Exploring The Depths On Rod and Reel: Looking For A Monster Bull Red

 
     My arm fit into its mouth clear up to my elbow. As I sat there on the rocks, soaking wet with the fish in my lap, I focused on catching my breath and removing the hook, a task that was proving to be very difficult. Difficult because this fish was nearly my size, and obviously much stronger, still full of explosive energy. A marine biologist I know once described fish to me as a swimming muscle with a brain and several other organs. I wasn't sure exactly what he meant until now. My blood is still surging with adrenaline and I realize how little time I have to appreciate everything taking place, because this magnificent animal needs to be placed back in the water. It must go back, but I have yet to fully admire this magnificent creature, or unhook it, or catch my breath... Another massive swell crashes over the granite blocks around me and again I'm soaking wet. And then another, reminding me that not only am I deceptively far out on the surf, but that the dangerous weather I have braved for the past seven hours has no intentions of letting up. Has it been seven hours already? How did I get to this moment?

     I have always enjoyed the sport of fishing, but it wasn't until the last two years that I understood the importance of its role in marine conservation, and only in the last year that I began to take it very seriously. Obsessively, some would say. My interest in fishing has always been founded on my love of two things, wildlife and mystery, and how they merge into one the moment my line hits the water. Hermann Melville wrote that there is a magic in water that draws all men away from the land, and I believe this to be true. For me though, it's not so much a fascination with water itself, but rather, wondering what strange creatures live unseen beneath its surface. As a child, I would gaze out over the surface of a river or lake and wish I had the power of X-ray vision to see just what could be right in front of me. Over the years I came to learn that with a solid rod and reel, some high quality line, the right type and quality of bait, and a considerable amount of patience -I mean a lot of patience- you do have the ability to see beneath the surface, one fish at a time. Because I'm a naturalist and work in a high profile zoo, I often receive raised eyebrows as I tell people that I'm also an avid fisherman. I can understand the confusion, as the general public's perception of a conservationist is usually of the people hugging deer in those "Go Vegan" promotional adds. The truth though is that conservation, as an ideology and practice, is not diametrically opposed to the licensed harvesting of carefully regulated game species. In fact, most zoological facilities have working partnerships with their state's parks and wildlife departments, proving that conservation and outdoor recreation (this means fishing) go hand in hand. I would even go so far as to say outdoor recreation -activities like fishing, hunting, camping, or hiking- is the single best way to introduce children to good conservation practices. Take your son or daughter fishing for blue gills or sun perch and you will be afforded with just as many opportunities to discuss wildlife science and conservation as you would on a trip to the San Diego zoo. And if you know what you are doing, as both an angler and educator, I bet they will enjoy it even more.

     Fishing at an early age has provided me with a close association between catching fish and good childhood memories. When I think back on my life, the earliest memories that come to mind are generally associated with nature. Like the first time I laid eyes on a wild alligator in the Brazoria Wildlife Refuge. Or my earliest memory, when, at age four, I saw a coral snake crawling under the swing set I was happily playing on. But a particular favorite memory I have is of fishing with my dad and brother in our next door neighbor's man-made pond, when I landed for the very first time what would eventually become my favorite species of fish. I couldn't have been more than seven years old at the time, which is a perfect age to land your first catfish. I was fishing a stink bait of dried chicken blood suspended about a foot under a traditional round bobber. Watching that bobber come to life and submerge beneath the surface of the water, signifying that I was now connected by a thin length of monofilament to some hidden creature, was a feeling I have never forgotten. If I never cast another line again, I'll still remember. But I have no intentions to stop putting lines in the water. The year prior to that catch, I had gotten a set of cap guns for Christmas. The following Christmas, I unwrapped a Plano tackle box and junior fishing kit. There was no going back now.

      But growing up in the country, other species occupy the mind too. Alligators and snakes became something of an obsession for me at the age of six and over the years, began to occupy more of my time and interest than fish. I suspect convenience also played a large role in this transition of interests, as it requires a specific set of gear and a body of water to catch a fish, whereas finding a snake could be accomplished right off my front door step if you knew where to look. Like many things, fishing remained a fun activity that surfaced from time to time, but remained submerged beneath the surface of my sub-conscience. And like all fish, it would take a lure or bait of some interest to convince me to bite again. As it turns out, about the time I was in the hospital recovering from the combination of my interest in snakes and my disdain of wearing shoes, an angler named Jeremy Wade had his own lines out in the water of a rapid filled river in India. The fish he would pull in, a 161 lb. goonch catfish, launched the program that would eventually re-kindle my interest in fish: Animal Planet's River Monsters. Ten years later, I watched as Jeremy Wade fished the Amazon, focused on showing the true nature of what is perhaps the most famous and misunderstood of all fresh water fish: the red bellied piranha. When Jeremy threw himself into a piranha infested tributary, just to prove a point on the timidity of a potentially deadly species, I was once again, for the lack of a better phrase, hooked. Back at work, I would stop inside the aquarium every chance I could to scour over the information boards for every species in the building. At home, I spent less time on facebook and more time on the fish base website. But it wasn't enough. I needed to put my lines back in the water.



     The Sea Lion surf rod and open face reel I had previously kept just for the occasional trip to the beach now became my prized possessions. Spooled with twenty pound test mono and rigged with size 5/0 circle hooks and 40lb. red drum leader, it again became my link to an underwater world. But ten years of rust has the same effect on the fisherman as it does a fishing reel. Basically, he doesn't perform well at all. Trip after trip, I returned empty handed and frustrated. But despite my lack of success early on, I held several massive advantages over most people that I knew could lead back to success. First of all, I'm a scientist who’s business is to understand wildlife, including fish. I had a scientific and educated understanding of the animals I wanted to see and the ecosystem they lived in. Second, I'm a fast learner and think analytically. This allowed me to reflect back on my failures, dissecting them systematically to determine what went wrong. I would adapt my approach every trip out, one small but specific change at a time. And third, I am notoriously relentless. I could, and did, fail dozens and dozens of times out on the water without giving up hope. I knew it was just a matter of time and experimentation. Fishing, as it turns out, is an intricate science.



