Jessica the Hippo

My cat Max is gigantic. He’s huge. First of all, he’s been eating his sister’s food. Because Toto is slowly dying, we’re indulging her by feeding her ocean whitefish and tuna, her favorite canned wet food. But her appetite is declining — and Max is pushy — so that big meatball is getting a lot of her food. Plus, I think maybe he’s eating at another house in the neighborhood.

Whatever the case, Max is fat. Like a hippo.

Speaking of hippos, here’s a crazy story about a domesticated hippo, one who thinks she’s a member of the family:

That story is crazy! From everything I’ve ever heard, hippos are Not to Be Messed With. They’re big, mean, and ugly, and they’re perfectly happy to squish you to a pulp. But apparently not Jessica. She just wants to be fed.

Too bad Jessica doesn’t live around here. I could introduce her to our hippo, Max.

Interspecies Friendship: An Elephant’s Best Friend

It’s been nearly two years since I posted something new at Animal Intelligence. One of my goals is to share that stuff here Foldedspace. I’ve done a pretty poor job of that, but I want to change that. I’ll try to make it a habit to share things as soon as I see them instead of putting them off.

Let’s start with the story Tarra and Bella, a dog and an elephant who are best friends:

For those who are new to my obsession with animal intelligence, I’ll summarize: I think animals are, on the whole, far more intelligent than we give them credit. I think they’re capable of a wide range of emotion, psychological, and, yes, intellectual activity. No, there are no dolphin cities (to quote Rush Limbaugh), but since when are cities a measure of intelligence? Anyone who believes that animals are only acting on instinct has never spent a lot of time with them.

Anyhow, one of my favorite aspects of animal intelligence is interspecies friendship. That is, stories like this one about Tarra and Bella, when two different kinds of animals work together or form close bonds. There are plenty of these stories to be found, and I think they’re great.

If you find a good story about animal intelligence, please send it my way. I promise to post it here in a timely manner instead of waiting to revive my animal intelligence blog…

Winter Vacation 2010, Day Six: Birds of Belize

One of the great things about staying at Black Rock Lodge was there was so much to explore just on the grounds themselves.

We could have hiked up the hill to see the cave, gone further to the scenic view, or climbed all the way to the top. We could have floated further down the river. We could have biked along the 6-mile gravel road that leads toward San Ignacio, looking at the birds and iguanas and, yes, the crocodile. There’s so much we didn’t do.

On our last full day in Belize, we decided to take advantage of some of the lodge activities. I’ll quote from Kris’s journal:

Thursday. Early morning bird hike with Elvis. Absolutely the best. 1-1/2 hours not very far from the lodge. Saw about 30 different species including the keel-billed toucan, national bird of Belize. Elvis was amazing at spotting the birds and locating them from their calls.

Giovanni (one of the managers) with the guard dogs, and Elvis with his spotting scope.

Then a quick breakfast and off to horseback ride with Louis. We rode Romeo and Mercedes. As usual, J.D. has the pokey horse, so we end up switching. 3-1/2 hours and I am so sore at the end! Right knee, especially, but a fun ride, very challenging, with trotting and cantering at the end. Saw a flock of ~20 montezuma oropendola flying up from the canopy.

Kris is right that I always seem to get the pokey horse. Worse, I’m the world’s worst horseman; I have no talent for it. Romeo and I were basically immobile. Kris was sad to have to give up Mercedes, and so was Mercedes. She and I didn’t really get along, though she did actually move for me.

It took me a long time to figure out how to trot properly. For an hour or more, I just sat in there and let my ass (and other parts) slam into the saddle. It was so painful! (I eventually had to cup my private parts with my hand when we trotted.) After some tips from our guide Louis, I managed to find a position that let me trot with a little less pain. (Thank goodness!)

We made our way along the road to town, then cut through the orange grove. As we took in the sweet scent of the blossoms (seriously, one of my favorite smells ever), Louis paused to pick an orange for each of us. Then we continued on our way up into the hills.

Eventually we came to Tipu, a small Mayan ruin. Leon (from Saskatchewan) and Louis chatted about the ruins (and about horses):

I posed in front of the gorgeous valley view (which a photo cannot do justice):

On our return trip, Louis stopped to ask the orchard’s caretaker if we could have some coconuts, and he agreed. Louis cut them down with his machete, hacked open an end, and gave us each one to drink. Kris loved the milk, but Leon hated it. I was somewhere inbetween.

