to run out to nature and play, often alone. His family was Jewish and living in Poland at a time of the Third Reich was foreboding but little Albert didn’t worry about the plight of Jews as his parents were. He had such a curiosity around him that even his mother was surprised. And his favorite question was “Why?”, and even before the explanation was complete he had another question. When he turned eight both his parents could not give sufficient satisfactory answers to his curious mind that they started bringing library books into the house and let the boy answer his own queries. But his mind did not stay inside the house. He would play in the beaches and watched the breakers rushed to the shore with wonderment. One day as he lay on the embankment he saw something that seemed to open all the windows of his mind. It was a bee-eater trying to build a nest.

The European bee-eater

The sea breeze was strong and every time the bird approached its burrow the straw in its beak would blow off before it could place it in the ground. Albert saw the bird, tail tilted into the sky as it resisted the draft. Then he asked himself “Must it have wings? Why must all creatures fall down to earth?” Unknown to him he had started his life-long quest to answer the question about gravity. So each day he would observe the effect of gravity on common everyday objects. But it was not until he became a teen that he hit the jackpot. Like all days after school, Albert would go out alone and lie on the beach. It was dark enough for the stars to appear in the sky. And there he was silently gazing up in wonder at the myriads of faltering twinkling above, some disappearing while others brightened up. Then he ask himself, “Light – isn’t light affected by gravity too? What is light anyway?” It was a question that he would not rest until he found equations to describe it. And he was helped by a historic experiment that he had read after graduation from the German gymnasium. With the concept that nothing can travel at super-luminous speed Albert started the most significant mental exercise in anybody’s life. Just by thinking about space and how nothing can beat light in a race he concluded that space was not immutable in a dimensional sense. Then when he started to propound the equations that supported his hypothesis the scientific world was taken by storm. It was just not naturally human for anyone to believe that space can be affected by gravity, let alone understand what that means.

That was in 1915 when the idea was published and verified there after many times, significantly Lord Eddington’s solar eclipse observation in 1919. The trajectory of modern physics was also significantly affected, in particular astronomy and the behavior of stars, planets and their demise. The interesting thing above all is that such an ingenious discovery did not and would not come from active experiments that one can easily set up and verify in the laboratory. It started with the active imagination of a young boy, who had the time and freedom to roam around and began a likely hypothesis that was described mathematically and verified by scientific observations.

Social skills for life – the capybara

The capybara (Hydrochoerus) is the largest rodent existant in the world. Adults which weigh up to 50 kg and more than a meter long have social habits rated as the friendliest, exceeding that of dogs or dolphins. They love to cuddle in groups and parents coddle their young. Aquatic herds of the amphibian is often seen socializing at banks of rivers or lakes. And they are intelligent as evident from observations at the Izu Shaboten park in Japan. If you visit in winter all the park’s capybara would be drawn to the onsen that is open to them. Being natives of tropical South America it must have been heaven to soak in the hot springs in winter. There they are, dreamy and content to have streams of warm water dousing their still heads and necks. How came the relatives of guinea pigs learned to socialize and developed herding instincts? It is the instinct of survival. We hear the story of Camby and his lesson of developing social skills. People skills are traits that our students ignore at their peril in terms of succeeding in the corporate world. It turns out that Camby has one behavior unlike his fellow rodents – he hates to eat poo. Yes capybaras like guinea pigs do sometimes eat their excreta to re-digest what they consume. Not Camby. In fact sometimes against his instinct he would leave the herd for some fresh air. This happened one day on a thunderstorm.

As Camby left the huddle of his herd for some fresh air it started to rain, harder and harder. Normally capys prefer water but this is different. Shards of water started to pelt Camry’s fatty hide that he decided to look for shelter. There were none – the reed clusters are devoid of trees or cover. Except next to the enclosure wall of the park was a large umbrella which one warden had inadvertently left behind. Camby snuggled under its cover, glad to escape the constant rush of water on his back. But he wasn’t alone.

Standing on the wall a harpy eagle let out a shrill cry. Usually baby capys are their favorite fare but that hungry day any possible food was game. Fortunately for Camby the attack was foiled by the umbrella. Its repeated strike shredded the umbrella but not enough to hurt Camry’s fatty hide. What happened next showed Camby how important friends and family was. Several adult capys ran toward the commotion. The eagle did not expect to be suddenly crowded by so many of its prey. With a shriek it took off leaving the rescuers sniffing and licking the dishevelled Camby. That was lesson one for Camby – your family and friends can face your problems together.

The second lesson came on feeding day at the Izu Shaboten Park. They were all lazing in the onsen on a cold winter’s day. One capybara was actually asleep below the warm water drip. Then the zoo keeper came into the enclosure with the morning meal. Four or five capys were already waiting. More would leave the water and headed to the feeding tray. But one was still fast asleep. When the feeding begun two of them stopped and turned around to the pool and barked. So the sleeper was alerted to mealtime and learned the second lesson – Your friends will help you network for opportunities you need. But there remained one more lesson on social skills – leadership. It happened when survival of the herd was at stake.

Capybaras have no defense against attacks from predators such as jaguars, caimans and crocodiles. The only way as to run and hide. And awareness of danger is key. One day Camby was grazing off the reeds at the river where the rest of the herd was resting. Then out of the thick bush a pair of yellow dots were eyeing the herd. Camby sensed the jaguar immediately, gave a sharp bark and ran towards the water. All the rest of the herd rose in pandemonium and dashed towards the water. Your social circle will guard your back as you learn to protect your friends. Then comes old age. How do capys cope? Its a question that little is known. Perhaps more research would show that capybaras accept death stoically just like dogs or cats. Many of them would be killed in the wild by their usual predators and of course Man, who hunt them for their hides. Some would be kept as pets, but their lifespan is about 8 to 10 years, shorter in the wild.

Don’t shoot me, I’m just the clown

The clown fish (pomacentridae) has a weird sex life. All are born male but the dominant leader changes sex eventually to lay eggs in order to procreate. They have a pecking order of dominance so that the higher rank becomes female when the procreation chain is broken. Hence everyone else has to compete to mate with the leader. Such androgynous transformation is not atypical in the animal or insect world – such as snails and some papaya trees. Strange as this may be clown-fish spawning even depends delicately on the anemone nest where they live, eat and copulate. But the world’s coral reefs are slowly dying due to climate change and Nemu faces a bleak future. The living anemone that lives within stresses under higher temperatures, loses algae production and starves the reefs to death. There must be a world movement to delay bleaching because other organisms beside Nemu are suffering from the decaying ecosystem. Let’s continue the story of Nemu in this human-related tragedy of greenhouse disaster.

For some time now Nemu saw the size of his anemone nest becoming smaller. Less food meant that he or rather she and her fellow mates had less to eat and less shelter from the reef predators. But even the predators have diminished. Occasionally a reef shark would cruise around looking for crabs or bottom feeding crawlers. But then crabs and shellfish feed on the plankton that flourish among the reefs. When the reefs die the top predator hunt in shallow waters. So when a shark came upon Nemu in his forlorn nest it almost laughed at the clownish fish and disappeared. Then there were the big reef squids. The reefs were great places for them to hang their cluster of eggs during spawning. Once the reef dies the eggs became exposed to hungry eaters such as shrimps or crabs. So the squids left, as well as the crabs and shrimp. One day Nemu made up his mind – move or be the last to survive the reef. But how? Then one day a rare visitor glide by. It was a manta ray.

“Please Manta, can we get a ride on your back and bring us somewhere else?”. You’re welcome to cling to my back, but the current will wash you and your anemone nest away, came the reply. Nemu thought for a second but could not gather courage to ask. “What if we stay in your mouth would you promise not to swallow us?” – but the manta had already swam off and not heard the question. After some days a bevy of big reef squids came by, but not to stop at the reef. They were on their way somewhere to escape the dying reefs. Then came a shark, but Nemu was too terrified to ask for help.

And then there were no more visitors for several months. The reef colony was almost dead – Nemu and his mates were famished. The reef fell silent. Then one stormy day a big shadow moved slowly toward Nemu’s nest. It was a whale shark. This time Nemu would not let any chance slip by, even if it meant being swallowed whole.

The whale shark was quiet for a long while. Then through the bubble from its mouth it sounded like it agreed. And so Nemu and her mates swam into the mouth of the whale-shark, each holding a piece of whatever was left of the anemone nest. And so the ungainly monster moved off, ever so slowly on its epic journey. Nemu was lucky. Whale sharks are actually omnivores – they will eat plant matter or fish. But this particular whale-shark eats only plankton and plant matter. It was many months before the whale-shark came upon some reefs that was alive. Nemu and his mates emerged from its mouth, thankful that the whale-shark provided transport and protection from predators in its long and perilous journey across the Pacific. But then how long can Nemu stay in his new colony before runaway global warming destroys also this reef? Nemu would probably had to move again.