     While the science of fishing could fill volumes of books (and has), there are certain key factors that you will find in any of these books that are worth their salt, as the fishermen say. They key is to understand the specific species you are targeting, the ecosystem and geography of its habitat, variables like the tides, weather, and temperature, and how your gear relates to all of the above. A helpful key, I have found, is not to think of fishing as fishing, but rather, as hunting. They are essentially the same practice, when you stop to think about it. I decided to apply to fishing the specificity of approach that is used when hunting. For starters, I began targeting specific species of fish. Not every fish will hide in the same type of location, hunt and eat the same prey, and be tricked into striking the same type of rigs. You don't want to have a bait that your target fish doesn't want to eat, a rig that it won't strike or that won't hold him if he does, or the right bait and gear placed in the wrong spot where there are no fish. Everything has to be perfect, all at the same time. I learned to read the geography under the water based on clues above the surface. Lots of people forget that the land features that you see above the water can continue down below that water as well. I learned to spot ambush points where predatory fish will wait for food to pass by. I learned to cast my lines in the strong eddies and backwater currents, where nutrients and small bait fish are caught in the current and delivered to game fish like a natural buffet line. I learned that eddies are three dimensional and can exist under the water, spinning vertically where there are old river beds or steep banks. And as I adapted and learned a more scientific approach, the fish began to strike. Suddenly, I was hooking fish with a higher frequency. I continued to study and improve. I learned the quality of bait is a key factor. Why did I ever believe fish eat anything? They are extremely selective and will pass up on old bait for a fresh one, and a fresh one for a live one. Some fish will change their preference of prey with the change in seasons, tides, and even time of day. Again I adapted, and again the results improved. I was starting to get the hang of this thing. I had fished very successfully in early March for white bass on the freezing Angelina River. I figured it was time to move up the food chain and target something big. In Texas, the game fish of choice is the drum fish, specifically the red drum. This fish is well known by his other names of red fish and bull red. If you haven't seen a bull red, check him out on a Google search. He is a magnificent, broad and deep bodied fish with a massive head and wide, fanning tail. His crimson red scales are often mixed with a tone of copper and gold, punctuated at the tail with a false eye spot. Typically, red drum frequent salt flats where they can be seen "tailing" for shellfish, which is when you can spot their tales breaking the surface of shallow water as they pick crabs off the mud flat bottoms. The bull reds in the mud flats are without a doubt the saltwater sport fish of choice in the state of Texas. But these fish usually max out around twenty-eight inches, which is the upper end of the slot (the lower end is twenty-five inches). To land a truly monster bull red, I would have to access the deeper waters in the surf, close to three hundred yards from the shore where the last sand bar gives way to the deep gulf. This water is typically forty to fifty feet deep, which meant that wading out to cast my line was out of the question. Most anglers would employ a boat in such circumstances, but I haven't a boat at my disposal. I would have to use the jetties. Fortunately, both jetties that line the Freeport shipping lane extend nearly a third of a mile into the gulf, which means that if I fished off the very end, I could place my baits where they needed to be. With my skills sharpened, my gear adjusted accurately, and my research done, there was now only one thing to do...get a line in the water.



     Fishing is not a game for those who need instant gratification. Knowing the best times of day for catching large game fish are the early morning and late evening hours, when the bait fish like mullet and shad are running, I decided to get an early start, and chose the Freeport jetty on the Surfside beach side of the shipping channel as my first location. Unfortunately though, I'm a working class guy who holds down a forty hour per week schedule. This means quite simply that I can't pick and choose my fishing days, as my regular days off are Wednesdays and Thursdays. This translates into the simple fact that if I want to go fishing, I must brave the weather on those days. And the weather on that particular Wednesday was something to behold. The sky was gun metal grey and brutal winds of almost thirty miles per hour kicked up surges that crashed over the granite jetty rocks as if they intended to sink them. The water was extremely high, and a well timed wave could easily take me off the rocks. While I like to think I'm athletic enough and savvy enough to survive falling into that type of water, I'm honest enough to admit I wouldn't. The fact that even the rocks above water were covered with slippery algae didn't help. One misplaced step, and that would be that. A little intimidated, I decided to cast into the channel close to shore. I was fishing with two poles. One rig consisted of my Penn/Fierce 60000 open face reel combo, spooled with twenty pound mono. On the end was a four foot, single crimped, sixty pound malon coated wire leader and size 7/0 circle hook baited with blue crab. Blue crab is a particular favorite prey item of bull reds during winter months. The other rig was my lighter rod and open faced reel. This was spooled with twelve pound mono and was rigged with a homemade double drop rig baited with shrimp flavored Fishbites on the upper hook and live shrimp on the lower hook. After casting both into the channel, I propped both rods up by fitting the handles into the grooves between the granite boulders (something I no longer do, as I prefer to fish with only one rod and feel the line at all times). The waiting game began. At this point, I was banking on a strike visibly bending the rods, but after an hour, they still remained stiff. Giving in the urge to check the baits, I reeled in the larger rod, but found no fish at the end of it. Normally, if you have a fish on the end of your line, you will feel its weight and the vibrations it generates as it swims the moment you tighten the line between the two of you. As I began to reel in the second rod, I felt a weight at the end, a weight that suddenly came to life and began to pull across the channel to my left. I could feel it was a small fish, as it came in without much resistance, but it was still a fish and this excited me. When the swivel and double drop leader broke the water, I lifted the rod up in the air and suddenly, as if by magic, a fish materialized from the water. It was a small sheepshead, which is commonly used for chunk bait. I didn't bring out the forty inch tape measure in my pocket, but I could tell this one was under the limit. I didn't want to keep him for the pot, but I'm an opportunist when it comes to bait. The stuff is expensive, you know. Knowing this small fry would go back, I took a few moments to admire his beauty. It was a beautiful color of light grey, almost silver, broken by vertical green stripes running the length of its body. Not quite a river (or channel) monster, though. "Ocean Tiddlers?" I thought to myself, contemplating a possible name for my own fishing program on Animal Planet. Time to put this fish back, and time to do what I know I have to. I was time to move out to deeper, more dangerous waters.



