SCARF4

(continued from SCARF3 mktyap@copyright)

My bats your bet

Bats can seem ugly to most. Hanging and draped with their skinny wings they look like miniature foxes with oversized, quivering ears and flashing white teeth. Or an upside-down Dracula. However there are about 1200 different species of chiropteran. Some are insectivores, others are fruit-eating, and there’s the notorious vampire that feeds on blood. If you do not consider them dainty creatures to be your pet, you will even be put off by the fact that one species is known to carry a form of the Ebola virus, since they are ready hosts to many pathogens. Yet they make their homes unobtrusively in caves and roof overhangs. Being nocturnal, the house bat feeds at night mostly on fruits of their choice, but not every fruit in sight. The Chinese regard bats as harbinger of good things – so they cannot be all that bad as reputation would dictate. The longevity figure in the Fu Lu Shou painting is surrounded by five bats that portend good luck, life, health, happiness and holding peaches that signify wealth and fertility. Early in the morning they will return from their night forages, hanging outside quietly after you’ve left for work. Then when you return home after sunset they’re gone, collecting fruit and nuts around the neighborhood. You wouldn’t have noticed their presence, except for the reek of manure that rise from the landing. In some countries their droppings, or guano, are collected as fertilizers, where millions of bats live in caves.

Tom loves animals, including bats. He tolerated a family of bats in the attic for one main reason. When Debbie, his wife was sick, a pair of bats came from nowhere and hanged their presence outside Debbie’s window. But when she was away for hospital stay, the bats would also vanish somewhere, until she returned to her room. Tom jokingly used to refer them to his visitors as Debbie’s guardian angels. As time went on two became four. But since they remained outside the aircon room, Tom just needed to wash off their droppings each evening, when bats leave to find food. Years passed and Debbie became weaker. Eventually all medical treatment failed. After she died Tom was completely devastated and took no notice of the surroundings. Weeks later while doing house chores he looked up the roof overhang. The bats also departed. The angels have nothing to guard now, he said to himself. Or so he thought. One time while he was cleaning the kitchen he saw them, two juveniles. This cannot be, he thought – they would infest the entire house, in which now he lives alone. So he drove them off. Months passed, and occasionally he saw the bats returned, but not for long. That he could live with, until one day he went to the attic – a rarely visited place. Outside the folding door, hanging merrily from the roof was a family of thirteen. And the droppings were beginning to stain the parkey floor. So Tom tried many means – insecticide spray, leaving a lamp on, generating high frequency signals – they would work a while, but they would return after the irritation is gone. Tom sighed to himself, half giving up getting rid of them. Maybe I should believe them as sources of luck, wealth and fertility, as the Fu Lu Shou paintings depict, he thought. So he let the non-paying guests alone, throwing out their guano periodically. Tom didn’t realized that that decision would have a cataclysmic effect on his life, as predicted by the ancient Chinese.

First a calamity in life. A series of back luck caused him to accidentally run over his dogs, his only constant companions. He was held up coming home and hurrying in the dark to meet them, he didn’t realized they had escaped their cages. Secondly a calamity in wealth. While he slept a burglar stole a large amount of cash. Never happened for the last forty years that he slept with his doors unlocked. Then some of his investments failed. As regard to fertility? Nothing to speak of. So Tom was ready to throw the Chinese fables out the window. Until one Christmas.

He was cleaning up his attic, leaving the folding door ajar to air the room. A bag of mahjong pieces fell out from storage, spilling the pieces over the floor. Thinking nothing of it, he left for lunch. When he returned, a curious sight greeted him. Pieces of mahjong numbers were neatly lined up on the floor with the numbers 7 3 2 6 8 9 in a row. He looked around and confirmed there was nobody in the house, except the bats, hanging outside the door, chirping sheepishly, their bodies jostled like folded umbrellas. Again dismissing it as nothing he continued repacking items to discard, then went to the restroom. When he returned he was stumped. The pieces of numbers on the floor were rearranged – this time it was 3 2 6 4 5 1. Curiosity aroused, Tom made a note of the numbers and left the room again, to the bats. When he returned he found the numbers changed. This he did eight times and collected a set of different six digit numbers, all generated by no one else but the bats. Now Tom is not superstitious but his golfing caddie is. Tom jokingly passed the numbers to him. A week later his caddie announced he won the lottery thrice with his bat-generated numbers. Tom could not make out what is this new found luck with his house guests. But today if you come visit him, he is still wondering whether he ought to bet on his bats, or his life not withstanding. Oh, by the way it is not clear how Tom’s caddy massaged his numbers to win the lotteries, but you can be assured that none of it has won any yet today.

The bear who loves – to hug

Anyone who suddenly comes upon a bear in the forest have cause to fear. The grizzly, fully grown can strike in defense to easily break your jaw or any other bones. Yet bears have been made in cuddly toys and lovable television icons. How so? Not all bears have the same temperament. The Kodiak, Black, Brown or the Polar bear can behave quite differently from the sun, moon, sloth bear or the panda. Basically the carnivore tend to be mercurial in character compared to the more docile herbivore. Like all animals, they prefer to go on their own business and domain. We tell the story of an unusual Kodiak who loves humans. Koddy, as we shall call him takes to trees, specifically tree barks, on which he leaves his scent for territorial and mating purposes. From young, he would climb trees, hugging them close to reach young shoots, or honey found under the barks.

Sandy works at the Rocky Mountain wildlife facility up north, next to the Alaskan border. Her research is on bears and their sustainable effect on the vegetation, particularly trees and their barks. Sometimes she’d spend hours in the open, with her field glass or video cam, tracking the behavior of a bear species and their family. One late afternoon she was about to pack up for the day to walk to her jeep, discreetly parked some distance away. As she turned she froze – an eight foot Kodiak loomed before her, no more than a meter away. Holding back a choked scream, her immediate instinct was to turn and run. But her background knowledge stopped her – he’s too close to flee from. So she stood rigid holding her breath, not even dropping her gear she was carrying. Then a startling thing happened. The bear approached slowly, sniffing as he walked, upright. Sandy could smell his breath and his musky fur. Then as if she was a tree, the bear hugged her. Sandy could not think how to react as no textbook could. But her maternal instincts kicked in and she started to try to purr affectionately and whisper to his ears gently, as if meaning no harm. After some tense moments, Koddy suddenly walked off nonchalantly, leaving Sandy standing there rigid as a trunk. Then she bend down and noticed the smell of urine. That evening in her camper she entered the most interesting log in her career. But something stirred in her. Why did he do that? Wasn’t it an instinct of bears to avoid humans? She was determined to find Koddy again as a subject of study. And he deserves a special collar.