Love makes us truly human

Stories here might have been adapted from true ones.

Many things have been said or sung about love. It has been once said that when receiving love one would learn to give it. And this is true for children as well as animals. Its preserving quality defines how harmonious one’s life is, an enduring mark of our humanity. Several stories between man and even wild animals illustrates this. A pair of lovebirds was flying together near one of Taiwan’s highways. But one flew too close to a high tension cable, collided and fell on the roadside, lifeless. Its partner circled around baffled and soon came to its fallen spouse. Desperate and agitated it hopped around her, nudging it with its beak as if to resuscitate her. But she remained fallen, in her final twitchings. Then, amazingly, its mate flew off and soon returned with a beakful of worms. “Come on! Eat, you’ll be better!”, it seemed to say to her. But she remained still. More nudging with its beak as if to remind her of the food that they used to feed together, the mate persisted. If that’s not love you’d wonder what is. The same sadness happened to a pair of mongrels. One must have been hit by traffic, and while dying, its mate stayed by its side. These stories from loving dogs are well known, in particular the Akita named Hatchiko (eight legs) whose statue still stands near Tokyo’s Shibuya crossing.

It is not clear how animals choose their mates. The most common observation is the principle of having the fittest mate to bear one’s off-springs. Sight, smell, strength and sound are all factors for choice but it is unclear how animals decide, no more clear than how humans fall for a romantic relationship. But here is a story of how much love can span humans and their closest animal friend. Lori loves her dog Windy so much that she sleeps with her and seldom leaves her side. As a puppy, Windy does not know anyone else. The female border collie was also smart and responsive, like all border collies. She would anticipate her mistress every move – Lori would need only gesture to Windy and she’d know exactly what to do. This is so common, until one day Lori noticed something unusual. Windy would sometimes disappear for some time, but never fail to return for meals or retire to her bedroom. Lori thought little of it until one day she noticed Windy lactating. But where are the pups? She searched around the house to no avail. Windy had secretly hid her children from Lori but returning every day to her loving mistress. So Lori decided to attach a small camera. The following night she anxiously uploaded the video. It showed Windy making her way to a neighbor’s house, some distance away. There she was greeted by another dog, a mongrel. It appeared that the house was vacant and Windy’s mate was a stray. Later, the video showed the parents disappeared under the floorboards and everything went dark, except for the cries of puppies. Poor Windy – she could not betray her love for her puppies to the utter devotion of her mistress. But Lori understood it. She made sure Windy got her nutrition, proper baths and jabs against infection, knowing that after a safe period of time she had to do the same with the puppies. After three months, she approached the vacant house with Windy on a leash. She was surprised by the barking and ferocity of the sire. Windy could only respond with sympathetic whimpers. Lori withdrew. What can she do? Later the animal shelter came and took the father away. Lori was in tears and so was Windy. After some discussions she decided it was best to continue bringing Windy to the pups in the shelter. But Windy’s facial expression seemed to Lori that she was not exactly doing the honors. She’d rather be at home with Lori, snuggled in her bed. Lori could not afford to keep all five puppies. By observing how much Windy licked them she decided on her deemed favorite. Would you do this to your children?

Retirement – be that cornerstone

In life one often pays for the cheapness of a product. Also the appearance of things often is not what they seem to be. Take the insect world for instance. Its been said that 75% of all living species on earth are insects. Most such as hexapods undergo metamorphosis, which is a process of cell transformation. Other arthropods such as crabs, lobsters and most snakes molt in a similar process but do not undergo drastic physical changes. Molting allows for further growth, and for humans shedding of our skin serves a protective renewal of our bodies – about 3-4 kilograms of skin is shed yearly. But the most dramatic is the maturing of the caterpillar larvae into the full-blown butterfly.

The swallowtail will become a pupae in few weeks then butterfly a month later

Like a growing baby it starts vulnerable to any worm-eating creatures. And so with humans. We start without expecting to live a long life as we battle hurdles of growth, often thinking we would not make it past our illnesses. Then there are mental, social and emotional struggles, sometimes able to shut out our physical well-being by self-destruction. Later as we mature to be self-independent we might still fall behind in the economic battle-zones of the corporate world. Some are lucky to have family and friends’ generous support. Others can fall further down the tubes as our vulnerability is taken as a repulsion from more successful members of society. Such inward-looking depressions promote self-destruction, which animals and insects are not known to partake. What of the swallowtail caterpillar? Ever since it appeared from the egg it had to eat voraciously. Every leaf available is game. But where there are abundant vegetation there are also abundant eaters of all kinds. Among the birds the flycatchers favor caterpillars. If not a host of others like tanagers, warblers and such seize on the protein-rich worm, let alone the yellow-jacket wasps – besides humans, who recently started harvesting insects as a low carbon footprint food source. But unless you are a princeling, sheltered from life by affluent societies, by some endowment, or just a spoilt brat, you must at some time face competition either in school, sports or business. The swallowtail caterpillar’s struggle is far more grim – eat quickly or be eaten. Those, like some of us who survive the onslaught surreptitiously will reach the goal – for the swallowtail it is a metamorphosis, for us humans it is called retirement. Why so?

One specie of the Yellow-Tail

Because the struggle had subsided. Now is the time for you to show your full potential without having to compete for a slot that might not fit you anyway. Now is the time to step out of your presumed calling and taste the waters – of another source. Like the new creature you’ve evolved, now is the time to jump off the bus of cohorts and stretch your other unused, deformed limbs, and perhaps learn to fly. Now is the time to taste something else you were wrongly forbidden or unable to, just for the experience of living again. And perhaps once again, like the yellow-tail released from its cocooned tomb, now is the time for love. But you ask me, but I’ve done these while I was active before? The difference, my friend is in the worldview. For the caterpillar the period spent curled in its cocoon is a period of rejuvenated state. So is the need of the hardworking class. At some time of our lives we need a pause – a review of what direction our lives are heading. For some it comes as a furlough, or sabbatical, for others it might not be anything – just a chill out from breathless work and frenetic routines. But a warning is in order. For some of us, being ordered by routine and schedules is the most efficient use of our time – we may never know how to live otherwise. Then we realize that what we are can be defined by our work and meaningful contribution (to whatever). Our confidence as a human being might even be tied to the money we bring home and the status of our calling. Our humanness become unconsciously tethered to the network of people through which we operate daily. Even our holidays and periods of rest have context – they are there to help us work better or perform in the social fabric of a working society. In a sense – life is now being lived on auto cruise control. It is only when you reach the cocoon of rejuvenation and un-tethered rest that life becomes truly ours. What of the caterpillar? It stays in hibernation for a few weeks – compared to human years, its a quarter of their lifetime. It then develops overnight into a higher form of existence. Though it continues to seek food (nectar) it has one imperative task to fulfill – reproduce itself. For some of their species this is a mean job. Some had to fly for astronomical distances, until their wings are tattered before they could land a partner, any partner willing to spread his kind. Modern humans are not beholden to this sacred duty – ask the unmarried women devoted to their careers and various factors have diminished this call of nature. Ask the unmarried men and the plausible outcome of growing old and staying single is nothing to shout about. But retirement from work into a desire to live and fulfill to the maximum what you had always wanted to is different. Life suddenly has become even shorter. Where you have taken over two-thirds of your lifespan building a career, now there is less than a quarter, for some countries less than an eighth of a lifetime. Then when you get excited to do what remains to be done, life is too short again. Frenetic rush of fulfillment -but in a sweet at-your-own-time pace. But wait, the story of the humble green worm (papilio machoan) doesn’t end here.

Turns out that a long time ago when empires were being conquered and built there was a story about a grand construction project, as mentioned in one of Christ’s metaphors. The project required the sourcing of materials throughout the region to build this historic building, probably a revered temple or some spectacular government palace. Stones of all sizes were sent to the site from merchants willing to sell whatever was profitable. So after the masons had decided which boulder would form which column work proceeded and was nearly completed. Except that when minarets were built upwards the keystone that holds all the circular structures together was placed last, locked into place. As the architect examined the planned keystone, he discovered a fault – probably a crack, discoloration or a fault in the rock, overlooked by the merchants eager to make a quick sale. But there were no more rocks that would be good enough to be the cornerstone – except one that was rejected earlier because it was brought in from a quarry not known to be superior for buildings. But then work could not wait to find another suitable keystone because the structure was unstable until locked in place. So reluctantly the rejected one became the cornerstone and became the centerpiece. How often the least likely to succeed becomes the resounding cerebrant in life! We may be overlooked for other more impressive candidates, but no one can tell that a great achiever could perhaps be one who was once dismissed as a dismal failure.

Ladies don’t give up on your eggs!