     If the next four hours proved nothing else, they showed I had determination and could at least fish the slippery rocks without falling in, though I very nearly did at one point when I lost my footing on a cast. Sliding down a slippery granite rock until your toes are in the surging, ten foot waves that mean almost certain drowning will do wonders for your focus. Minutes and hours meant nothing to me now. I was no longer keeping track of time. After a while though, the same urge that tempts fishermen to continuously check their baits when they shouldn't began tempting me to check my watch. Again, this is something an angler generally shouldn't do, as it begins turning a wheel of doubts in your head. I fell victim to this basic mistake, and began to wonder if I would start catching fish if I moved locations and tried my hands fishing the salt marshes and mud flats. Again, giving in to this temptation is something I would not do anymore, but it got the best of me, and I found myself sitting by a salt marsh a mile inland without a bite. I tried to rationalize and trick my mind into believing this wasn't about catching a monster fish anymore, but catching fish in general. That was a lie. I had set out to catch my own monster bull red and my angler's conscience wouldn't let me forget it. I decided to try the jetties one last time. This time, I made my way out to the jetties on the Quintana side of the channel. As soon as I stepped out on the jetties, however, I noticed a dramatic change. the granite base for this jetty retained it's width from it's foundation almost all the way to the top. You see, most people think of jetties as rock walls extending out into the surf, when the truth is they are built more like very elongated pyramids extending out into the surf. They have a base three or four times as wide as the surface level you fish on, and if the width of the base continues closer to the surface, this means that your line is more likely to grate against the rocks as it angles down from your rod tip to the bait you are fishing on the ocean floor. That's a very bad thing, because these granite stones, sharpened by continuous water and sand erosion, will slice through your line as easily as a straight razor. Nicking your line on one of these rocks is the difference between landing a fish and losing one. But as a fisherman I met yesterday so wisely observed, if it was easy, they wouldn't call it fishing. Accepting this new challenge as a chance to prove my worth, I continued to the very end of the jetty. A bend of the knees, a torque of the hips, and another line flies into the ocean surf to sink down forty feet to the sand below. Instead of propping my rod, I held it in my lap with the tip high in the air, keeping my index finger on the line just above the spool to detect any vibrations transmitted by a fishes' strike. Time begins to pass and fade, and I only come back from this other world when other fishermen join me at my location. The wind is still sharp and the waves continue to crash over my head, drenching me over and over again. The other fishermen stick it out until the rain comes, at which time they decide to try their luck closer to shore. I won't move, not this time. I sit still, motionless to be sure not to transmit any vibrations down to my bait. Line sends messages both ways. I am given a break from thinking about my cold wet clothes and salty hair when I spot several bottlenose dolphins surfing the waves, something I would learn from another marine biologist friend of mine that cetaceans will do just for the fun of it, similar to humans. I admire their beauty and grace. I look at the other wildlife, the terns and gulls hovering over the waves. I watch as a line of pelicans.... a knock on the line... That was a fish. Suddenly, I'm brought back to the line in my hands. My predatory instincts, which all humans possess, are alerted. I hear more clearly and feel with more sensitivity. Another hard knock on the line, then a run! I let the fish take the bait and allow the line to tighten, drawing the circle hook into position, right into the corner of the mouth. I lean back and set the hook hard, and feel a heavy weight. Fish on! But before I can stand, it runs too close to the rocks, and the line falls slack. As I reel in the line, I see where the rocks did their work. That's a leader, sinker, and hook lost, and a fish alerted to my presence. A wave of discouragement begins to wash over me until I realize that fish, like many predators, will strike again if their predatory instincts kick in, even if they are alerted to the presence of danger. If he struck once, I can get him to strike again. The rocks had taken a toll on my gear at this point, and only one hook and leader remained in my back pack. This was a much smaller circle hook, maybe too small, but I have no choice. I bait up and cast out. Again I play the waiting game. But this time, it only takes a few minutes before I feel another hard knock on the line. A twitch on the line, and then again, nothing. Two twitches... A hard knock.... A run! This time, I stand up before setting the hook, making sure to hold my line off the rocks. And when I lean back and tighten the line, I feel an incredible weight on the end. For a moment, it feels like I have hung up on the rocks, but then I notice that I'm still reeling in line a few inches at a time. You don't reel in any line when you snag a one ton rock. Then line starts to shift as the fish, a big fish, begins to run to my left. I adjust angles and bring it back, away from the safety of the deeper waters. Then I see it, a swirl sixty feet out on the surface of the water. This is a very big fish. I begin leaning back and then reeling in the slack as I quickly lean forward again. I'm making progress. I'm bringing in the fish. Then the magic moment happens, I see his red and copper form streak through the water twenty feet out as he makes one last attempt to break free. It's a monster bull red! The leader breaks the surface of the water, and I lean out for it. I drag the fish up the pre-selected rocks I had scouted earlier as a potential landing spot, something fishermen should always take into account before casting. One final pull and he's mine, resting on the paved surface of jetty between elevated granite rocks forming a wall around us. I sprint the thirty feet back to my back pack for my tape measure and as I return, I notice something shocking. I realize how incredibly close I had come to losing this fish. I look at his mouth, his huge gasping mouth, and notice two wire leaders. This was the fish I had lost on the rocks. What amazed me, though, was that he had actually thrown the second hook, but amazingly, it had become tangled in the end of the leader I lost on the first go, still trailing from his mouth. Fishing is without a doubt a scientific practice, but if anyone tells you that luck has nothing to do with it, they're lying. That wasn't just luck. That was all the luck I didn't have on the previous twenty-plus fishing trips that saw me coming home empty handed. And suddenly, I didn't mind coming up short all those times before, nor did I mind my soaking wet clothes, or the fact that I hadn't eaten the entire day. As I stretched out the tape, he measured forty inches from lip to the fork in his tail and would have probably measured another five inches to the tip of his tail (my mini tape measure only stretched out to forty inches). I hefted him up to feel his weight, which I would have estimated between forty and fifty pounds. Sitting him down in my lap, having to triangle my legs around him to hold his massive and powerful body semi still, I focus on removing the hook. I reach into his mouth, all the way past my elbow. His mouth was wide enough to swallow a cantaloupe if we was so inclined, and because I couldn't reach the hook without putting my fingers dangerously close to the thick teeth bull reds have in the back of their throat for smashing crabs, I cut the leader just above the hook. Being a salt water fish, the hook would soon corrode and fall out on its own. It's here, at this point, that I struggle to take the moment in. It's fleeting, as most magical moments are. One minute I am admiring this massive animal that can only be seen after many hours of patience and determination, and the next, he slides away, back into the mysterious depths he emerged from. Maybe I would see him again someday. Shortly after releasing the bull red I set out for, I pack my gear. That moment and that feeling had been waiting to surface for a long time. I decided there was no better way to conclude that fishing trip. Besides, I would be hard pressed to catch another fish better than that old boy. But then again, I hear there is a fairly nice jetty in Galveston Bay...