So for the next several weeks she scoured the area for her love-bear. But no luck. Sandy even wore the same set of jeans, unwashed, hoping that the smell of his urine would bring him running back. But she had to be careful, because she did not remember any distinguishing mark to recognize Koddy – a mistake might prove disastrous. Except when she was holding him momentarily she thought she could feel a scar on his back – but it could very well be some other irregularity of his fur. After winter set in Sandy stopped looking, as he was likely to be hibernating in some cave.

Fall came around, then spring. Sandy could see from her field glass many Kodiak bears come and go in the area she met Koddy, but she had no way to confirm. In frustration, she decided to set a field camera, leaving her marked jeans to bring Koddy into view.

Some days later she reviewed the tape.  There were several bears and many other animals who came by. But nobody stopped by her jeans. In fact some bears even ran from it. After several attempts reloading her camera she caught two bears on tape. Each urinated on her jeans before leaving. And she thought one had a band of white fur on the back but the image was not clear. Anyway she was delirious – she found her bear, or so she thought. She was even more determined to find Koddy – to find why the wild bear formed a natural affinity for humans.

That summer she worked doubly hard. Then one day she hit the jackpot. From her field glasses she spotted a Kodiak that approached and sniffed her jeans for some time. Then as he turned there was a white band on the back. She rose excitedly, bringing a GPS collar to approach Koddy. As she neared him, not 10 meters away he turned around surprised and the unexpected happened. He stood up tall, baring his teeth and snarled. Then he shook his head and paws, growled and rushed to attack Sandy. At about the same time two cubs appeared from behind the bushes. Sandy gasped. It’s a she, not a he – that’s not Koddy! This time she turned to run but the bear was quicker. Just when the female bear was about to strike Sandy another ferocious roar came from behind them. Another Kodiak – bigger than the pursuer appeared. Koddy! The female bear stopped just in time to let Sandy escape and turned back to protect her cubs. For the next few seconds both bears were locked in a fight, snarling and scratching. Female bears must protect her cubs from male bears because the male kills in order to mate with the mother. But Koddy had no such intentions. He let the female ran off with her cubs and gently approached the shaken Sandy. She stood rigid, almost in tears. Then he hugged her. Sandy tenderly put the collar on and stroked him. There was a big scar running across his lower back. Then again he casually wandered into the forest as Sandy half raised her hand trying to wave goodbye.

From that day on, Koddy would occasionally visit Sandy at the wildlife center. He would be friendly to humans, sitting next to any who would stroke and feed him. And Sandy?  She completed her thesis on her study of bears and trees, and the unusual bear hugs. And about that scar? Maybe that’s the reason why Koddy gets to like humans. We’ll get to hear about it someday.

King of cubs, King of Hearts

He is a six year old katanga, a sub-species of the panthera leo.  Domiciled in Southwest Africa, he fathered a litter of four lively cubs. Kim loves children. All day he’ll play with half a dozen frisky cubs, some belonging to other males, as the lionesses were kept busy hunting, unless they manage to land a large buffalo. Some cubs would pull at his long, flowing mane or ears, while others jump on his tail’s bunched fur, playing catch, while he flicked it here and there. One even found joy in biting at his long whiskers as he yawned open his cavernous jaws. Naturally lazy Kim would like to run around with them, but having six clambering all over is energetic enough. At the end of the day with the cubs tired from play, he would lick them in turn and sometimes coddled them near while they slept.

The male lion has been called the king of beast but actually they seem a lazy lot. Mainly because they give up the initiative of hunting to the females – their splendid manes give them away to prey. Although lackadaisical they do have incidental duties – like protecting their territory (and their pride of females) and sometimes lend their size to take down larger prey, after they’ve been hunted. They take first bite of the booty and often laze around, watchful only of usurping males that rob the harem and basically their lives. Like body builders with their magnificent muscles what good can they do you might ask? Well they provide the means to start their off-springs, sometimes 3 to 4 cubs at a time. But finding a good father in their world is quite a rarity. Kim is the exception.

One day the outcome of a hunt showed the tenderness of the lion’s heart. A herd of impala was surrounded by the lionesses, among them a mother with a baby, not more than a week old. The attack was swift, resulting in the killing of the mother. The calf, petrified was bleating for mercy. But one of the lioness that was lactating refused to kill the calf, instead started protecting the terrified calf from the other lionesses. As the others approach to savage the bleating calf, she would carry it in her mouth out of harm’s way. When Kim approached and saw the mortified calf, he seem overcame by compassion. Then the strangest thing happened. Kim and the lactating lioness started to treat the calf as one of the cubs. So the calf was nursed by the lioness and protected by Kim from the rest of the pride. Even in play, the calf started to behave like the rest of the cubs around Kim. Time passed and the calf weaned, earlier than the rest of the cubs. Then Kim did an astonishing thing. He started pushing the calf out of the pride. For some reason he seemed to know, that if the calf remain any longer within the pride, even he will not be able to protect it from harm. So the calf had to leave and somehow rejoin the impala herd. Without a herd he was sure to fall prey to predators. Fortunately a game warden noticed and relocated it to a zoo after tranquilizing him. No sooner that Kim excoriated the impala he faced a challenge to his throne. A young male lion, one of two borne to another pride wandered into Kim’s territory. A showdown was inevitable and had to be decisive – the lives of the six cubs were at stake. But it didn’t take long. Despite his tenderness to the young Kim showed a ferocity and regal posture with his dark mane, enough to fend off the challenge without a fight. How did Kim became such a beast of brawn and heart? He wasn’t like so from birth, in fact he started badly.

