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…
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.
fallenpillar 