Black and White, She Is Life, She Is Death

    

     There are several items I carry with me through each day of work. Most of them are simple tools I require to perform my job each day. One of them is more important. It's a conservation bracelet marked only with the word "zebra". I look at it every day.

     Nature is equal parts life and death. I see both very clearly in the zebra, which is perhaps the secret inspiration for my hands-off approach to nature and my complete acceptance of its unwavering and unapologetic brutality. Many people find some of my philosophies somewhat hard to swallow, and that's because they likely have not had their arm pried from the mouth of an animal that was merely "supposed" to provide a child a moment's entertainment. Make no mistake: I believe the zebra to be the most well disguised version of death that Africa, a land specifically and uniquely identified with death, has to offer.

     Zebras completely terrify me, and I love them for it. They keep me honest. They embody what Emerson taught me of nature, of its indifference to mankind. This is not merely a fact, but one that carries with it a purity and clarity. People just don't understand that nature makes no concessions for man. So much of our conflict with nature, our rejection of nature's methods, and our terrible need to subject nature to our rule is born the moment we fail to understand this. But I understand. I understand because nature humbled me at a young age. A zebra showed me my fragility and demonstrated that our intentions and assigned purpose for her meant nothing. She taught the same lesson to the earliest of Africa's Dutch settlers, who tried in vain to tame her. And to the many unassuming hunters that have died beneath her terrible slashing hooves, bewildered that their lives would shortly end because they failed to recognize Death. The hyena and the lion betrayed death by reputation, but the zebra did not. But at the same time, she is the embodiment of life. She thrives in vast numbers in the harshest of lands with one of the highest predator to prey ratios anywhere in the world. Like the blend of her black and white stripes, each allowing the existence and creating the purpose of the other, she embodies both life and death. People see nature's wonders and horrors in many places. I see them in a zebra.

Anthropomorphism -Part 1

     It was about two o’clock in the afternoon, mid fall, if I remember correctly. What I was attempting would not be easy and the consequences would be big if I failed. Edging around the corner, I just caught a glimpse of them through the bamboo, always a few steps ahead of me. They hadn’t noticed me yet and that’s exactly what I wanted. I was listening intently, trying to pick up the faintest of sounds- nothing. I gathered my courage, or stupidity as some like to call it, and moved a little closer. I had experienced some nasty run-ins with these types before and though I usually came out on top, it was always unpleasant and occasionally painful. Needless to say, I was cautious in my approach. As I shifted my position past the bamboo thicket, I was completely exposed. That was the last cover for ten or fifteen feet in all directions but backwards, and there was no going back now. There they were now right in front of me and I only went unnoticed because they were facing away from me. “They could turn around at any moment, and then it would happen for sure” I thought. Second thoughts were flooding my mind. But convincing myself that I was a naturalist and that continually putting myself into these types of situations is a fundamental part of what naturalists do, I held my ground. One of them turned around. As the other turned around to join her, they both approached, completely undisturbed by my presence. Like an execution by firing squad, I knew what was coming but that only made it worse. As one of them came closer, she boldly exclaimed “It looks sad.” I politely asked her to specify. “The orangutan in the exhibit, it looks sad. Does it want to be free?” Gritting the teeth that now shown through my fake smile, I engaged our zoo guests in conversation. Anthropomorphism strikes again…

 

     One of the more valuable lessons I learned early in my career as an educator is the power of perception. Any lawyer or politician can tell you that it’s not what the facts are that matter most, but rather how people perceive those facts that make a difference. As educators, it’s extremely important to be aware of what the perceptions of those are around us concerning the material we wish to impart. More often than not, people are hesitant to accept information, however factual it may be, unless the educator specifically relates it to their perceptions concerning that particular subject, thoroughly addressing their pre-conceived notions with the information we give. As a zoologist, zoo employee, professional educator, and someone who is simply obsessed with nature as a whole, I have found that in my experience, there is one perception that seems to occur in my line of work more than almost any other: anthropomorphism. “Anthropomorphism” is simply the process of attributing human characteristics to something that isn’t human. That includes animals. Brother, does that include animals…