If a male cub is born among females, his future is assured, but unfortunately Kim had an older brother. They played well as nursing babies but there would come a day that one must part, or else a potentially deadly contest to lead the pride would arise. Kim grew stronger than his brother but he had a tender heart. He chose to leave than fight, wandering like a ronin for years, finding his own food and hardened by skirmishes with other young lions for territorial supremacy over prey. One day he succeeded in stalking a small gazelle. But as he sprung for the kill, a bear suddenly appeared. It also had intentions for the small deer. Having starved for food, Kim could not retreat but fight. But the Kodiak was equally large. They rolled in the dust, claws and jaws slashing. Then Kim got an upper hand on the bear’s back. One bite from Kim would have ended the bear and the fight. But a shot rang out. Kim paused and turn to run from the rangers,  but not before slashing the bear’s lower back with his powerful paws. After Kim left, the bear turned toward his rescuers.  But instead of attacking them he stood high, paused, sniffed the air in acknowledgement then lumbered off.

By now Kim had developed his fighting skills to face any adversary. So one day, he came upon a pride with an ailing leader. The fight didn’t last long. He chased the aged lion off and took over the pride. Today Kim could reign as long as his strength and age holds up. Sometimes he would look out to the plains, ruminating about Life with baleful eyes. Like why should society be run by the fittest and the smartest? Why should a newborn be branded the rest of his/her life by tests that define their status and future? Even in lion society shouldn’t there be questions of egalitarian ideals? But as long as he’s the king, Kim will continue to play with his kids and strengthen his heart of compassion. And the bear? That’s none other than Koddy, grateful for humans who saved his back.

Enter the lamb, leave the lion

Impalas like antelopes are even-toed ungulates. Although in the same bovid family, they are not like cattle, sheep, buffalo or goats. More like deer or gazelles they are in the lower food chain among the wildlife of Africa and Eurasia. We’ve heard the story of the baby who was adopted by a lactating lioness after his mother was killed as prey.  This is a continuation of his story after he was saved from the pride and transferred to a zoo. While there he had an identity problem. Seeing sheep, goats and deer, he somehow felt he was none of these. He was after all a young impala, no bigger than a lamb. But a lion inside. So while the other deer or gazelles walked around, he would hide behind a tree lurking, then pounce on the startled deer as if playing like a lion cub. After some time, the bemused zookeepers decided that they should release him to the wild, to live with a normal herd of impalas, and be one of them again. They named him Sana and tagged him appropriately. So Sana grew from a young buck to be a full size alpha male in a herd. He learned to graze grass and moved with his herd, even showing some mating instincts. Life was uneventful – until one day a pride of hunting lionesses eyed the herd.

As expected the entire herd could sense danger as the hunters crouched near. But to Sana the smell of lions approaching did not mean danger – instead it was playtime. So when the lionesses charged at the herd, Sana which was the furthest from the predators ran towards one of them, while the rest of the herd flee the other way. Then came a strange phenomenon. The lioness who was used to seeing prey running away from her saw a bull-like animal charging towards her, horns pointed low. She froze for a moment surprised. Then she turned around and ran to escape instead. Can you imagine a lion running away from its prey? Meanwhile luckily for Sana the other lionesses were busy chasing the rest of the herd. He was just as confused why the lioness didn’t stop to play. So he trotted back to his herd. However Sana still felt different from them.

One day he wandered from the herd as usual, to a mountainside. Out of the sub-alpine bush a ptarmigan, with white down feet stepped out, followed by several lively chicks. Sana was enthralled by the chicks as he lifted his head from the grass. Then as he walked nearer to them, sniffing the air, a cry rang out from above. Out of the sky a mountain hawk eagle swooped down to attack the mother. Sana felt like this had happened before in his life. Instinctively he sprung upwards toward the eagle. This saved the mother ptarmigan as the chicks darted back into the bush. Then he did something quite unthinkable for an impala. He roared. Except the resulting sound was a bleating of the deer. Outside he’s still a deer – but inside he felt like a lion. Walking head high he rejoined his troop. The chicks ran to follow him but the ptarmigan mother corralled them with her wings, softly clucking.

My pigeon is home

Feeding pigeons gives one a strange sense of tranquility. Feeding anything would. They would coo around, strutting here and there, heads bopping forward for the crumbs you throw. Some would give you a sideways look, tilting their heads skywards expecting your next move so as to beat others to the morsel. There are 42 genera and 310 species of the colombidae family, of which the domestic and the wild rock pigeons have homing ability, flying up to 1800 km. Messenger pigeons provide one-way postal services in rough terrains and in war. We hear the story of the pigeon that made her arduous journey home.

There was this lonely man, lovesick and longing for a damsel during the medieval period when wars abound. Nothing unusual, except the girl he longed for lived over the range of mountains in the enemy camp. And that’s a typical story too – the one you love is often hard to get, doesn’t care for your attention, or is simply unavailable. So Damien had to make the first move and the best way was to write a note. He first met her at a trading post where they shared a love of pigeons. In the light of circumstances he could only use pigeon-mail but it was fraught with several inconveniences and not a few challenges. First he had to have his faithful pigeon delivered to his target of attention, accompanied with an introductory note of intent. Then he had to hope and pray that she would show some interest and willingness to communicate. Not email, airmail or even regular post mind you, the effort needed to hide the caged pigeon who had come from enemy land and to respond to a strange man’s advances whom she hardly knew was epic. Talk about sexual harassment today – compared to medieval romancing it’s like will-o’-the-mist. Then the challenges – guards would shoot at any approaching pigeons if they could not be identified as allies rather than spies. Even before reaching the guards the messenger pigeon could become easy meals for hawks, kites, peregrines or such birds of prey during their passage home. No predator in receipt of a note of love will find any use of it, let alone understand it’s content. But Damien’s was a lucky pigeon. First it was safely smuggled behind enemy lines without detection – even in a cage. Secondly the bird’s threatened life was worth something in the damsel’s good graces to accept the note. So out of curiosity she responded with a return mail of introductory interest and send the pigeon on its way. So far so good.