Not since the end of WWII when about 20 million male combatants died have so many developed countries face the dire consequences of population decline as today. 48% of the world live in countries below sub-replacement level – all of Europe is below 2.1 and the lowest? Singapore, HK, Japan and S Korea around 1+ TFR. With such total fertility rate some countries have resorted to welcome foreign labor to fill the jobs shunned by the citizen populations. There doesn’t seem to be a proper manpower solution for a country to continue growing as guest workers are not expected to have a stake in a country’s wellbeing. Animals and insects have a different problem – their extinction are often related to habitat destruction due to a country’s economic growth, or the loss of resources such as food. The balance of economic growth and environmental sustenance is a recognized problem in modern times. However sometimes animals species need a little help from humans in order to exist.

The sea turtles nest 2 to 8 times a year and average 50 to 100 eggs after mating. When they do they prepare their nests on shore by laboriously digging with their back flippers. After they had carefully covered the laid eggs and camouflaged it, they leave for the sea and do not return to the same place until the next season. After about 45 days the hatch-lings break out of their shells and surviving on their own make a desperate rush towards the sea while predators like gulls and other seabirds lie waiting.

It seems a little puzzling why in certain mammals reproduction means the end of life while in others, and that includes humans, reproduction can be perennial. The squid, salmon and the butterflies had one chance and their life would be completed. For the turtle however, it might meet up with its offspring and might not even know it. Perhaps humans have lost the concept of procreation as an extension of their life, but not in a literal sense. We look at the story of Daub, a young Indonesian boy who lives on a remote island that once had hundreds of leather-backs coming onshore to lay eggs. Being poor, he along with others had been collecting the eggs for sale as soon as the belabored mother lumbers back to sea. But lately he noticed that fewer and fewer turtles have come. It had to be, as not enough eggs hatch for the next generation of returnees. Daub knew he had to do something and decided that from henceforth he would collect the eggs for rejuvenation. But it may have been too late, as for weeks none of the turtles appeared. One early morning, around 3 am when the turtles were wont to land, he heard the sound of scratching sand. He expected, as usual, to see a humped body coming towards him. But this time it was different. Crawling near was a saltwater crocodile, its jaws menacing. Daud almost jumped up from the sand dune. It seemed that the lucrative turtle eggs was about to turn crocodilian. The next morning Daud called the village chief. The council of village custodians arrived at the spot. They got a shocking surprise. The hatching area had turned into a favorite spot for crocodiles. Nobody would eat a crocodile egg and the local economy for turtle eggs collapsed. Daub had an idea. What if we move the crocodile eggs to a designated spot and cultivate more turtles to revisit their spot? Later a enterprising man suggested starting a crocodile farm to produce skins for handbags. So the council convened and decided that from henceforth, the village would conserve the turtle and breed crocodiles for skin. Later a UN-sponsored study of the surrounding ecology revealed that the turtles are part of the food-chain to balance the vegetation on land and sea. Daub was overjoyed to be part of the study. Today if you happen to snorkle-dive around this Indonesian island for the rich variety of fish and underwater vegetation you might come upon a skinny bare-back boy riding on the back of a giant leather-back. He follows the turtle to observe what they feed on and where they would go to breed. He may still be poor but he champions the care of the sea from the polluting plastics and trash that rich tourists discard in disregard.

The cockerel stopped crowing

Out in the suburbs of London is a farm. The Eddington farm has been around for about a century, rearing pigs, chicken, ducks and a few milking cows. But one of its domicile has a peculiar habit. The single cockerel would crow at precisely 11 am, and only on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Nobody at the farm knew why. Until a visitor came to stay at the farm. She had just flown into London the day earlier, visited the city’s surrounds and decided to do a farm-stay that weekend. After breakfast with her host she chatted around the table for a while, until the cockerel crowed. What a feisty call, commented Susan. The comment made the host raise the riddle of the time and frequency of the cockerel’s salute of the day. After listening to her host Susan replied wryly. “Funny, I was just visiting Windsor Castle on Thursday and the guide told me about the changing of the guard. He said that it happens only at 11 am on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. But it may just a coincidence for the cockerel.” So nothing further of that conversation that day and Susan left on Monday to continue her tour.

Life went on normally at the farm for several weeks. Then a new cockerel joined the farm. It was introduced for breeding so that the hens would produced healthier chicken or produce better eggs. The two got along pretty well, strutting around as if in interesting conversation most of the day. After several days of the new arrival the host noticed something strange. The new cockerel would crow only on days the first does not, and exactly at 11 am. It was as if they had agreed between themselves to do the crowing on alternate days. But it did helped the host plan his schedule. He could tell which cockerel was crowing by its pitch and he would know what to do for that day – even days of the week he’ll go to the local market to deliver supplies and odd days (and Sundays) to buy grain and feed. Then another visitor arrived for home-stay. Over the breakfast table the host heard something uncanny. This time around the visitor had visited Buckingham palace. And sure enough the “guard mounting” at Buckingham occurs only on odd days (and Sundays) at precisely 11 am. Could it be another coincidence? The farmer decided to do an experiment. He took a train to London – to where he could talk with the scheduler for the guard-mounting ceremony. He found out something interesting. On All-Souls day there was to be a change of schedule for a week. The Windsor guards would change on odd days and the Buckingham guards mount on even days. This time during the week the mounting would begin precisely at 10 am.

The farmer waited in earnest for All-Soul’s day. Then on Monday the older cockerel crowed precisely at 10 am. The next day the new cockerel took his turn at 10 am. Precisely as if they had planned, that the older cockerel crows for the Windsor mounting and the newer for the Buckingham mounting. As if to confirm it the farmer watched it happened for the whole week. Then at the following week everything was reversed at the schedule for the crowing, precisely at 11 am, as before. The farmer was bemused and decided he should publicize it to attract visitors to his homestay. “Come stay at Eddington farm – and watch the cockerels mount the changing of the guard” – says the advertisement flyer.

Many tourists began flocking to the farm such that some were turned away for the limited bedrooms available. The farmer was esthetic for the increased income – more than any from the eggs he could sell. Until 19 September 2022. The cockerels stopped crowing. The farmer was befuddled. Until he read it in the Times the next day. “Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II was laid to rest at the Memorial chapel.”

The jaguar’s strength

The jaguar (panthera subspecies)is the third largest cat in the world after the lion and tiger. It is hardly seen in North America today and hunts mostly in the Amazon rain forests or rivers. It preys on land animals such as the capybara, turtles and peccary (wild pigs) although it is also an agile swimmer and underwater hunter.

Below the tranquil waters

SCARF7

“Always do your due diligence but let your imagination exceed your capabilities” – Gundam developer, 1980s

Shit Work

The dung beetle loves to work. It can move up to 1000 times its own weight, often continuing until there is no more load to move. But it is unusual to have more dung around than beetles, as they are industrious and can marshal quite a large number to do this important work. Not only do they clean up after the herbivores they keep the environment free of other pests. They benefit from the nutrition and source of supporting their off-springs. The coprophagous specie eats the excrement of other organisms, usually vegetative waste. So there are rollers, dwellers or tunnelers according to whether the load can be moved or just eaten as it is. And walking on their forelegs, rolling seems easier using their rear legs, at least they know where they’re heading, backwards. They are Nature’s garbage trucks, the scarabaeidae beetle specie – imagine what happens to a city if nobody wants to work as garbage collectors, unless they are automated for an entire city. There was a time in our schooldays when there were no modern sanitation a favorite ploy was used by teachers or parents to encourage studying. Either you do well and get a job or become a night-soil carrier. But the humble dung beetle seems to enjoy this. And it has become harder to find modern workers for menial tasks – a good secretary for instance can be paid better than a doctor. This is the story of Phip the dung beetle who likes to race. He is a roller and speed is his thrill. All day or night he would go find groups of elephants, deer or buffaloes and starts his marathon. And he does have competitors – ask those dozens of those who race with him and you’ll get a laugh. So one hot summer’s day Phip lined up with his two competitors Dlip and Flip to start a race. The referee ensured all have about the same dung size and the one reaches the colony dung-hole wins. Phip was all confident, sneering away at the other two who hasn’t beaten him even once.