Back at the lodge, Kris spent the afternoon roaming the grounds with the camera, photographing the birds of Belize. We’ve been saving up these bird photos all week. Rather than space them out, we’re going to give them to you all right now. Some things to note:

We’re very amateur photographers, and we know that.

Photo quality varies. In some cases, the birds were moving. In others, lighting was poor (dawn or dusk). And in many instances, the animals were far away, so we’ve had to crop tightly to get a photo of reasonable size.

Also, we’re amateur birders. We’ve done our best to identify these, but in some cases, we’re sure to be wrong. (And in some cases, Kris and I disagree. That’s not a King Vulture, for example, no matter what Kris says.)

So, here you are. The birds of Belize…

Let’s start by looking at this handsome fellow, the keel-billed toucan, the national bird of Belize:

There were tons of cattle egrets all over the place. They particularly like to hang out with the dozen horses as they roamed the grounds of the lodge:

On our early morning bird hike, another guest (Andy) loved these violaceous trogans:

This little gray catbird is a cutie. She gets her name because she purportedly makes a noise like a cat, though it’s not like any cat I’ve ever heard:

Here are two birds with American names, the Baltimore oriole and the Kentucky warbler:

And here are two woodcreepers, the ivory-billed woodcreeper and the olivaceous woodcreeper (which is small, and photographed from a distance in dim light):

From woodcreepers to woodpeckers — here are the black-cheeked woodpecker and the pale-billed woodpecker:

There were so many hummingbirds around the lodge. We photographed tons, but most of the photos didn’t turn out, as you can imagine. This white-necked jacobin is quite nice, though:

Kris likes hawks, so was quite pleased to see this juvenile black hawk hanging around the lodge:

On our early morning bird-watching expedition, Elvis spotted this white-crowned parrot peeking out of his nest. We’re not sure how he saw it since it looks like just a nub on a tree. (Actually, Elvis has done this so often, that he knows where the birds live, so he probably knew to look here.) Eventually, this little guy came out for a snack.

Here’s a blue-crowned motmot and a cinnamon becard (no relation to the jean-luc picard):

Here’s a bird we could not identify:

There were lots of yellow birds in the jungle, including the kiskadee and the white-collared manakin:

At Tikal (in Guatemala), we saw a couple of birds we didn’t see in Belize, including the ocellated turkey (which is sort of iridescent blue and green) and the unidentified bird on the right:

Also at Tikal, we saw Kris’s favorite bird: the montezuma oropendola. While riding horses, we saw an entire flock of them moving through the jungle canopy. They’re beautiful. So beautiful that I’m including two photos (neither of which do them justice):

Here are two vultures: The common turkey vulture we see in Oregon, and another one that Kris is calling a King Vulture, but which I think is something else:

Here are two tanagers. The first is a yellow-winged tanager hanging out at the lodge’s compost pile. The second is a beautiful crimson-collared tanager.

And, finally, my favorites: The collared aracari from the lodge. They flew in every morning and afternoon to have a snack at the banana trees. They’re beautiful:

We saw lots more birds than just these, and took more photos than I’ve shared. Kris is sure to be cranky that these are the only birds I’ve posted, but not everyone is as into birds as she is. (As she left for work today, she paused at the doorway. She was doing something with the jays — I’m not sure what. “I’m trying to train them,” she said. I didn’t ask in what way, but don’t be surprised if the next time you see her, Kris is followed by a flock of scrub jays.)

“Was it worth it?” Kris asked at the end of our trip.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“The five months of writing? The book? Was all of that a fair trade for one week in Belize?” We used my advance on royalties to fund this trip.

“No,” I said. “It’s not a trade I’d make again. But if the book earns back the advance, it might be worth it. Besides, that’s not how I look at it. The book is one thing, and Belize is another. They both have their goods and their bads. I’m glad I did both.”

Tune in tomorrow for one last look at Belize, including a look at the lodge’s kitchen (and a couple of soup recipes)!

One Lucky Penguin

I suspect that many of you have seen this before, but it’s new to me. I drove out to Custom Box Service the other day, where Nick and Jeff just had to show me this animal intelligence video.

What happens if you’re a penguin being chased by a pod of killer whales? How do you escape? Well, if there are a bunch of tourists in a nearby boat, the answer’s pretty obvious:

Very funny stuff. I particularly like how the penguin is cuddling up next to one of the passengers near the end of this.

Dairy Goat Journal

I subscribe to several magazines about homesteading and self-sufficiency. While it’s true that Kris and I don’t live on a homestead, we both like the idea of doing stuff for ourselves. (One of us is better at it than the other, as you all know. I’ll admit: I’m more dreamer than doer.)