As the love pigeon winged it’s way out of the damsel’s castle a palace guard raised his arrow to aim at it, then lowered it as he noticed the correct color of its message tied to its leg – purple for today. Soon it floated upwards to cross the mountain range toward home. But where is home and how to get there? Scientists in modern times have conducted experiments as to how homing pigeons navigated themselves. An initial guess was the position of the sun at day and of the stars at night. A blindfolded pigeon put an end to that. What about temperature and humidity? But the pigeon didn’t err summer or winter and so it must be something else. Trade winds?  But the pigeon still homes on where winds don’t prevail. Eventually the experimenters were able to attribute it to the earth’s magnetic field. Tiny variations of its intensity was detected by the pigeon over different latitudes as modified by tidal variations longitudinally. This was confirmed when the pigeon lost its bearings after a tiny magnet was attached to its neck. But danger still abound for our feathered messenger. As it approached the foothills a peregrine kite descended rapidly. It quickly dived into a thick bush. For a while the kite flew around the bush, but it’s size prevented it from reaching into the branches where the pigeon perched. As long as it stayed patient within it would be safe. After a while, the wind picked up, followed by a sudden downpour. The kite, soaked thru it’s feathers finally gave up the siege. Still so far so good.

So it flew on, north-ward and its master’s village walls came into view. But it was wearing the enemy’s color on its leg. Just then, a large army of heavily armed guards marched past below, with numerous iron chariots. Suddenly the pigeon turned south – in the opposite direction of home. What happened? Somehow its magnetic sensors malfunctioned as the mass of iron-clad movement distorted earth’s weak magnetic field around it. After a while it was far enough from the moving mass and it corrected the course north. But it was still wearing enemy colors – the friendly color that day was green. As she neared the master’s tower an arrow shot passed. Wheeling unstable, she rushed towards the master’s open window. Shoosh! Another arrow came and bounced off her tired body. Ouch! The pigeon stumbled into the master’s room and fell lifeless at his feet. Damien excitedly scooped up the tired bird, mouth opened and panting. Lovingly he nursed it in its cage with water and gently unfastened the purple colored letter from its feet. Before he could look at its contents guards were banging at his door. Fortunately he could prove that he was no spy. But he had to show his love letter to prove so. It said:

Thank you for your interest in me. It’ll be nice to get to know you but…(the words following were blurred by rainwater which soaked through)

Excited but disheartened for not being able to read the full message, Damien smuggled another message with his love pigeon, proposing to meet her at the trading post where he first espied her. He waited and waited.  After a long time his pigeon returned safely. It carried no note.

One day he happened to be at the trading post and out of the corner he saw her again. His estacy was short-lived. She was heavily pregnant with child.

How Panda became vegetarian

The world wildlife fund (WWF) has a giant panda as its insignia. Naturally found in Central China the endangered ailuropoda specie is closest to the red panda, similar except for the fur color. Its population number about two to three thousand (2014) but only 239 in captivity in China, while 49 live in zoos elsewhere. Like all bears its diet is about 90% vegetarian, but the panda prefers bamboo. Why? One study suggested that in their millenia past they lost the use of the meat tasting gene (Tas1r1) when meaty preys died out. Or is it because of a story we are about to hear?

Xiao An was the great, great ancestor of today’s giant panda.  Weighing as much as a small elephant he would have been twice as big and taller than those in China today. As ferocious as the Grey bear he was carnivorous and would have no hesitation to take down deer, squirrels or land fowls. About 2 million years ago predators roam the land fighting for livestock, and we can presume Xiao An was amply equipped with sharp claws and  large incisors. Yet he had the gene of gentleness as a panda. He loved to play. And his playmate was also his soulmate. Then his favorite food was not yet bamboo but a small vole that lived among the shoots.

But Xiao An had to compete for the voles. There were owls, various eagles and hawk species, foxes and martens and of course the regular brown bears who share the forest. He had to grab a vole, stoat or pika quickly as it emerge from its hole before an owl swoops on to it. Or he had to fight off a crafty fox hiding behind the bushes to ambush his prey.

One hot summer voles were hard to come by. Xiao An had not eaten for a day. His mate hasn’t been hunting either as a litter of two cubs were constantly suckling. Night fell and still there were no squirrels, mouse, or birds to fill his aching stomach. As the evening drew on Xiao An saw a rustle in a nearby bush. Then a fox appeared. He readied himself to pounce. But atlas another bear appeared, a large grizzly. Xiao An knew he was no match, but still he pounced. He got the fox but now the grizzly had him. They rolled in the dust claws and fangs slashing. Soon Xiao An limped off, vanquished and hungrier than ever. He stumbled to his home tree and laid down clumsily. He felt a softness under him. Oh no! He had accidentally crushed one if his cubs in the dark. Sniffing at its lifeless form he did the only thing nature compelled him to. He devoured his cub. Though his hunger abated a strange feeling came over him. Why? Must I eat him, my baby? Even more distressing his mate came near, sniffed his jaws and let out a most hideous groan. Why? For the next few days Xiao An didn’t eat. He got thinner and thinner and his scrawny hide hanged down forlornly. Then unknowingly he stumbled to a bush and bit at the leaves. It wasn’t as good as meat but it was not revoking. He took another bite, and another, chewing slowly to let the sap in. For the next few hours he took in the bamboo shoots, chewing at the stalks. His mate watched in earnest and soon followed. In the weeks that followed the pair started to discover the benefits of a fiber diet. No more toothache as the fiber diet reduced oral bacteria. Their bowels even improved in regular movement. Most of all there was no need to hunt. Whenever a grizzly or some adversary came to hunt voles they would move away, preferring the bamboo. But there was a problem. They could not go very far from the bamboo clumps and must control their diet to ensure a steady growth of what was then their stable food. Sure, once in a while a small animal or bird would find its way to their diet, even insects. But the bamboo loving gene of the peace-loving panda have started the world’s first organic health food – for bears.

Busy beaver – its more than work

How many river or sea coast mammals can you name? Otters differ from beavers as they are carnivores but beavers whose diet consists of roots, leaves and twigs build dams. Seals and walruses are not as aquatic in that they have to return to the waters for nourishment and like otters they almost always live on fish or crustaceans. There are 13 different known species of otters while there’s only the North American and Euro-asiatic beavers. Besides beavers are rodents and behave like so along the riversides. A hard-working rodent changing the environment to a more livable space for themselves. We now look at the first water engineers of the earth and their busy work ethic.