The referee waited to twirl its wings as the starting signal. Then “blop!” a chunk of wet slimy dung fell on Flip, burying him completely. “Ha! ha! ha!”, Phip burst out laughing, “You’ve lost even before starting!”. But then before Phip could finish the sentence, another bloop of shit fell on him, burying him and splashing partly on the referee, who then twirled his wings. Dlip took off, pushing his dung ball up the slope. “You two dung critters will never catch me!”, as Dlip raced to the top of the slope. Phip and Flip recovered quickly, shaking the splatter off with their spindly legs and pushing their balls uphill with their front legs, backwards. But there’s one problem – dung beetles have no brakes. Just before they reached the top of the slope where Dlip was, Dlip’s dung rolled off downhill, leaving Dlip behind. “Aargh!”, Dlip shouted, as his dung-ball rolled off to the side into a puddle of mud. While the other two were laughing at Dlip, their dung balls also rolled off downhill. All three were screaming as their dung balls took off in different directions, each scampering downhill aimlessly, not knowing where their respective dung balls were. Soon Flip found a dung ball at the side of the mud puddle and proceeded to push upwards toward the dung colony. Finally all three reached home, Phip was second and Dlip last. The referee declared Flip the winner. “Not so fast!”, Dlip said. Wasn’t it my dung ball that Flip stole at the mud pool? So an argument started about who had whose dung. But nobody could say for sure and hence the race was declared incomplete. Though they had fun with dung, oftentimes their lives depend on it.

It happened on a chilly day in the Savannah. Phip just started collecting a huge elephant scat and after much effort arrived at his dung colony. Just as he was about to unload it, out of nowhere a secretary bird landed nearby. Now a secretary bird is about the fiercest avian raptor of the African plains. They can easily stomp to death poisonous adders and cobras with their stout clawed legs and dispense animals far larger than themselves. They are such avid hunters with such a harmless name – secretary because behind their heads are hanging plumes of black feathers that appeared like writing pens behind the ears of scribes. This time it appeared that food was scarce and beetles became easy fare. It had easily picked up Dlip and several of the beetle family, and now turned towards Phip. Instinctively he crawled behind the large dung ball to hide, but couldn’t fool the plucky predator for long. Just as the bird turned behind the ball to peck at Phip with its eagle-like beak, he quickly tunneled into the dung ball. The bird wasn’t about to give up. It started pecking at the dung, trying to break it up. Phip, desperate now had one last trick up his sleeve. He knew that the dung was fresh and soft. So he twirled his wings, stirring up the fresh dung like a food-processor. All of a sudden a cloud of ammonia and pungent nitrogenous gas burst forth towards the bird. Taken aback it retreated and turned to other easy insects around. So Phip got to live another year – the last year of his 3-year life. He had already produced two generations of children out of dung. If you think a dung beetle’s life must be shitty boring, wait till you hear how his life ended.

It was a cool spring day and out of Phip’s dung colony scores of baby beetles emerged. There were about 2 millimeters size, all ready to eat the half-digested vegetation available all around. Then another sudden visitor landed next to them. It was a bullfinch and insects of the size of Phip’s babies were its favorite. Phip sprang into action, running towards the babies and covering them with his body. The bullfinch could not peck at the size of the adult beetle and was defeated. But just after it flew off another shadowy figure appeared. It was the secretary bird again and this time Phip had no dung to hide. In a flash its talons pinned Phip to the ground and with a swift bite, pulled Phip apart. So the sacrificial death of Phip is just one ordinary daily event of life in the wild. Every creature lived to their obsolescence and dying to renew life with the next generation. It seems that only humans consider Death such a big deal – animals accept their fate as a matter of fact. And move on.

Congrats! He’s pregnant

Any of you males out there who would like to know what it is like to be pregnant become a seahorse. The 45 species of marine fish in the genus hippocampus have their reproduction roles reversed. The male would allow his favorite willing female to deposit her eggs, up to 1500 in number in his ventral pouch, which he would promptly fertilize. Then after carrying the babies up to 45 days impregnated, he gives birth. They come in various colors from brown to greenish or reddish – some are fatter, have shorter snouts or longer tails but they all have a common trait – slow moving. So slow as to be graceful dancers in the currents. But they eat like lightning, sucking in copepods like magic. This is a story of Kurio the dancing seahorse. He is slim but strong, dancing against currents and lead dancer of a troupe of seahorses in the Andaman sea.

Without the ocean human beings would vanish shortly. It produces over half of the world’s oxygen and absorbs 50 times more carbon dioxide than our atmosphere. Covering 70 percent of the Earth’s surface, it transports heat from the equator to the poles, regulating climate and weather patterns. With human activity identified as the principal cause of greenhouse gas emissions, the resulting climate turmoil not only makes human communities hardly liveable but eventually robs humans of life-sustaining oxygen in destabilizing complementing fauna and vegetation cycles. Yet while protecting our oceans from pollution and global warmth is hardly done today, dangers remain in the depths from undersea earthquakes. Damage from tsunamis are titanic and baby steps have been taken by certain earthquake-prone countries to predict them. But a marine study on the behavior of tiny marine creatures like sea-horses revealed surprising results.

Dave Tucker, a marine biologist was observing plankton life and marine ecology in the Southern Andaman sea. There the troupe of seahorses were feeding on the rich plankton and steering the current with their tiny fins. Suddenly they seem to swim in different directions. Dave could feel the sea floor moved. As far as he could see the ocean floor rose and fall, like a giant carpet slowly flopping up and down. He knew right away that a large undersea earthquake had occurred. Dave felt safe – he knew it was as long as he remained underwater. But the sound was deafening as a cataclysmic undersea earth movement played out before him. What about his boat topside? Surely the boat would have been swept off by huge tsunami waves. Dave cautiously ascended. When he reached the surface he could see the tsunami moving away from him like a giant fan, along with his relatively tiny boat. What of the seahorses? No issue – in fact they were dancing all along. Also courting around with their tiny fins flickering quickly. Kurio the lead male dancer had all the ladies to himself. So popular that any lady who fancied him merely needed to deposit their eggs in his pouch and have part of him for herself. Just like that. No aching love vibes, none of the wrenching romantic stir in the stomach or anywhere else and none of this jealousy nonsense. No wedding nor foreplay. How simple! In the human world today the perfect love, courtship, marriage and reproduction would have taken several iterations, some hair-pulling. That’s because animals have no social nor legal framework to start a family, let alone any complexity of spousal or family conflicts. But you know, some people still prefer the human thing. Then again animals also might have that sudden hazy look or the biochemical rush – just that our research hasn’t got there yet. If you think seahorses are queer wait till you hear about the angler-fish.

Broadly there are three groups of anglers (lophiiformes) – the pelagic (above sea floor), the benthic group stays on the sea floor and the deep sea bathypelagic group. In total about 120 species. The monk-fish and the frog-fish are also of the same family but lives on the continental shelf. Of interest is the deep sea group, with its angler lure of bacteria or fleshly bait at the end of a bony outgrowth from its head. The bacteria lure becomes luminous at the pitch-dark depth of 2000 meters. When time for reproduction the tiny male attaches to the female about 20 times its size, dissolves some of her flesh and becomes to her like a gonad – an addendum to provide her sperm for fertilization. What devotion! Except that he then is a part of her, surviving and living off her becoming part of her body. No permission needed, but this is not clear, because for humans, some females would and other females would’nt swoon for extreme devotion. Literally they then are one flesh in physical union. Talk about being mated for life. And of course divorce then is life threatening. Some men might even take up the responsibility of bearing a pregnancy to term becoming a seahorse, but to be physically attached to your soulmate – for life? Literally means until death do you part.

Heidi the improbable hyena

Hyenas are not everybody’s favorite animal. Thought to be scavengers, feral killers and thieves in the wild, you might even consider them cowards – stealing from the weak and maimed but living off the lords of the jungle. Some even think them related to witchcraft and demons – their devilish cries and screams during a raid reminds one of an attacking tribe of Red Indians encircling an embattled caravan of innocents. And they attack at night in droves – using their advantage in numbers to confuse any defendants of a kill, sniping away with their sharp teeth and grabbing chunks of carcasses before fleeing. But there is one hyena who is special – she is gentle and meek. Hiding behind her pack of marauders she never steals nor harass. She waits until the confusion ends, then picks up pieces of leftovers or meat droppings. One would have thought she would starve to death long ago, but she always had enough and has the knack of staying alive with her contrarian behavior. Lets learn of Heidi’s story and her meekness in adversity.

It was a hot summer evening. Heidi seem fat, but in fact she was lactating, carrying a brood of 6 to 9 to be delivered soon. But she must still join the hunting party – nourishment was key to giving healthy pups and the needed milk. So the usual rabble rousing as the pack accosted a lioness who just brought down a deer. Heidi held back in the bushes, patiently waiting as usual for discarded meat in the onslaught. She hoped that she’ll get lucky this time as she felt her tummy kicking inside for nourishment. She waited and waited. Several lionesses had gathered to defend their kill and chances for leftovers seemed slim. As she lay down in the brush she thought she heard a muffled bleat. She pricked up her ears and there was the bleat again. Her sharp scent picked up an animal hidden in the brush nearby. Turning here and there she finally found it – a newborn fawn – no more than a day old. It was lying so still hoping no predator could see her. Now what can a famished mother hyena do to a ready meal at her feet? But Heidi was different. Instantly the motherly instinct kicked in – she might have mistook the fawn for one of her babies that arrived too soon. Gingerly she laid down next to the shivering fawn, still wet from birth. And the fawn began to suckle Heidi’s milk. Poor thing, she must have thought, I was hoping to eat its mother from the kill.