Because I subscribe to these magazines, we get on some interesting mailing lists. For example, we recently received a pitch for Dairy Goat Journal. I think it’s hilarious that there’s a magazine dedicated just to dairy goats!

Click this highlight to open the full ad in a new window.

This is especially amusing since Kris does think goats are delightful. She loves them. But I think she likes the idea of goats more than the goats themselves; I don’t know how she’d deal with actually having a herd of goats roaming around Rosings Park.

The Orangutan and the Hound

Now that I plan to write more at Foldedspace in the future, one topic I’ll expore over and over is animal intelligence. As many of you know, I’ve long been fascinated by animals and their cognitive powers. Though I don’t think they have human intelligence, I think they’re much much smarter than most people give them credit for.

I actually kept a blog called Animal Intelligence for a number of years, but it wasn’t something I could maintain; it was just too much work. Over the next few months, I’ll gradually incorporate some of my favorite pieces from that old site here at jdroth.com. But I’ll also introduce new stuff, too, such as this video from National Geographic:

Surya the orangutan loves Roscoe the dog. These two spend a lot of time playing together. This is a great example of inter-species friendships, one of my favorite animal intelligence sub-topics.

(By the way, did I mention that one of my goals is to actually befriend a crow? I think it must be possible; I’ve just got to figure out how.)

Face-Off with a Deadly Predator

True to my word, I’m here to bring you another story of animal intelligence. Lisa sent me a story of animal semi-intelligence yesterday, but this one’s more what I have in mind when I think of the subject. It’s all about a National Geographic photographer coming face-to-face with a deadly predator:

I love stories about inter-species communication, and there’s no doubt that’s what’s occurring here. The best part, though, is when other animals consider humans the stupid ones.

Animal Intelligence

I keep meaning to use the new Foldedspace as a replacement for the dormant (defunct?) Animal Intelligence, but never seem to make the time to do it. Let’s remedy that situation starting today, shall we?

A little background
I believe that the birds and beasts are smarter than most people credit, that they’re capable of leading rich emotional lives.

I do not believe that animals possess human intelligence. That is not to say that humans are smarter (though this may be true), but that each type of animal has its own thought processes, its own means of evaluating the world. Comparing intelligence across species is a tricky thing.

A couple of important notes:

I am not a vegetarian.
I am not an animal-rights activist.

Though I respect both camps, these are not choices I have made for myself. (Though I toy with the idea of vegetarianism.) How do I reconcile my personal choices with my belief that animals are intelligent? I don’t. Cognitive dissonance, my friend, cognitive dissonance. (And an uncomfortable thing it is, too, especially each January when my wife and I hold our annual Ham Feast.)

Anyhow — I love animals and stories about them. Not just about their intelligence, but about their stupidity and their playfulness and their malevolence, too. And while I used to share those at Animal Intelligence, I’m going to start sharing them here at Foldedspace instead.

Two stories
First up, the November issue of National Geographic contains the following photograph of grieving chimps:

This photo by Monica Szczupider shows Dorothy, a nearly 50-year-old chimpanzee being wheeled for burial while her friends and companions watch on. Szczupider told National Geographic:

Her presence, and loss, was palpable, and resonated throughout the group. The management at Sanaga-Yong opted to let Dorothy’s chimpanzee family witness her burial, so that perhaps they would understand, in their own capacity, that Dorothy would not return. Some chimps displayed aggression while others barked in frustration. But perhaps the most stunning reaction was a recurring, almost tangible silence. If one knows chimpanzees, then one knows that [they] are not [usually] silent creatures.

The second story I want to share today is an old article from the UK Guardian that notes the more humans study dolphins, the brighter they turn out ot be. I love the opening anecdote:

At the Institute for Marine Mammal Studies in Mississippi, Kelly the dolphin has built up quite a reputation. All the dolphins at the institute are trained to hold onto any litter that falls into their pools until they see a trainer, when they can trade the litter for fish. In this way, the dolphins help to keep their pools clean.

Kelly has taken this task one step further. When people drop paper into the water she hides it under a rock at the bottom of the pool. The next time a trainer passes, she goes down to the rock and tears off a piece of paper to give to the trainer. After a fish reward, she goes back down, tears off another piece of paper, gets another fish, and so on. This behaviour is interesting because it shows that Kelly has a sense of the future and delays gratification. She has realised that a big piece of paper gets the same reward as a small piece and so delivers only small pieces to keep the extra food coming. She has, in effect, trained the humans.