Paddy, a male beaver makes his home along the banks of Chattooga, a tributary of Tugaloo river in North Carolina. He dives in and out of his lodge, moving branches and nibbling at roots. Paddy is especially busy between June to November when a string of hurricanes would hit the US mainland. First there was Matthew, then Florence in 2018.

So one late summer Paddy, busy as usual was restoring the dam pile that was partially washed away by the latest hurricane. As he glided there and here he heard a thrashing near the river bank upstream. Approaching cautiously he found a large alligator embroiled tightly in a Gill net. Fearsome and probably hungry for him, Paddy swam around, keeping a safe distance. Then a strange compassion came over him. But he did nothing, instinct being the winner. However he decided to get closer. For a moment he caught the alligator’s eyes. It opened and closed, obviously petrified, as it would surely drown as a matter of time. But after their eyes met Paddy swam off. Don’t tamper with a carnivore 20 times his weight, with bone crushing jaws. After all he’s got work to do – much. Several days later Paddy passed the same spot while looking for more driftwood. There it was, sunk a little deeper with the Gill net wound even more tightly to some heavy bough. Alligators can stay bound without food for days, but now oxygen is the problem. Paddy came closer and now looked into those tired eyes again. This time it seemed forlorn, giving up all hope for life, or a beaver meal. Paddy got quickly to work. His sharp incisor teeth did quick work cutting through nylon as easily as the toughest of roots. Soon with one mighty trash the alligator broke free – as Paddy also took off as fast as his padded tail could propel. He knew that a starving alligator will eat even a good Samaritan.

So Paddy remained busy pushing wood and cutting branches to stand the ever changing gush of river tides with each hurricane. And he also had several pups to keep. One evening he had to swim out to divert a group of driftwood that was crashing into his lodge entrance. While straining against the current he failed to notice a large silvery form dashing toward him in the water. It was a monster garfish – the biggest river fish predator, with razor sharp rows of front teeth. It snapped and could easily cut Paddy’s baseball bat tail in two, but Paddy beat it in a split second. However can he out swim it? As it was closing in Paddy thought he heard a loud thrashing near his pursuer. Something else was stalking the garfish behind. Without pausing to find out he quickly dived under and into the safety of his lodge, where the entrance is underwater. Who could have given him the slip to escape the ferocious fish? Could it be the alligator he saved?

The next day he proceeded towards the spot where the rescue occurred. There he was again! Lying near the bough just like the time he was stuck, but this time without the nefarious net. Paddy kept his distance, unsure whether he would be rewarded with villainy in return for his brave act. The alligator was still, eyes closed. Paddy glided by and as soon as he neared the head the alligator’s large eyes suddenly opened, like the scene from Avatar. Paddy was shocked and spurt off with his tail splashing like an outboard motor. But the giant reptile stayed still, it’s eye glistened with gladness that his river friend was safe. And his stomach bloated with the garfish he hunted the day earlier.

Tonari Ippon – the drinking bulldog

Dogs should not normally eat human food – their body metabolism do not favor the ingestion of salt, pepper or other spices that routinely embellish human fare. Grapes are well touted to be toxic to them although it is not entirely clear why, compared to bears that love them. There is also the cautionary injunction against dogs drinking beer, even though it has not been scientifically ascertained the effect of hops or wine on their palate. This is especially relevant to Man’s closest animal friend because of their tendency to eat whatever is available from their masters. Take the case of Craig who owns a French bulldog named Jake. He had him ever since he was a puppy, and like all devoted canines hangs around with his every movement in and out of the house. Craig is a lumberjack and at the end of each work day would flop onto his couch in his sweaty shirt and dusty boots, pint-full of beer in his hand. Jake, as always stares earnestly at everything Craig puts into his mouth. Not even for a second would Jake leave him out of his sight – he would follow him from bed to toilet and until his tractor leaves the gate. As if it was not enough Jake would mirror his master’s movement as much as he could. So if Craig flops on the sofa so would he. Once Craig was painting his gate white when Jake wanted to get into the act as well. He brushed himself all along the paint. Black dog became white. And when he sips from his large tumbler, Jake would lick his licks. So Craig, aware of the deleterious effect of alcohol would place a similar tumbler of water on the end table, and Jake would enthusiastically lap at it every time Craig downs a pint. You can guess by now how greedy Jake has become. He just could not resist every scrap of food Craig has dropped or left behind. Craig could only wish Jake would help him sweat out at the lumberyard for exercise and he hardly had time to run Jake around outside, except for the perfunctory pee at the road side. Craig’s own obesity is reflected in his dog. Ever so often after a tiring day and several pints of beer man and dog would snore together on the sofa. It had become an amusing problem. One day Craig had some family staying over. His fiancee’s father who also loves to drink and eat had to sleep on the large sofa. One late evening Craig was woken up by large snoring coming from the direction of Jake’s basket. Fearing that it might wake up his guest, Craig came downstairs to Jake and gave him a mild kick, and admonishing him not to wake up father. Two hours later the snores returned and again Craig came down to admonished Jake, planning to give him a mild pat in the buttocks. But halfway up the stairs to his bedroom the snores returned. Craig came down to Jake but the dog was wide awake, wondering why his master was so cranky. As Craig turned around he heard his father-in-law snoring loudly.

“Pa,  you owe Jake an apology…”, Craig joked cheekily the next morning. And so Jake enjoyed the playful life without a care in the world – until a burglar came to call.

Craig is a consummate collector of fine wines – among his jeweled selections is the Moet & Chandon Dry imperial and Dom Perignon, champagne that cost nearly $2000 each. He had celebrated so many bottles with friends that instead of throwing out the empty ones he reused them for storing his lumber agricultural chemicals.

One particularly busy day he had been treating some of his premium lumber.  Returning hot and tired at sunset he slumped onto his couch as he was wont to do, but not before casually thrusting the bottles of chemicals on his side table as he downed pints of beer. Not many minutes later he felt hopelessly drunk and fell into a slumber. Jake was lapping at his tumbler of water by mirroring his master’s swigs at the bottle. And as Craig dropped off inebriated Jake also flopped legs in the air on the sofa. Night came and the front door was left ajar, in Craig’s haste to reach for the beer bottle.