But the tenderness didn’t last long. Out of the darkness two male hyenas appeared, sniffing the air for ready meat, posturing like fierce dobermans. Heidi stiffened. As the males approached she lunged forth, snarling, slashing and spitting to protect her new found baby. It went on for several minutes, but Heidi was at her fiercest, for some unknown reason. Soon the rest of the pack retreated, hoping to make another tryst at the fallen deer. Heidi gingerly picked up the shivering fawn in her jaws and carried it to her hole in the ground to await the arrival of the other pups. And no sooner. At midnight four new furry kickers join the fawn, black, blind, ugly and cute. Everyone rushed at the nipples. They ran out quickly. Before Heidi could hardly stand up to look for food, three more pups oozed out of her. And two more. But they were motionless, DOA due to lack of nutrition. Heidi quickly got up, dropping the babies like fruit from a tree, including the fawn. She hurried into the dark, hoping to find even bits of skin for which to make milk. She was lucky like other times. The lions had finished feeding and her brothers had clean out the carcass, leaving skin, head and tail behind. “Sorry, but this is for your baby”, Heidi whispered as she chewed off what remained of the fawn’s mother. Feeling somewhat full she headed home. But before she reached her hole, the fawn appeared, bleating with gladness at sight of its adoptive mother. Heidi picked it up and carried it into the safety of her den. It was a special bond. Months passed. Of the seven remaining pups, only four survived due to lack of milk. But Heidi made sure that the fawn, her firstborn always had its lion’s share, and it grew quickly.

Her pride and joy, Heidi would lead her fawn together with the pups to find food – like voles, eggs or small birds. At bad times even grasshoppers and worms might do. But the fawn would have none of those and Heidi never wondered why her offspring would eat grass. Still it grew and ran faster. The males of the pack used to joke that the fawn was “divine food” and Heidi the protector made sure they have none of her baby. So she slept next to it, so that the rest of the pack can recognize its smell as family. But such an odd arrangement always have a run-out date. Heidi was getting older and there would soon be no protector for the fawn. As they say, God will provide a way – a way that might even appear cruel. It happened in the fourth spring season. The fawn had grown to be a pretty doe, luscious eyelashes and dainty feet. One summer she trotted to an open field and saw something never before in her life – a herd of white-tailed deer just like her. She approached, giving a few nervous twitching of her own tail. Several of the stags came by, as all young males do to check out a young female newcomer, but quickly turned away – hers was the smell of the hyena – a notorious foe. She chased. But they all ran away. When she stopped, all of a sudden from behind her a dozen or so hyenas appeared – led by Heidi. They came to protect and take her back to the pack. “No! no no!” – she cried, “I want to be with them! They look like me.” Then she ran further and further away from Heidi, loping away with the herd of deer. After a while Heidi stopped. She drooped her head as if saying to herself – “I knew the first time when you had my milk – that one day you will return home. Grow strong and be safe – you’ll always be my first-born.” With that she looked upward and gave a sonorous howl. It was a cry of sadness and loneliness, that she had lost another of her baby. Then one by one the rest of the hyena pack looked upwards and howled in unison.

The hermit and the octopus – a parody on success

There are over 1000 different species of hermit crabs. The marine types live underwater, as detritivores, feeding on decaying matter in reefs and small prey while the terrestrial hermits live on wetlands. They change house as they grow, since their shells do not grow with them. Finding new homes can be competitive and essential as protection from predators that feed on their soft thorax. Like humans, they may exchange homes or hunt for new ones from another species and fights can occur. This is a story on Boris the hermit and his feisty neighbor Ferris the octopus.

Now the octopus is a mollusc from the species octopoda as distinct from squids, cuttlefish and nautiloids belonging to the cephalopoda order. Boris always marvel at the multiple limbs (tentacles are part of the limbs) on Ferris, being able to multitask and catch eight prey at once, not to speak of his black jet defense mechanism and his turbojet propulsion. Also octopuses are smart – they are escape artistes and are known to remember learned movements. They have three hearts; the systemic circulates blood round the body and two branchials that pump it through each of the two gills. Their blood contains the copper-rich protein haemocyanin to transport oxygen. Everyday Boris would watch the octopus catching its prey with ease – a crab here and a skad there, sometimes several were caught in its eight limbs when a school of krill get caught in its tentacles. Boris would stumble along the reef beds to pick up decaying matter left behind after Ferris had a meal. He felt like a beggar in the food chain with Ferris living like a duke and him a bottom feeder. So Ferris grew bigger and stronger while Boris became more of a recluse like all hermits. Even getting out of his shell to hunt was a struggle – he would extend himself a little at a time and clamber around, carrying his house when the coast is clear, because a seal or a parrot fish can swim by and bite his claws off. Boris doesn’t want to be a hermit, but he had tried to be anything but a crab – he had looked to and spoken to the lion-fish, the dogfish, catfish, parrot-fish, frog-fish and even the clown-fish, monk-fish or the seahorse but all to no avail. So he withdrew more and more into his cloistered shell.

The psychiatric disorder of withdrawal in modern day living has become a trend with the pervasive preoccupation with internet surfing, computer gaming and smartphone addiction. Western society refer this as cocooning while Eastern traits of becoming a recluse for religious or monastic reasons had existed for decades. In Japan one study estimated there are more than 500 thousand hikkikomori individuals staying at home and avoiding social contacts as a stigma of failing in life. Studies in countries from South Korea, India, Spain shows a spectrum of social disorder ranging from social avoidance in one extreme to suicidal depression in the other. Much can be attributed to the disparity of one’s social standing and perceived material success with societal acceptance. Psychologists and criminologists must have correlated aberrant social behavior to this tendency of feeling rejected, resulting in social withdrawal and fomenting violent behavior as influenced by cyberspace. Now back to Boris.

One day Ferris spoke up. Boris, don’t try to be a whale or even a marlin or shark when you’re born a crustacean. You have a shell, why not use it, or build on it? That set Boris thinking. Ferris may be a nagarazoku (multi-talented) while I’m only a hikkikomori, but yeah, I will build my home, make it the most beautiful among the reefs. So from that day on, Boris kept a lookout for the most colorful and shining shell around. There were many – some discarded by former occupants because they outgrew them, others were just abandoned when predators pulled the flesh out of them. Then one day he beheld the most beautiful shell he’d ever set eyes on. It had green stripes interlaced with silvery grey pearly white and fading into shiny purple at the tip, brilliant and just his size. But it was occupied.

Of course he was fought back – who would not want to defend himself if somebody comes to take your house, or your wife? Now Boris may have been born a crab but a lack of determination is not his weakness. Faint hearts do not a fair lady win, nor a trophy to be seized. So he started stalking his desired new house. For days he would follow his target as it sought food on the reef-bed. He would even forsake food himself as he chased his desired shell. One day the current was strong and the target was chasing a morsel rolling on the sea floor. But because of the weight of its shell it could not catch up. Until it decided to crawl out of it to quickly catch its morsel. It was Boris’ chance. Quickly he crawled out, abandoned his home to catch up with his new shell. In a brief moment he was naked and vulnerable, his thorax a succulent meal for many reef predators lurking around. Then out of a reef bundle a moray eel darted out. Shoosh! it charged at the wriggling hermit crab bodies on the seabed. But it wasn’t Boris’ thorax that was eaten. Quickly he retreated into his new-found home, its previous owner now safely in the eel’s mouth. From that day on Boris felt a new sense of purpose, proud of his new home, prettiest among the reefs. But he was still a depressive hermit crab, scouring the darkened depths for dead tissues. Until a scuba diver came to visit.

Boris was nervously trying to come out of his beautiful home to get food when the diver swam by. He extended and then retreated back jerkily into the shell, quickly when the diver stopped to admire his home. Then suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed Boris, shell and all. For a while Boris remained fearfully retracted when he was transported out of the sea and onto a boat. After some time he was placed in a pot of seawater. Fearing the worse Boris remained tightly in his shell, until a few days later he was gently dropped into a glass enclosure, filled with sea grass, pebbles and other smaller fish. “Mommy! look at that pretty shell!”, a group of children shrieked from outside the aquarium. Boris realized there were no predators, only people outside ogling at his pretty shell. So if anyone of you feel being born a crab (or crap) rather than someone special or important, look at Boris. He had found his calling at last. A successful male model.