 

     Having spent close to three years interacting with guests in one of America’s biggest and busiest zoos, I can tell you for a fact that most people cannot resist the urge to attribute their own feelings, desires, mentality, attitudes, and random characteristics to whatever animal happens to be in front of them. It seems to be as firmly ingrained into our culture as the Big Mac marketing slogan (don’t pretend you don’t know it). You have probably seen it yourself, but if you haven’t, here’s a basic example I encountered a few months ago. I was walking between two of our three elephant enclosures, all of which are normally occupied by elephants. As I was about to leave the area, a concerned guest stopped me and inquired why most of the elephants were in one yard while one of them, Tucker, as he is called, was alone in the middle enclosure. She asked if Tucker was in trouble and if being in the smaller enclosure by himself was his punishment. Never wanting to embarrass any guest, as this would forever tarnish her perception of the zoo and our conservation work, I treated her concern seriously and gently explained the reasons behind Tucker’s living arrangements. “Well, elephants live in a matriarchal society. This means that the females are in charge and the adult males live on their own. Since Tucker is eight years old, he is reaching adulthood (elephants reach this point faster in captivity due to higher nutritional value in their food), and it’s normal and healthy for a male elephant of his age to leave the herd. He’s actually much happier by himself, too.” Encouraged by my explanation, she thanked me, expressed she felt much better about our elephants’ living arrangements, and I wished her a good day. What happened in that encounter was simple. She had seen an animal alone and in a smaller space and immediately tried to interpret the elephant’s situation from a human perspective. Most of us need social interaction and associate solitude with being sad and lonely. Similarly, we interpret smaller spaces with negative experiences, usually one associated with being punished; standing in the corner at school, being sent to our room, to our beds, to prison. She had tried to interpret the nature of a wild animal according to human experience and society and this does not work. That’s not even to mention the flawed logic in the idea that animals should be punished for their “mistakes”, which I suppose would mean not doing what a human wanted them to do. Tucker was not lonely and he was not in trouble, he was merely living as elephants do. We are generally not appreciative or understanding of the way nature does things.

 

     Now this is not to suggest that Tucker, and animals in general, can’t feel or exhibit emotions. Animals do show a wide variety of emotions and unique personality traits, many of which bear a great resemblance to our own. However, it is important to understand that these are not simply human emotions, but almost universal, or in the least, widely shared emotions. Man’s best friend is an excellent example. Dogs can appear to show a type of anger or disdain at times, shunning their owners when things don’t go their way. I think most of us are all too familiar with this! In much the same manner, dogs do appear to be genuinely happy to see us after long absences. And all creatures show the most basic and instinctual of emotions, which is fear (if you wish to include fear under the category of emotion). So these traits may be displayed among animals, but these are not necessarily “human emotions”, simply emotions that humans, in our lack of understanding of many species, have claimed as our own. The difference that forms the true basis of anthropomorphism is why those emotions are experienced and how they are interpreted. For example, white tailed deer exhibit fear, as all creatures do. But why do they exhibit fear and to what extent? When fawns go to sleep, are they afraid of a monster under their brush pile? Of course not, the type of fear they exhibit is purely an instinctual drive that protects them from being caught and eaten by predators. Of course, it may be argued that the emotional fears we experience –fear of the dark or of imaginary monsters- is a remnant of when we ourselves once had to avoid predators on a regular basis and this may very well be true. But even this line of logic admits that our emotions have now become distinct from those of the animals around us. As shown in the example I mentioned above, people often attempt to interpret animal behaviors based upon human needs, human desires, and the methods we use to express them, and not the needs, desires, and expressive language of the animal itself. It is important to understand that these are very rarely the same. 

 

     Two very important words I mentioned were “needs” and “desires”. One of the fundamental differences between people and animals is the order of importance placed on each of these. Humans are taught to think practically and logically. It’s something that we are reminded of throughout our lives by parents, teachers, employers, and even ourselves. We are told that chores come before playtime. Don’t go out with the gang, stay home and study for the exam. Save that extra cash, you will need it someday! I bet you have heard all of those. The reason for this is simply because human beings prefer to place their desires ahead of their needs, which is nearly always backwards to what is observed in nature. While human beings are instinct driven and will go through great troubles to meet their needs effectively, they will often go through even more trouble to meet their desires, even if that means sacrificing their needs in the process. The concept of freedom is a good example of what I’m talking about here. Can you sit down and give me a written definition of “freedom” and detail why it is important to you? Humans are driven to be free, to have liberty and escape anything we perceive as a restraint on our lives. We want to laugh! We want to get loaded and have a good time! We consider this vital to our existence and, as Mr. Henry so boldly exclaimed, it is worth dying for. But does the absence of our freedom cause physical death? No, because when speaking in the strictest terms of an organism’s survival, freedom isn’t actually something we need. We need food and water. We need oxygen. We need protection from the elements. So in effect, this is the classic example of the desire that we continually place above our survival needs. Our needs and desires are often separate and in some cases, even contradictory. Only a human being would die as a result of starving themselves in an attempt to lose weight and “improve their image”. Human beings are more than willing to ignore their basic survival needs to gain something they merely desire. With animals, this is almost never the case. Now keep in mind as I continue that while I am speaking in broad terms, I am not being all inclusive and understand that there are exceptions to almost every rule. But generally speaking, animals do not normally have separate desires and needs. It would be more accurate to state that most animal species desire that which they need. That’s a significant difference.