The burglar didn’t take long to find the cellar where Craig kept his prized liquor. He grabbed several bottles recognized by their famous labels. Craig was knocked out but Jake was fully awake. However instead of waking his master he growled menacingly at the intruder. The burglar made a hasty retreat while Craig remained in deep slumber. Then as the burglar passed the sofa his keen eye caught the Moet & Chandon labels at the end table. Since it appeared uncorked he couldn’t resist taking several deep swigs at the famous champagne, or so he thought. The next moments saw the burglar rushing out the door retching and vomiting in horror and dropping the stolen haul. Jake just sat down facing the door as the burglar fled. Then he lowered himself flat onto the floor giving out a soft whimper, and thinking how strange humans can behave. Meanwhile his master’s snores wafted over the room ever more loudly.

Orang Tua orang Dua

The word orangutan comes from the Indonesian malay for “a person of the forest”. Coming from either the Bornean or the Sumatra pongo genus, they are red-listed as critically endangered and are fighting an uphill battle now due to the continuing habitat destruction for economic gain. In 2016 only 100,000 remained in the wild, after their Bornean population dropped 82% in 75 years. By 2025 Wikipedia estimated the number to drop to even 47,000. Having reddish hair and four equally long limbs, everything about them appear human, with a face that one could imagine to look like a young human grandma. Foremost among the primates in intelligence, they are observed to have spatial skills and even uses tools for food. Often solitary, babies would cling to mothers till puberty, but their curious demeanor have resulted in their illegal trapping as pets. One trapped year old female was rescued by the Borneo Forestry team. Her name is Annie.

The Forestry staff had been trying to locate her troop. If reunited her chances of surviving in the wild are greater, as well as improving her chances of breeding the endangered specie. But with no visual identification,  it’s hard for humans and Annie was rejected numerous times by different troops. Finally the staff decided to breed her in captivity. If you think matchmaking humans are tricky orangutans can be challenging. So the first candidate was a 2 year old male called Daub. Like all males, he got excited when Annie came into heat, jumping up and down squealing. Then he conscientiously build a nest – orangutan nests are just bundles of leafy branches rolled into a ball on a tree branch, usually high in the tree. But Annie showed no interest, just hanging out on a limb several branches away from her agitated suitor. After many attempts and weeks later Daub gave up and retired to another tree, leaving the empty nest. Annie was willing to return to her cage to be near her human guardian. At least food and water was guaranteed, and shelter from the monsoon rains. The next time she came into heat, the keeper brought along a younger male – about the same age as Annie. Everybody was hopeful for the fresh young start. But alas the introduction was brief. Annie took a sniff at the knave – then bared her teeth. As he approached to smell her and lowered his nose to her genitals she turned around suddenly. Then to the astonishment of the keepers she gave him a tight slap. On the cheeks, just as any harassed lady would. Stunned, the young male sauntered off in a half trot, hooting like a hooligan, never to approach Annie again. So after many such events the attempt to match Annie hit an impasse, and days turned to months. She was content to stay around the cage and grab both hands of her keeper, not caring what in the world romance is all about. Until one day an unexpected outcome.

The forest warden on that fateful morning spotted an injured male lying on the roadside. Old, at least about 8 years, he appeared to have moved too slowly to avoid a speeding truck delivering palm oil fruits. On examining him at the sanctuary they found one of its arms were fractured and parts of his limb lacerated from the accident. As much as they tried the vet could not save one of his gangrene limbs. So old Yacob had to be confined to his cage to receive therapy, walking and climbing on three limbs. All this while Annie must have watched the newcomer from afar. One day while learning to climb, Annie approached Yacob in the playpen. She seemed mystified that he had only three limbs. And Yacob? He had a curved back and only looked down morosely like saying “what’s an old handicapped man to a young lady?” But Annie didn’t reject him. He didn’t show any interest in her either – probably Annie wasn’t in heat. Months passed and occasionally Annie will meet Yacob in the playpen as he went through his paces of therapy. But the staff took no notice of their friendship – thinking that no young woman would ever be interested in a dilapidated old geezer. None of the staff have ever seen Yacob physically near Annie. And he’s always looking down with glassy eyes rather than at her. Until one day a forestry staff came running into the vet’s office. Breathlessly she blurted out that Annie behaved rather strangely around her cage. Then the vet confirmed through tests that Annie was pregnant. News went around and the rest of the staff was ecstatic. But Yacob morosely sat in his corner, still looking down vacantly between two cage bars. If he could talk he would say “orang tua, orang dua” – meaning the senior became the person of choice and that Annie did all the work. But what did she do? It became clear when a primate researcher visited the sanctuary. She started a project to map the DNA of the entire orangutan population. It turned out that Annie was a close DNA relation of Daub and the second young male whom she bared her teeth. In fact they were siblings! But how could she sense the pitfall of inbreeding? Messenger molecules for biodiversity?

Home’s final journey

Several species of sea creatures make their journey home to spawn. The sea turtle laboriously claw it’s way to its shores of birth to lay and bury their eggs. So is the ocean dace and the lump-sucker fish. Domiciled in deep blue waters they will find their way to shallow crags near the shores where they began their lives, laying their eggs and in turn, hatch their young. But we must never forget the Atlantic or Pacific salmon. Their epic journey home, fraught with danger, is nothing short of amazement but is also a final journey of death by starvation. The world’s stock of wild Pacific salmon has fallen to alarming levels in 2010. This is particularly unsettling because the salmon’s lifespan is now deemed to be part of the ecological web of forests, inland rivers as well as the wildlife that thrives on them. This is a short story of Pedro who started life as a salmon fry in the upper reaches of the Miyazaki river. Maybe some of us can identify life’s supreme struggles in the tribulations of this fish.