The narwhal’s tusk and the marlin’s bill

The narwhal (monodon monoceros) is a whale that lives mostly in arctic waters. Its distinct feature is its frontal tusk that looks like a marlin’s bill, except that it is an outgrowth of a tooth to sense echo and water pressure. The pre-molar helical outgrowth is seldom used as weapon unlike the marlin, and can grow as long as the whale itself – 3 meters. Narwhals are peaceable and hunted by the orca killer whales and its favorite diet is cod, halibut or flatfish. They are social mammals, keeping to their pod of four or five individuals. This is the story of Norsk a year-old narwhal. Not only does he like to roam, he has a quality that many humans lack – curiosity and a desire to know everything. So Norsk swam as far as he can from his pod, and explore everything he can find. The vast expanse of the Arctic was his playground, changing each season with the shifting ice. His curiosity taught him lessons of survival – like where the codfish or halibut tend to flock and where to avoid the fearsome orca hunting party. Although the leader of his pod is the matriarch female, she would depend on Norsk for hunting and navigation. One day the pod of five narwhals was threatened.

They were off the Newfoundland coast when a great white shark came out of the deep. It had been apparently stalking the pod. The narwhal’s first instinct was to separate to confuse the predator but it soon focused on Norsk. He swam as fast as he could, turning here and there to lose the great white. But it was too powerful and Norsk instinctively headed to the ice sheets. It was a smart move as sharks prefer warmer waters. As he looked back the shark disappeared but something bigger had taken its place. It was a giant marlin. Soon it jumped. It was almost as big as the shark. It flashed behind him, its bill slashing like a samurai sword.

Norsk knew that his tusk was no match, being a softer organ. But he also knew the terrain well, and that included the numerous gigantic floating ice. He dived under one. Foolishly the marlin followed. Under the white expanse, Norsk knew exactly where to turn and soon broke the marlin’s chase. After a while he remembered an opening in the ice cover and surfaced for air. What about the lost marlin? It was desperately looking to break the ice surface but soon ran out of air. Norsk turned back to rejoin his pod. On his way back under the ice he saw the marlin in the distant depths, weakened to a state of drowning, its bill circling in random motion. Brains had beaten brawn. But the narwhal had another weapon that would save the pod from other dangers – its echo-locating tusk cum thermometer/barometer. If you’re an arctic scuba diver under the ice, besides the usual precautions you must always know the way to surface for air, as we learned from the marlin. But if you happen to be near breaking ice sheets the danger increases. Norsk and his pod were always swimming round ice floes – their food supplies are always beneath them where zoo-plankton subsists. One day the pod was busy feeding, along with the seals and sea-eagles, grabbing fish from the water surface. Suddenly an orca appeared from nowhere – the hunting party had decided that its favorite seals were worth a grab. Norsk and his pod were not far away under the ice. Then an orca jumped.

It was a hunting tactic – to confuse the seals so that the rest of the orca could close in. But Norsk knew better – the splash from its jump had already reached his tusk as a pressure-wave. However his sensitive tusk detected something else – much bigger. Quick – get out of the ice-sheets! He seemed to shout at the other pod members. So the group of narwhals swiftly disappeared from the ice and dived deep. No sooner had they did that a gigantic piece of the ice mountain cracked open and slid violently into the sea. Some of the sea eagles were even washed under the surface. But it was a timely escape for the narwhals. Even if you are king of the ice, you can never argue with the force of Nature. Blame it on climate change.

Pardon my slowness I’m just a snail

There are about 60 000 species of snails (mollusc gastropoda) living on land and water. The giant African snail weighs a kilogram with a length of 100 mm while the shell of the tiny Augustopilla measures only 0.86 mm. There are tree snails, river snails, sea snails, rock mollusc and of course the garden variety which can be of various specie in different climates and altitude. They can breed quickly – after a monsoon season armies of snails can appear at a creek – much to the delight of many birds and fish (and humans) that feed on them. But not all humans are equally fast mentally or physically.

Between 3 to 10 percent of world human population are regarded as mentally challenged, the actual figures depending the degree of mental retardation. There are about 2% of autistic children born in the world and it is estimated that 3000 to 5000 children are born with Down’s syndrome annually. Humans have a natural disdain for others that are mentally “slower” than themselves and societal competition for top schools and top jobs have little regard for naturally retarded individuals. So the humble snail lives in a world of its own. It eats whatever it can find, such as algae, decaying vegetables or flesh and moves slowly to where it can survive (and reproduce) best. Harvey is one of those and he lives in the garden where a highly autistic 5-year old boy Davie lives.

About the only time when Davie remains de-stressed is when he plays in the garden, alone with all the little creatures he can find. Snails fascinate him. Simply because they are never in a rush to go anywhere. Davie will stare at them, talking softly and feeling the colors of every shell. The snails would withdraw quickly into their so-called skeletons, but would slowly reappear when Davie offers a small piece of cabbage which his mother kept in a box. So Davie plays with several at a time – a turban-shell, a hermit crab and several freshwater snails. Autism seems to do very well in a slow-moving, silent world with peaceable, quiet crawlers. Then one day Davie, in tears, came from the garden to her mother in the kitchen.

“I can’t find Harvey”, he said softly, head drooping. Well, lets go find together, her mother comforted. So leading him by the hand they looked and looked. After a while her mother spotted a shell wedged between two branches high on the papaya tree. Halvey is having fresh papaya juice today, proclaimed the mother. With a ladder, it was dislodged and placed in a cage so that Davie would not lose sight of it. Now make sure you feed Harvey, or else he’ll starve said the mother to Davie. So daily, Davie would go out cabbage leaf in hand to feed. It wasn’t long after that Davie came into the kitchen again. He had a serious look. “Halvey is not eating – I think he’s unhappy.” Well wouldn’t anybody be happy staying in a cage, her mother rejoined. So Davie tied a long string onto Halvey’s shell and leashed him to a tree. Happily Davie would look for Harvey at the end of the leash and they both went on famously together. On Sundays, they would go for a walk further out the garden. Davie would patiently wait for Harvey to snail along for a meter before taking a step. Sometimes he would climb up a branch and Davie would wait for Halvey to feed on something else. One time Harvey started digging the ground and Davie thought nothing of it. It was the raining season. Several days later when it was dry again Davie came looking. He was surprised and yelling for her mother. Surrounding Harvey were several other snails and they seemed to be bunched together. He rushed to the kitchen to report. After a quick look the mother calmly said. “Davie, Halvey is making babies. And another thing Harvey is a girl. See – she has many boyfriends. Let her alone and we’ll see what happens a few days later.”

Davie’s mother may not be entirely right. You see, many snail species are hermaphrodites – they are capable of producing sperms and eggs in their bodies and are hence able to self-fertilize, without the need for girlfriends or boyfriends. How nice ! – did I hear some teenager say? But the practice of bunching together in such an orgy of reproduction may be a strategy of gene-diversification. However it is fraught with danger. Firstly many spear themselves in the process and may hurt their own internal organs. And secondly, as any experienced humans know, the act of reproduction throws caution to the wind and snails have many predators waiting at the show to pounce in such vulnerable moments. What of Davie? As a curious 5-year old he could not pass up the opportunity of learning. So he borrowed his grandfather’s magnifying glass. For hours he saw things that will make many a lady blush, but Davie didn’t know better. So he ran to his grandfather. “Grandpa, please come to the garden – I’d like to show you something.” So grandpa obliged, bending down his creaky frame to peer through the lenses. “So are they having a good time at the party?”, Davie asked innocently. Yes, a mighty good time the grandfather replied, with a smirk on his face. Yep, those were the days, he quipped to himself, out of earshot.

Patience, concentration and a sense of wonder – Davie learned these from a humble snail. As he grew older he knew that he’ll have to learn separation as his grandpa said snails will at best live up to three years. That summer Davie fell sick and had to rest from a cold. For two weeks he could not venture into the garden to see or walk his friend. As soon as he recovered his mother let him out and he looked anxiously for Harvey. After pulling in the long leash he was horrified to find there was nothing at the end. On the ground was Harvey’s empty shell. A bird has probably taken Harvey, his mother explained. But don’t cry now, he’s had a good life, as the mother hugged the sobbing Davie. It was a sober moment for both, because not long later the grandpa passed on. Davie had been prepared for bereavement from a snail.

Courage is from the heart

The raccoon is generally shy, secretive and unfriendly. They are secretive by their habit of theft and banditry. And their bite in defense can be worse because of the rabies that if spread to humans are hardly curable. So the furtive behavior of raccoons to steal things is characterized by the “mask” of fur on its face – like the incognito Zorro. The raccoon does not show the indomitable spirit the African buffalo does. Especially with a herd of several standing together they are known to discourage a pride of hunting lions. So the buffalo gains courage from numbers, and the fact that their strength and size defies the apex predators. Then what about the warthogs? Their courage is indeed remarkable.

The warthogs (phacochoerus) are known to chase after predators to protect their young. Their horns which can grow as long as 10 cm are formidable weapons. Besides their hide – just like the African buffalo are tough enough to dispel the bites of lions. And what a face! Hard to tell where it begins and end – but you’re well to stay away from the tooth or horn.