 

     I’ve said it before, animals do not want to win the lottery, compete in Olympics, or be on reality TV. They don’t spend time in modern art museums, think about their dream house, or celebrate Christmas. Simply put, animals do not generally want what humans want and for some reason, this tends to bother us. They are designed with a completely different psychology than ours. On the one hand you could say that their psychology is much simpler than our own, but this also translates as being unquestionably superior in terms of survival. One of the things that I believe people have largely forgotten is how different human psychology has become due to our industrialization as a species. By building great and intricate machines that ensure the fulfillment of our physical needs, we altered our psychological needs as well. It is only because we no longer need to search out food, water, and shelter, or constantly monitor our surroundings for predators, that we are allowed to think about other things that we do not need for our survival, like the Word Cup or who the best James Bond is (it’s Daniel Craig). Take away our great supplies and technologies and none of that would matter. Only day to day survival would matter, and minus the anxiety a human would experience in this circumstance, that is exactly how most wild animals think about the world. Now some could argue that domesticated animals do not behave in this manner and that their psychological processes are more similar to ours. This is probably true. After all, the entire point of domestication is training a species for several thousand years towards the specific goal of not acting like a wild animal. That’s hardly an honest look into nature. And while it can be easy to think of nature as being cruel to living things, it isn’t. It’s perfect for their existence. It is balanced. It is brilliant and beautiful. A clarity that man will never achieve. And perhaps there in-lies the problem: we could just be jealous. Or maybe it’s just the opposite. We don’t want that type of life, so how could they? So many wrong ideas to consider…

 

     Ultimately, this answers the types of questions I received from those two young women at the orangutan exhibit and the concerned guest by Tucker the elephant. When you understand that an animal’s needs and wants are nearly always the same, or at least corresponding with one another, then it becomes clear that as long as an animal is well cared for by properly trained staff who understand how to best emulate it’s natural environment and fulfill the animal’s physical and psychological needs (which are different than ours, as mentioned above), you can bet it is a happy and healthy animal.

 

     Now that I’ve explained the basics of what anthropomorphism is and how it generally works, I feel it is important that one next examines exactly where and why anthropomorphism originates to begin with and how it has become such a common part of our culture. That’s what we will look at in the next installment of what I believe will be a four part article. But in the meantime, don’t change that channel, everyone’s favorite talking horse is on next! It’s Mr. Ed…

Putting Action Into Words: The Substance of Terminology

     I have always been extremely adamant that teaching, as a scientific art rather than a profession, centers around one specific concept: self discovery. When most individuals consider what it means to be a teacher or to participate in the act of teaching, they focus primarily upon the idea of giving information in a structured format with the intent of showing another individual how to accomplish a given objective. I consider this to be incorrect -a weak definition of the term, if you will. First, consider that while one may "teach" for a profession, the act of teaching is unrelated to one's professional status or title. Individuals are not teachers because of what they do, but because of who they are. Whether or not they choose to be paid for such is inconsequential to this fact. A teacher's primary purpose is to first inspire another individual to actualize their unlimited potential, and second, to instill the confidence necessary for the individual -the "student" if you will- to carry this out. While few individuals are capable of igniting this inner spark of life within the soul of a student, even fewer understand, let alone are capable of, instilling their student with the confidence they need. In essence, they fail to put action into words.

     As an influential teacher I knew brilliantly explained, self-confidence comes from one thing: learning to trust in the method of your thinking process and integrity of your training (learning) discipline. In a single word, it is the "how" of the education process. One can be given a command and be eager to execute, but without knowledge of how it can be accomplished, one cannot have confidence in their ability to complete the task. Unfortunately, this is where communication between teacher and student tends to break down. This occurs because teachers tend to lack solid definitions for the bulk of their teaching terminology as it relates to building mental fortitude and self-confidence in a student. They understand what result they wish to achieve but they lack understanding of the definitive meaning behind the words they use. For example, what is the difference between "motivation" and "inspiration" and how, therefore, may the difference be relevant to a particular student? In this respect, they are quite actually on the same level as the student they are trying to help.

        Many instructors throw terminology around without fully understanding the meaning behind it. The average instructor says "You must do 'xyz' to accomplish your goal" but when pressed by the student, cannot explain -or more appropriately- define what 'xyz' process means. The development of clear and concise terminology is extremely important for the following reasons:

1) It allows the instructor to help the student better identify the problem and the source of the problem, respectively. No matter the endeavor, this must be the first step towards improvement if one is to be successful. The key word is "identify". Without proper understanding of terminology, this becomes exceedingly difficult.

2) It allows the instructor and student to conceptualize and grasp the solution to the problem -the process to be carried out, such as a specific drill or technique one may utilize to correct the problem. Example: an athlete has discovered they are slow off the starting line (the problem). The instructor may then utilize the application of a specific drill or improvement of technique, such as the economy of motion or placement of bodyweight at the starting line, as the solution to the problem. The same process applies to all endeavors, mental or physical.

3) It allows the student not only the ability to better understand both the problem and solution, but control the process. If the student clearly understands the method being utilized to solve the problem, they are better equipped to understand the process of their progress.

4) It allows both the student and instructor to avoid confusion. When an instructor explains any process to his or her student, a lack of consistent definitions of terminology tends to result in extreme confusion and a stagnation of the process of a student's growth. This is especially prevelant when students change or share instructors: one instructor's definition of a term or concept may not be the same as another's. In history, this is evident in the (nearly) global adoption of the metric system as the standard for measuring (defining quantities) of scientific data.

5) It puts substance and meaning behind what you say. Human beings do not convey words, they convey meaning. Words merely serve as a condensed, temporary placeholder for the meaning we wish to convey to another individual. Consider that for a moment. When speaking to another individual, it is key that we choose only the precise words that convey the specific meaning of our intended expression. It is the meaning, not the words themselves, that is important. This is well demonstrated by fact that it is often not what we say, but how we say it that makes the difference: the words did not change, but the meaning did.