Actually Pedro’s hard life began earlier, when his mom fought her way up the rapids after the homecoming instinct hit her in the Pacific Ocean. Pedro had to experience what she went through later in life, but here she was, loaded with roe, in a final struggle to hang them on the riverbed stones without the rapids washing it away. It was hard enough to expel them out of her body but around her were the frantic shoving of males. They were of various species such as chum or char, cherry or land lock salmons known as dolly vardon, all waiting to spurt their sperms on her eggs at the crucial moment. Ignoring food in the intense purpose of spawning her body was already ragged, having survived several bear attacks and drawn of strength and nourishment. And Pedro emerged as the smallest of eggs. Fortunately the current swept him deeper into the cracks, hiding him away from occasional predators such as wagtails and salamanders who would eat up his larger siblings. Pedro waited patiently for the right moment to emerge from his cell, the dark spot of his eye rolling around the gelatinous ball of nourishment, the one parting gift from his mother. Two months on he struggled out, smelling the environ that he would need to recognize in about five years. After squirming around the pebbles that hid other eggs he instinctively headed downstream toward the ocean, but not before passing the carcasses of his parents and others strewn upon the rocks. Some were half eaten by seabirds or torn by bears, hungry enough to eat carrion. Pedro mourned briefly that his mother and aunties would never live long enough to see him grow but he had an immediate danger – how to escape other hungry fish downstream and the ocean. Being minuscule he can quickly dart into a small flotsam or allow the swift streams carry him quickly away from bulky predators. But that was the easy part – horrific calamities await him as he approached the open seas.

First the good part – a whole universe of different plankton greeted him. But it is a bounty for all marine life, big or small. For Pedro it was either eat or be eaten. Then the current, it is pointless to swim against the current, anywhere,  anytime. So he was drifted all over the earth where the major streams prevail. Pedro instinctively knew that he had to eat fast and grow bigger –  the chances of falling prey to bigger fish drops as their population drops with size. However a fishing net does not respect size, at least for those he cannot swim through. Although Pedro was not eaten he was even luckier not to be caught. Pedro’s larger adventures in life had just begun, hoping for a bit of luck to live to the full. So one day the ocean currents carried the flock to the Australian gold Coast. Pedro was so busy feeding off a swarm of krill that he failed to see a glitter of sliver among them. Within seconds he was yanked out of the water by an angler’s line. As he flopped clumsily on the deck Pedro’s story would have ended here if he was off the Indonesian coast. But this was Australia and after he was briefly thrust next to a ruler he was thrown overboard – as required by law he was too small to be caught! After catching up to his flock it was business as usual – eating. So Pedro roamed the high seas and grown large enough to avoid predators smaller than him. Five years came and went and he started to get tired of having to run from larger ones, including humans with a hook, net or spear. One rather balmy day in the south Pacific a strange feeling hit him – he suddenly felt an insatiable urge to become a baby fry again. He spun around in the water and felt the magnetic pull of home in the Miyazaki river. And to his surprise it wasn’t just him – the whole shoal had begun to move in unison – Northwest where home was once. So frenetic was this community response that every member of the shoal had the uncanny do-or-die mission to head home to their place of birth.

Days went by as the entire shoal rode the currents – all with the one purpose to hit the mouth of the Miyazaki river. Tragedy struck as they passed the Philippines islets northward – a fishing trawler net snagged a third of the homeward-bound fish. Then as he was past Okinawa a swordfish appeared from nowhere and pierced two of his traveling companions. His journey home had become treacherous. As he approached the mouth of the Miyazaki river a smell of the distant past hit him. He was near home.

Again, not just him. Every salmon in the shoal felt a thrill as if possessed by their hormones. The males began to develop hooked snouts and their scales started to turn shades of purple. The females started to ovulate – their bellies bloated with eggs and they seemed to have lost interest in food. Indeed for once in their life eating was no longer a priority but getting upstream to spawn was. And so each summoned what energy left to face the current. At the river mouth it was easier but became swifter upstream. The weaker ones would start falling back, never living long enough to participate in the spawning process but perhaps falling prey to bears and anglers. For Pedro and the rest, their bodies already malnourished from the strenuous journey, an even greater obstacle loomed two miles upstream. A two meter high weir stood in their path to the spawning ground, water gushing over at a ferocious pace. Pedro approached and thought to himself – “I will never make it”. But some of his female companions did. It required super-salmon strength and endurance. The secret was not to jump too high as to miss the top of the weir, then swim with all their remaining strength below the current. Pedro knew he needed more – luck.

His first jump was quite good, his tail propelled to just the right height. But when landing over the edge the oncoming rush just pushed him over before he could gather momentum to dive under the current. As the mist and spray hit him back into the river Pedro felt a sense of gloom. That was all I had,  and still not enough, he thought. He moved to the side stream to recoup, then made the second jump. Then third and fourth – all landing below the weir, his tail flexing haplessly in the air, as if trying to fly instead. But he was just a fish with no wings, and his fruitless splashing below the spray just added to his dismay. Maybe I’ll just die here, he thought to himself.

Just then several of his travelling companions drew near to the side of the river to encourage him. “Go Pedro – you can do it! Macy, Charie, Gracie, Ling and Picee are up there – all the ladies waiting for  your sperm. Go do your job!” Pedro gave an inaudible groan when Pasquale, a strong male came to his side to cheer. “Pedro – all of us are exhausted – I’ve done my ninth jump already and also totally in despair. Let’s do it together one more time – you and me – we’ll jump together. Don’t give up!” As he spoke, Pedro noticed a dark shadow looming over them. Then a heavy paw splashed into the water to grab him and his friend. Bears! Time to go Pedro, he could hear Pasquale’s trailing voice as he swayed his tail furiously for a last gigantic effort. So Pedro did one last attempt.