A father was trying to teach his son how animals display courage. They went on a safari, binoculars in hand in order to observe, first hand. Once in the lowlands near a creek they saw a leopard made its territorial rounds. It was a solo hunter, as all leopards are. But its next meal was never certain. In the occasional bush it would espy small rabbits and voles and they were never enough for its daily sustenance. So the leopard’s vantage point was a tree from which to smell out its prey. After several hours the sun set and it saw movement in a mound of grass. Raccoons. A family of 5 were out in a night raid, looking for abandon eggs in nests as well as digging for grubs of insects. The leopard lept down the gnarled tree in a fluid movement making as little noise as possible and slouched low in the grass for a moment, sniffing the air to ensure the wind direction would not betray him. Then he crawled forward stealthily, eyeing one raccoon as the target. But just as he got within the killing distance, a flock of heron suddenly took off from the nearby creek. “Run for your lives! every man to himself!”, the raccoons seemed to shout. The leopard stopped in his tracks and flopped down on the grass, defeated for once as the raccoons disappeared into their holes. The father turned to his son and said – “that’s what most people in the world do – run for yourself.” Not a few seconds later the leopard perked up its head as a rustling in the grass could be heard. There among the tall elephant grass a horned head poked out. It was an African buffalo, a shadow of its huge hunk outlined against the sky. The leopard licked his lips. Maybe I can take down just one, he seemed to think. But it was not to be. Out of the bush four beasts lumbered forth, their tails flicking back and forth to chase off the flies buzzing around. One glared at the leopard, having sensed its smell, and made several steps towards it. Emboldened, the other three also strove forward, their horns waving menacingly. Then they flared out in a semicircle towards the leopard, slowly advancing.

The leopard jumped off like a frightened cat and that ended the detente. Then the father said, “Courage in unity.”

The next day the safari party saw the same leopard in the gnarled tree. It was getting dark and it appeared to be really hungry. Then as dust fell, there was a squeal in the bushes. The leopard sat up, determined not to miss a meal this time. Four baby warthogs was playing while the mother was digging up some root nearby. The leopard jumped down softly and crouched. Slowly it made its way toward the unsuspecting family and in a flash caught one of the pups in its jaw. Squeals rang through the night as the leopard made off. What followed was enough to make the watching boy cry. The mother warthog took off after the leopard as the rest of her pups scattered. It was fast, like all hell broke loose. Though smaller than the leopard, it appeared as if the prey was chasing the predator. It was gaining on the leopard who quickly dropped the baby, but not before one of the mother’s horns gored its hinds. Sadly the leopard had to settle with small fare, like rabbits or moles for the night. And the baby? The mother carried it in her jaws back to the litter, almost lifeless. The father turned to his son who was visibly in tears. He would never forget his father’s next words – “Courage comes from the heart.”

Keep the change please – a lesson on temper

Apart from the octopus, there are roughly 300 different species of squids (cephalopods). The largest giant squid is known to be about 13 meters in size while the smallest can be minuscule. But the fascination common to them is the ability to demonstrate bio-luminescence – chromatophores mix two chemicals to produce light as fireflies do and use it either as a defense mechanism, foreplay or to signal territorial aggression. By controlling the size of their skin cells they vary the pattern, or even the color of these luminescence as a message to their predators, potential mate or adversary. Humans too show color in their face in response to emotions but in a much limited way compared to squids, which humans consume, some countries in large quantities. It has been stated (Mayo) that uncontrolled temper can be a health issue and people without proper anger management can stress themselves to ill-health. For someone able to hide their emotions at the right moment requires mental and moral strength and can be an admirable character trait indeed.

“Big” Ben had a traumatic childhood – since birth he often had uncontrollable temper tantrums which carried into his adolescence. All through adulthood he had to rein in his emotions but his passion in everything he does also brought lots of admiration. Ben loves rugby and his first lesson on temper took place in a league game. His large frame as hooker led to numerous dubious contact infringements during scrimmage. In one game he was so incensed with one of his adversary that he became bitterly personal. At the next opportunity he gave such an untimely tackle that the victim had to be carried out. His penalty was to sit out the season. Ben had learnt then never to use his large frame to bully someone weaker. He also had to learn group leadership. So he climbed the corporate ladder steadily and reached the top position in a large corporation, becoming its Chairman and CEO. Certainly his inability to manage his temper can be considered a character flaw not eschewed by many managers but his conviction and passion won the support of his superiors. For some it is a good problem, but still a problem in leadership. It eclipsed at a critical point in his company at a board meeting in deciding its future – a decision that had to be made at the day’s end. The secretary had locked the office door, with a note that it will only be opened at 6 pm when the board must decide.

The meeting proceeded smoothly until a major shareholder started to speak. Ben started to feel uneasy with this “nemesis director” until it reached a boiling point. Unable to control himself any longer he exploded with a hard crash of his fist, threw a few expletives to emphasize his convictions and left the boardroom in a huff. The rest of the directors had seen this before and continued discussions undeterred. After Ben slammed the door he saw the note at the locked door and proceeded to walk around the yawning office, still livid in anger. He was hyperventilating and had to really catch his breath. Then he walked past the aquarium and a curious item caught his eye. There in plain sight was a big fin reef squid, iridescent in all its colors. Its wavy body moved in sync with its tentacles in such peace that it stopped Ben in his tracks, fascinated. All these 5 years in the ornate office he had never noticed the creatures that lived meters away from his desk. The squid started to change colors – tiny dots in its wavy body changed from blue, violet, green and then red. Next to it was the plain female – the male squid was doing a once-in-a-lifetime courtship rites. It went on for 10 minutes and Ben had slowly recovered his composure, clearing his mind for what remains of the day. He turned towards the washroom to refresh himself, and missed the lurid sequence of the squids copulating. As he reentered the boardroom, he bowed deeply. A sudden silence fell. The other directors had never seen Ben done this in apologetic submission. But that 10 minutes break without Ben was truly needed and the subsequent discussions was filled with renewed vision and constructive ideas. The meeting ended dead on 6 pm, everyone with a satisfied look of amity on their faces. The secretary returned finding Ben seated on her chair, staring at the aquarium glass in deep thought. She cleared up for the day and wished her boss good evening to depart. Then just before she closed the door softly she said to her boss. “Ben, make sure you sign the invoice on your desk to replace the Big fin reef squids with new ones, as they will die soon. They will probably save your marriage just as they saved mine.”

Truth stands up when the rooster crows

When does the rooster crow? Does it have an internal clock? Is it naturally sensitive to sunlight? The barnyard rooster cannot help but crow when its body senses light again since sunset. Unlike humans animals don’t lie, contrive or conspire an agenda nor betray hidden feelings. They declare themselves whenever their instincts tell them. They don’t play dead and the most deceptive mammals are those who camouflage themselves for survival or predatory action. Humans have been lying since early in creation. Whether blatantly or not, misrepresenting half-truths or spinning a story has been practiced from time immemorial and is second nature even in the highest office in the nation. The sad fact is that only in the most severe conditions, such as when one is under oath are humans subject to punishment. Almost all get away with a rebuke or regarded with suspicion as the punitive outcome. It is ironic that despite the fact that society cannot properly operate without truth and integrity at all levels of daily transactions, not telling the entire truth seems to be acceptable moral standard provided it is not explicitly punishable by law or order. This animal story is about truth and few stories hold such great importance to the health of society today.

The Canadian geese mate for life. So are red crown cranes, wolves, swans, beavers, penguins, bald eagles and orcas. But not the barnyard rooster Attan. It normally keeps a coven of hens and chicks and seems his main job is to reproduce them and do the proverbial crow. He hangs around the poor and remote village of Senribu, Indonesia, when people knew the time to wake up by his 7am crow. Ahmed is the son of Darmojo who is the village elder and religious leader. His mother teaches the principles of Islam to the village girls. But 14 year old Ahmed is the prodigious son. He hates religious school and so ekes out a living running the streets. He grew up in the dog-eat-dog culture and became a reprobate cheat and liar. One morning his mother saw him chopping up several coconuts in the backyard. So she asked where did he got them. “Jamal gave them to me”, Ahmed referred to his cousin who lives down the track. The rooster crowed immediately. Without speaking the mother turned to go, noting that 7 am starts her religious class. Then another occasion Ahmed was seen by his father putting on fresh paint on a bicycle on the veranda. Where did you get that bike and why are you painting it? “I found it thrown aside on the roadside and I don’t like the color”, was the reply. The rooster then crowed. Hearing the rooster the father shook his head in disbelief. Just then the loudspeaker hailed for the 7 am prayer and he headed towards the village mosque. So it went on – Ahmed would bring home items like fish, fruits, a football and even a used TV. Each time the family would ask in the morning and he would give some innocent reply and, at every answer the rooster would crow. Until one day he was showing a newly acquired cellphone to Jamal, telling him that he found it dropped near the public lavatory. The rooster crowed twice. Not long later the local police came to Ahmed’s house. Someone had tracked the stolen cellphone on its server and caught Ahmed red-handed. It was 7 am. A quick search of the house followed and the police recovered several other items that Ahmed had stolen. Since Ahmed was the village elder’s son he was let off with only a warning. But Ahmed’s problem grew as he became older.