     The actual definitions of words are based first upon the endeavor being taught -obviously one would use different terminology for teaching on the importance of recycling than one would choose to use while teaching tactical footwork in combat sports, or the principles of auto mechanics- and second, knowledge. Assuming one understands the obvious truth of the former, we will focus only on the latter. As was written by a teacher I knew, definitions are contextual due to the fact that they only relate (or reflect) a given level of knowledge (that of the instructor). As time passes and one's knowledge and teaching skills grow, the definition of specific terminology and principles become more specific and refined. Therefore, what follows are specific definitions of terminology that 1) I use frequently while working to instill confidence in my students, 2) are important for both teachers and leaders to understand, 3) are generally misunderstood.

1) Motivation -a temporary desire to succeed at a specific goal, which arouses from an external source. Example: "I want to lose 'x' amount of weight so I can wear that dress". The "motivation" for action arouses from an external source -the desire to wear the dress- and will no longer be present after the goal loses significance.

2) Inspiration -a long term desire to continually succeed at a specific endeavor, which arouses from an internal source. Example: an athlete who works for success due to his/her love of the sporting endeavor in which they compete -the reward is the individual's enjoyment of emotional expression achieved through the practice of their chosen endeavor. This is long term and may last a lifetime.

3) Confidence -trusting in the method of one's thinking process and the integrity of one's training. Example: a scientist is "confident" in the accuracy of his/her thesis because of the trust they hold in the mental process used to arrive at their recorded conclusions and the integrity of the training they have that makes this thinking process reliable. Note: doubt cannot exist where confidence lives, and vice versa.

4) Leadership -the process of guiding others by example of action and providing others with the knowledge and inspiration (see above) to create a stronger purpose in their lives. Example: the head of a business department consistently demonstrates his/her ideals of positive work ethic by example and by so doing, inspires his employees to follow his/her example for the purpose of improving their personal lives by executing each task with a higher level of effort and dignity -the executive will continually provide knowledge, as it is needed per individual, on how they may accomplish this. (In essence, he/she will intentionally arouse their desire for improvement and provide them with the knowledge to carry this out: the end goal is to see others achieve what he/she has achieved. It is no coincidence that the definition for "Leadership" is nearly identical to that of "Teacher", which I mentioned above. Note: many people confuse "leadership" with "management", however these are entirely separate skills which only appear similar. More on this to come....

5) Respect -a conscious understanding for the need to honor or esteem another individual due to their inner constitution, skill, and/or status. Example: An athlete may esteem his/her opponent's level of skill, consciously understanding the importance (the need) of this act (avoiding the pitfall of underestimation, which leads to defeat). Or he/she may understand the importance of esteeming the inner constitution (what one may refer to as 'determination') of their opponent before or after a match -more important to occur before, but more likely to occur after.

6) Courage -the resolve to maintain presence of mind and act through (despite) a state of fear. Example: a soldier in battle maintains his presence of mind (the opposite of succumbing to panic) and acts according to his will despite the natural presence of fear.

7) Emotional Content -the honest expression of one's self through a physical act or process. Example: a dancer honestly expresses his/herself, in this case, their artistic passion (conviction), through their dancing technique. Note: much like words, it is not the action or technique that is important, but what one means by it that matters.

8) Awareness -maintaining a presence of mind while being fluidly conscious of one's state of being as it relates to their surroundings (mental and physical) in the present, living moment. Example: a philosopher understands the state of reality as it applies to his immediate situation without feeling the need to control it. Note: Eastern philosophers would equate this concept to Wu-Hsin or "No-mindedness". A Westerner would more comfortably equate this concept to the idea of "a moment of clear understanding".

9) Greatness -the virtue made visible through the act of refusing to deny one's self what they know they deserve (not due to status, but due to the choice to act), and by maintaining and exemplifying courage, confidence, leadership, awareness, and respect at all times -executing every action with effort and dignity. Note: "It's not what one does that makes them great, it's what they are made of" -Joes Lewis. Greatness is not developed, it is acted upon by the sheer will of choosing to do so.

10) Ego -a sense of worth that derives from something that is not organically part of one's self -definition by Eric Hoffer. Example: an individual places value in their status (usually of superiority) in the eyes of other individuals. Note: Ego, especially when present in an instructor or educator, gravitates towards complexity and confusion (whereas teaching should gravitate towards simplicity and understanding) for the purpose of projecting a superior image of one's self in the eyes of students and peers. "Ego" looks to form a fabricated image to replace or hide one's actual image. This is referred to as "Self Image Actualization" and it is born from the rejection of one's actual self. In this sense, ego becomes the ultimate enemy of education. "Ego" in it's simplest form is "self rejection", whereas education in its truest form is "self exploration". Education cannot exist where there is ego!

Zebras, They Bite!

     As a scientist (sci-en-tist: noun 1. a person learned in science and especially natural science: a scientific investigator. -Merriam-Webster's Dictionary) I am forced to view all my opinions of the natural world through the objective and, presumably, biased free "lens of evidence", which filters out stray particles of hearsay and deflects rays of nonsense. Much of my thought process is governed by this principle, surely for the better, and this allows me to remain somewhat level headed in a world saturated by some really whacky ideas, such as the notion that caiman are closer in relation to crocs than alligators, or the borderline heretical theory that porcupines can actually shoot their quills. Believe it or not, I have even heard of individuals, some I know personally who will remain nameless, make the erroneous and outdated claim that cats make good house pets! Yes, I know what you're thinking. I denied it myself when I first heard the rumor, but I assure you it's true. As ridiculous as some of these theories may be, the simple fact remains that they are not proven false by a lack of evidence. Likewise, theories are not proven true because of the evidence supporting them. Ideas are either true or false based on the reality surrounding their respective situations, while the evidence, or lack thereof, is merely a byproduct of the reality of that theory being true or untrue, respectively. Take heliocentrism for example. It isn't true because of the evidence surrounding it, there is evidence surrounding it because it is true. Furthermore, it was always true, even before the evidence in favor of this "theory" was discovered. "What are you getting at?" you may ask. Valid question, so here's my answer. I have one such theory that, despite my very best efforts of searching for evidence first when faced with a new idea, I actually believe based solely on a gut instinct or inner feeling I seem to get when thinking about it. Keep in mind, there is no actual evidence for this theory, but as I have previously illustrated this does not necessarily prove the idea a fallacy. So when I present my pet theory to you, please view it with an open mind. Who knows, you might even find that you share in on my opinion! Here it is: I believe zebras are evil. In fact, one could surmise that God has forewarned America of its sinful ways by giving us the horse, warning us of the judgment to come should the country continue down its current path of self destruction, before delivering the final judgment, the zebra.