With strength and stamina fading Pedro could only give 50% of what was needed to land above the falls. As he was starting to fall back into the spray he had already given up. Then it happened. In mid flight a big shadow at the side of the bank caught Pedro in its jaws. A bear was fishing at the side, catching salmons in mid-flight up the weir. Goodbye friends, Pedro sighed as the bear lifted him up from the rapids, jaws clenched on his dorsals. At the corner of his eye however Pedro saw something comforting – Pasquale made it and was swimming under the current toward the spawning shallows. The bear lumbered upstream as Pedro gasped for the last moments of his life. And then another surprise. In his excitement the bear accidentally dropped the flapping 10 pound salmon back into the shallows. Pedro made it – with the help of a bear. But we were not done with Pedro yet. A man has got to do what a man’s got to do. He’s been lucky to be alive until then for one compelling reason. So Pedro gathered himself in the shallows, still wondering how he escaped, until he was spotted. The ladies who made it screamed in delight on seeing him. Pedro bashful began to feel a little modest – his tattered dorsal fins and lacerated skin showed how defeated he was to have made it. As he swam around Pasquale came alongside and gave him a sideways slap with his tail – a much deserved hi-five. But a sad fact remained – less than a tenth of the shoal who left the south Pacific made it to the spawning pool. While danger was still lurking around the bushes the supreme task must be performed as soon as it was convenient. The next few days Pedro and the other males were rubbing the females’ bellies with their bodies climaxing them in order to release their eggs. As there were far more males jostling for the female’s attention, the stronger males must chase off their smaller rivals to monopolize producing offspring. Meanwhile the ladies had work to do – they must choose a suitable spot where the current will not carry away the impending births, with plenty of pebbles to serve as anchors. There were no midwives nor cubicles to nurse however. Overall it is a hostile world.

As the days drew on the ladies were getting agitated when the frenzied time to spawn dawned. The males were getting wild, competing for the closest position for which to spray their milt with the greatest of success.  Pedro could sense the moment coming when he swam alongside Ling, his favorite, bumping against her belly to stimulate her again and again. Then it came. She involuntarily arched her back, jaws stuck open. There was frenzy among the surrounding males, each rushing to fertilize the dislodged eggs, hundreds of thousands in a clutch. Pedro did all he could – the chance that a hatched fry living to adulthood is only about 0.1 percent. With several thumps of her tail Ling buried the fertilized eggs deeper among the sand. After each male had performed this stupendous feat with any willing females for two to three weeks their bodies began to decay. This single reproductive act would simply suck the life out of the participants. Never before had Pedro spurt his entire manhood out on the eggs as an epiphany of his existence and so were the females’ ultimate experience pushing eggs out of themselves. Then he breathed his last. Soon their limp bodies, one after another would flow down the river, winding along among the shallow pebbles, like worn out tossed rags. And further downstream in the shadows, famished bears waited eagerly.

This fox talks to hornets

How is the fox different from wolves? Though they both belong to the canidae family foxes are smaller, have sharper snouts and are fewer in packs, often solitary. Wolves are mostly carnivores while foxes eat insects, berries and sometimes, small mammals. Foremost of all, foxes tend to be friendlier to humans even though feral. Hornets are far more different from bees than foxes from wolves. They don’t make honey nor pollinate flowers. Predaceous, they will sting repeatedly with their swift mandibles while bees sting once and die. They devour other insects while bees eat only nectar and pollen. Bees only swarm and sting defensively while hornets, like wasps, the Asian version of the European hornet attack aggressively and are known to kill humans. But there is one fox who befriends them. Somehow he had learned their language.

Lee is a red fox and lives in the snow-bound region of the Ural mountains. Mostly solitary, except during the mating season, he makes friends with the nest of hornets living in his valley. Theirs is a symbiotic relationship. He sniffs out the places whether the hive can harvest wood chips for their nests and the hornets keep off predators (and human beings) from harassing him. For Lee the most difficult time is to survive the long winters, because he had to hunt for rodents under the thick layers of snow. His favorite is the field vole and his modus operandi is to stalk them under the carpeted snow with his nostrils. Once a trail is found he follows the sound signals with his keen ears until he knows the precise location to pounce. Then with all his weight he jumps onto the spot and using his snout and front paws to trap his prey. However success rate is low, because the wily voles have many escape routes under the snow, which incidentally, is warmer than the winter air. One day his hunt went so badly that he was incapacitated. He had jumped onto a spot where there was also a rock under the snow. His front paw was injured. Limping in the vast frozen expense half-starved Lee had no choice but to ask for help. He arrived at a cottage at a small Russian village. A boy spotted him outside the storm door when a blizzard was blowing. The father came and carefully brought Lee in. He was docile, instinctively knowing he needed help for his fractured toes. And help he got. The family bound up his paw and fed him to health. After a week Lee got better and the family released him back to the wild. Obviously that is not the end of the story. Foxes too have a memory for good deeds.

European hornet

One winter Lee was hunting in the valley near to his hornet friends. A party of hikers strolled up and spotted him. Though they shouted at him he was wary never to trust big parties, though the memory of human kindness was still fresh in his mind. As he turned to go in the opposite direction, some children started to throw snowballs and a snow fight ensued, though amidst laughter and cheers. Then a terrible thing happened. From the hornet’s nest several of the insects had descended on the children. Laughter turned to wails and the adults started to swing at the insects with whatever they had. This only brought on the wrath of the entire nest. In seconds even the adults were shouting in pain. Pandemonium. Lee turned around and sniffed the air. Then in the midst of the quiet snowfield came this howling. You would have thought that only wolves howl. But Lee had a language with the hornets. He had howled for less than a minute when the hornets got the signal and retreated in droves. The message: leave my human friends alone. Then he turned around and trotted home. Many of the people could not explain why the hornets suddenly left. But one little girl told her mother she thought she heard the fox called out to the insects.

Spring arrived. And so is love. Lee started sniffing around and leaving the scent of his urine in obvious places. He had not been successful before. Some males just haven’t got it. For the red fox in the wild, there are not many seasons to procreate. Two years, five if lucky. This is Lee’s third time and he still hasn’t left behind any offspring. This time he will meet his mate, or so he thought. But he’s got competition and fights over girlfriends are usually ugly. Anyway weeks rolled by and nothing – not even a sniff from another female. Lee was remorseful and he turned to his friends for help. What can hornets do for love?

As a matter of fact we do, said the chief hornet – the queen. Lee complied and agreed to let her do to him what’s best for procreation. So several of the servant hornets came to his back and injected into him what is known as pheromones – the kind of hormone that drives sexual attraction. Does it work? Or is it just quack medicine. Anyway to make a story good, the result was stupendous. Lee found several mates that spring – too many to cause him a headache. A happy headache if there is one.

Asian wasp (hornet)

So Lee had a busy summer raising kids. Or fending off lovers from spring wild from his sex pheromones. But if you happen to hike in the Ural Mountains and chance upon a lonely red fox (male or female), or a nest of hornets, do not take chances – run for your life.

To be continued in SCARF5