Truth rooster crows at fake news, salutes truth

Ahmed became the village assistant chief due to his father’s influence. Some people protested having seen Ahmed behaved as a street urchin. But Ahmed held on. Years passed. Indonesia’s economy grew and many villages started modernizing by building flush toilets and electricity from solar power. When Senribu village’s turn to start these projects someone discovered something alarming. The village coffers were empty. Somebody had been siphoning all the villagers’ contributions for community development. An urgent village meeting was called at 7 am the next morning. Everyone pointed at Ahmed, the de-facto treasurer. He denied everything. Again the rooster crowed. Twice. It was then that Ahmed’s mother spoke up. She had noticed her son’s flamboyance the last few years in clothing and expensive watches. The village counsel decided to hold an inquiry and by the evening had collected all the evidence of Ahmed’s ill-gotten wealth from receipts he had kept. The counsel brought in Ahmed. Unable to defend himself Ahmed finally broke down and confessed bitterly, saying how difficult his poor background had been for him. In the silence that followed the rooster crowed. It was only 6 pm. For once Ahmed had told the truth.

Flying higher and faster – a lifetime dream of restoring self-esteem

If you like snow and blue mountains someday you should try exploring the Canadian Rockies. Somewhere beyond the magnificent Lake Louise in the Banff and Jasper peaks you might find a hidden valley. There are numerous lakes, some unnamed with a few unpronounceable ones. If you wish to get a little lost, try finding a little enchanted pond-like wetland, so little that it may not qualify to be a lake. That is if you can survive the biting cold and treated for hypothermia, because you can only get there on foot, after leaving your snowmobiles in the foothills. Isolated from most humanity you will find a family on which our story begins. On a frigid winter’s day you’ll probably find nothing but ice and snow. But come spring or summer all manner of waterfowls will congregate in this remote neck of the mountains. Necks, long and slender that stick out from the peripheral saw-grass identifies a flock of giant Canadian geese before they winter south. Strutting noiselessly on the placid water are coots, mallards, teals, widgeons or grebes, their heads tipping under occasionally while waving their behinds cheekily. The darling of the geese, Ethel wants to be first in everything but her mate Adel wants everything else. Ambition verses need. They are as different as day and night. You see Ethel was born strong and healthy and well groomed by her loving parents. Adel was born with a bent claw due to an accident few days after birth. But as often in real life the unlikely pair met and coupled right after they weaned into adults. Here in this unknown lake Ethel trained to rise from the water fast in a running sweep while Adel had to land without tumbling over from his misshapen web. If you think that is easy for birds wait till graduate school. When geese reach terminal speeds aerodynamics constrain them to fly in V-formation to optimize energy for the flock. The point bird however takes roughly 50% more drag, besides navigation. So in the long haul the others will rotate point position with the leader. Rather than lead Adel always wants to fly higher, because from small he had to struggle constantly to stay abreast with the flock. Ethel doesn’t mind lower, as long as she’s in front, but she really loves to fly. Adel’s mother had a hard time hatching him that winter of his birth. From a gosling he had this mental block perhaps transmitted to him during his mother’s anguish to raise him. Ethel however grew up fast mentally and physically – enjoying being leader of the flock and often the first taking the lead position. Whenever it was Adel’s turn to take over the lead he would sway with the wind-stream, unsure and clumsy with a mental torture to overcome. Through the years, Ethel was a natural leader and gives confidence to every bird in the flock. Adel? Well because he had to struggle at every turn, he became determined to succeed and his ambition knew no bounds. “Just watch me! One day I will lead the flock and surprise those who mock me every time I fly!” But the harder he tries, the greater the obstacles seem to become. Its like he’s fallen off the rails in life – struggling to get out of the groove from his bad start which haunts and curses him at every endeavor.

Geese fly long distances in their migration cycles – easily a quarter way round the globe. But why? Feeling the incoming cold of winter is not as compelling to leave as the absence of food like insects and greens. It is estimated that there are 4-6 million giant Canadian geese in North America but at the turn of the century (1950) they were near extinction due to over-hunting. They are mainly herbivores and are quite protective of their goslings.

However geese are easily taught by humans to be beggars, now that their numbers have extended to parks and near human dwellings. And Adel soon found that out. Every time the flock stops over and rest where humans are, he would depend on the easy scraps. He had become accustomed to bagged crispies. The greedy ones eat from junk thrown by thoughtless tourists while the healthier birds would look for greens or fish. “Adel, eat your veggies!”, Ethel would shout out at the gaggle running after the tourists, but Adel had just turned Indian, addicted to chili enchilada chips. But it brings us to a question. What do birds, or for that matter all living creatures do for a living? Do they actually have ambition and self-esteem?

The truth seems to be that all living things have two basic activities in life –food and sex. An overwhelming proportion of life is given to food for sustenance to keep the metabolism going. When the geese are flying, they need energy. Food is thus the cause but more food is the resulting need. You’d have thought humans are different. But the facts remain. From birth most of us have little choice of how life should be lived. The mental and physical formative years fly by with schools, sports and skills. At the back of our minds was always the agenda of the future and the endless train of preparation, tests and qualifications rolled on. We compete, excel and compete again, until we reach a stage of obsolescence and frailty. Why? So that we can live independently and comfortably with adequate food and sustenance. Ambition comes from wanting more of it and fame or admiration often complements that need. Some would disagree to say their life’s objective is to serve and do some noble cause. Sure, there are poor artists, missionaries, musicians or even golfers whose priorities are not food nor wealth, but that is their choice, after they had attained the minimum for life. We blindside ourselves forgetting that until we have the basic avenue of self-sustenance we cannot even begin to think. But unlike animals, humans have the ability to decide when we have enough and reverse the need from getting to giving. Back to Adel. He needed all he can get like the rest of his flock, more so because of his limitations. Who cares if food can be easily taken from humans. Then there’s the other activity. All living things from the humble worm to humans are normally born to reproduce. Somewhere and sometime in their DNA the process starts and culminates in adolescence. You might say, even for some mammals the process of forming the next generation becomes a matter of life and death. It is a bane for some developed countries when failure of a population to reach replacement rate threatens economic survival. Even politics struggle with replacing itself. And reproduction do have a run-out date.

So one early spring the flock, as if knowing what to do in one mind took off in the easterly direction from their home lake. They landed in a nearby larger body of water to wait for summer. Some of them had started to shed their feathers. Weeks went by with the warmth and other birds were even shedding their wing tips. It’s the molting season. As summer came fully, the flock was only able to swim around. Though less heavy flight was impossible. But with much food available in summer this renewal process is assured. By midsummer the birds started to show signs of mating, kick-started by hormones designed in their DNA. Ethel and Adel had their work cut out, having reached the third year of growth. A series of events followed and soon the couple started jury duty – Ethel sitting on her clutch of 4 eggs to see if life can begin again. Adel would strut around to guard against invaders or trespassers. But like humans, animals also have their disappointments in love and marriage. Summer came and went, but the eggs failed to hatch. So that fall Adel decided to take a year off. Ethel soldiered on, wintering alone that year. Spring rolled around and that summer following Adel came back to join the flock, after the molting season. He found Ethel, still alone, sitting on another clutch of eggs! Such is the force of Nature. Despite monogamous geese, in the animal kingdom there are no adultery, cheating or affairs whatever and no marital claims against infidelity. Adel just got on with the hatching, playing guard as usual while Ethel tried for the adopted eggs. That autumn they celebrated two young chicks. If you think Adel should have been crushed again as a failed father, you might have a lesson here from the birds. He actually felt more confident and rewarded – it was the path out of his lowest self-esteem. Why? Because he did what needed to be done without the fuss if they had been humans. Adel would do that again in the following autumn and it was his life’s greatest achievement.

It was the hunting season – in North America that means anytime of the year…The flock was in its usual wintering journey, Ethel leading the arrow South. Standing in the tall wheat farms were two hunters, their scope focused on the leader. Then just before the trigger pull, suddenly a rear goose surged to the front, moving Ethel to the rear. The shot went off and the leader wheeled off towards the earth. Ethel stayed with the flock, shaken and not knowing what happened. But she knew she must stay the course – the way Adel overcame his low self esteem. So when the hunters came to pick up the fallen goose, one of them noticed it had a misshapen claw.

End of Volume I