Her cunning has not stopped there. One day, when a gull flew into her pool, she grabbed it, waited for the trainers and then gave it to them. It was a large bird and so the trainers gave her lots of fish. This seemed to give Kelly a new idea. The next time she was fed, instead of eating the last fish, she took it to the bottom of the pool and hid it under the rock where she had been hiding the paper. When no trainers were present, she brought the fish to the surface and used it to lure the gulls, which she would catch to get even more fish. After mastering this lucrative strategy, she taught her calf, who taught other calves, and so gull-baiting has become a hot game among the dolphins.

This is actually a fantastic article on the current state of research into dolphin intelligence. I’ve bookmarked it for future reference. I particularly like the bit about how dolphins are able to watch television (which is apparently more difficult than it sounds). This fact is followed by the droll line, “Of course, an understanding of TV is of little use in the wild.” Hahaha.

That’s it for this installment of Animal Intelligence. If you find any great animal stories, please pass them along.

Dragonfly

On my drive home today, a dragonfly struck the window of my Mini Cooper. Curiously, the impact did not kill the creature, though it certainly was stunned. Instead, its tail somehow became tucked beneath one of my wiper blades.

I was sad to see it happen, but I didn’t do anything about it. What could I do? It looked alive, but I couldn’t be sure. And what good would stopping the car do? I figured it would be dead by the time I got home.

It wasn’t.

As I unloaded the groceries, I noticed the dragonfly was very much alive. It was flailing to escape from the wiper’s grasp.

“Kris,” I called. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“There’s a dragonfly under the wipers. It’s still alive, and I can’t bear to look at it. Can you take care of it?”

I know this is a reversal from typical gender roles, but that’s how it is in our house. Kris deals with death and destruction all day long. I write about the psychology of money. I’m the sensitive one; Kris is matter of fact. Killing insects is her province (though I’m responsible for spiders.)

She carefully freed the dragonfly and held it in her hand. “One of its wings is broken,” she said.

“What should we do?” I asked. She gave me a look as if to say that I shouldn’t be such a baby.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s just a dragonfly.” She hung it from a clerodendron blossom. I tried to ingore the thing as I went about my business, but I couldn’t. I found its plight heartbreaking. I stood by and watched it closely for several minutes.

The dragonfly was beautiful, a sort of crystal blue with deep liquid eyes and lace-like wings. It was conscious and active. It gesticulated with its forelegs, it rotated its head, it vibrated its wings.

Eventually, it made a futile attempt to fly, but merely swooped to the grass. The dragonfly could walk just fine, but could not take to the air.

A part of me knows that it’s ridiculous to be so concerned about an insect. Eventually, I had to leave. I don’t want to know how this creature’s story ends. Its destiny seems clear enough. It’s a shame that something so beautiful cannot live forever.

Postscript: Now I know how this dragonfly’s story ends. Simon finds it and eats it. Alas, poor dragonfly.

Small Rodents in Paradise

“Hey!” Kris whined when we returned from lunch this afternoon. We had just parked the Mini Cooper in the garage, and she’d stepped up to the potting shed to grab a bag of birdseed.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. I was trying to put away some of my camping supplies from last weekend’s hike to Opal Creek.

“Come look,” she said. She pointed to the ground.

On the floor of the potting shed was a bag of birdseed. I expected that. But on top of the birdseed was a bag of peanuts, a bag that had previously been stored on a nearby shelf. And the bag was no longer sealed. It had been torn open by tiny claws and teeth, and there was a sea of peanut shells scattered all around.

I laughed.

“It looks like some squirrel gave himself a belly ache,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Kris. “But look.” She pointed at several other objects on the ground. The squirrel (or squirrels) had managed to pull down all sorts of painting supplies from nearby shelves in an effort to get at the peanuts. They had also torn open a bag of rose fertilizer. (Did it smell like peanuts? Or maybe they were hoping to bury their peanuts there?)

As I left the garage to carry a bag of birdseed to the house, I was bombarded by acorns. One of our squirrels was above me in the oak, tossing nuts at me. (The squirrels do this all the time.) Was he protecting the bag of peanuts?

Kris and I always wonder why so many people view squirrels as pests. We think they’re cute little rodents. Just this morning I had commented on Walnut, up in his tree, chit-chit-chitting away while chomping on a walnut. But if they’re going to start doing commando raids on the food supply, we might have to re-think the “cute” label.