 

     While this idea may seem outlandish at first and may technically have no supporting evidence, it is, of course, based on an incident from my childhood involving a zebra that apparently disapproved of the way I parted my hair. While this was certainly not the first animal to give me the once over, nor would it be the last, it was however the first truly unique animal to do so. Everyone has been bitten by a cat or a dog at some point in their life, but very few people can lay claim to having ever been bitten by a zebra! I can. Here's how it happened...

 

     At some point in my life I learned to disapprove of most attributes and characteristics associated with the Southern way of life, more than likely through, as a Buddhist would say, "a moment of enlightenment". But at seven or eight years of age (I don't remember exactly which) that was not the case and I was having the time of my life, despite the cold night chill of the October air, at the Brazoria County fair and livestock show. I haven't been back for some time but I can remember every detail as if it were last week; cold air permeated by the blended scent of cigarette smoke and diesel; the effort needed to find even one person wearing anything but Wranglers and Justin's; the rickety carnival rides only slightly more stable than Charlie Sheen on a bad day; and of course, the livestock. In my opinion, and in the opinion of most others I could ask, the livestock show is the heart of the fair while the other attractions are merely built around it as ornamentation. Whether or not the practice and procedure of livestock shows can be, in certain circumstances, categorized as animal cruelty is a separate subject for debate, one that I am not entirely decided on myself. That subject, however, is not the focus of this article -perhaps I'll explore the idea at a later time. What I do know for certain though, is that as fascinating as pigs, sheep, and cattle may be, to an aspiring naturalist such as my young self, they simply do not compare to the exotic animals one could find in the petting zoo area. I'm not too sure the petting zoo is quite what it used to be (but then, what ever is?), but at the time, well over a decade ago, it was a miniature Bronx zoo! Ostriches, wallabies, white tailed deer, dromedary camels, and white-nosed coatis were always there, year after year, as were the usual petting zoo fare of pot bellied pigs, baby goats, and miniature ponies. But that's the only year in my memory of a zebra having been there. Before I go into detail as to what happened between the two of us that evening, perhaps an introduction to the zebra would be appropriate here.

 

     Zebras represent one of the three members of the equidae family, the other two being donkeys and horses, and unlike the other two species, are confined specifically to the continent of Africa. Though classification seems to change regularly, most experts currently categorize zebras into three separate species. The most common species is by far Burchell's zebra, more commonly referred to as the plains zebra or common zebra, which enjoy a healthy range from Southern Sudan and southern Etheopia to Southern Angola, Northern Namibia, and Northern South Africa. The other two species are the Equus zebra and the Grevy's zebra, the more interesting of the two perhaps being the latter based upon the manner in which it received its name. Apparently considered by some African countries to be among the most regal of animals, one was given as a diplomatic gift to President Jules Grevy of France from the country of Abyssinia (Ethiopia) in 1882. I'm not sure which one is a better display of class among politicians, giving a zebra or accepting one! Zebras are, of course, herd animals, increasing their chances of survival by congregating in massive numbers. This strategy works on two principles, the first dealing with the odds game. Essentially, this strategy uses the same logic as a lottery drawing. The more individuals in the mix and the less likely you are to be picked, only in a zebra herd the price of being picked isn't excessive taxes on a slowly paid out cash prize, but being torn to bloody pieces by a pride of lions or dragged beneath the surface of some muddy river to drown in the jaws of a hungry crocodile. Nature is very unforgiving on those who must to die to provide life for others. The other advantage of living and traveling in large numbers is in the design of the zebra's camouflage. As most everyone knows, zebra's have a disruptive camouflage pattern which not only breaks up their outline and blends them into their surroundings, but blends them together with other zebras. This forms the appearance of one large animal, or a wall of solid pattern, again making it very difficult for a predator, such as a lion or pack of African painted dogs, to select a single individual for an attack. Because any further examination concerning the basic morphology of the zebra would be old news to most anyone who knows what a zebra is, we will leave it at that. Instead, I would like to examine a topic slightly more relevant to my loving disdain for the striped equestrians: their temperament.

 

     I find it very ironic that both horses and zebras, being so closely related, find themselves listed by many naturalists at opposite ends of the spectrum in their relationship to humans. On one hand, you have the horse -currently over 200 species due to selective breeding practices- which the American Museum of Natural History describes as having an unmatched influence among animals on human culture and development. I doubt anyone would attempt to refute that statement. Even I, who nearly had my own personal history brought to a screeching halt on a horse, or, should I say, had my own personal screeching horse brought to a halt with me on it, will acknowledge this simple fact of history. In fact, since their domestication some 6,000 years ago, horses have been man kind's primary tool for labor and transportation until as recently as the second industrial revolution, which began in 1870. Even in the early days of Henry Ford and his automobile, it would not have been uncommon to see horses being ridden through populated cities on a regular basis. My great grandmother, in fact, who was born in 1918, rode to school each day in a horse drawn carriage! I suppose it's our familiarization with the idea of using animals for transport that prevents most of us from pondering a very natural as well as interesting historical question: who first saw a wild horse and thought "Hey, maybe I could ride that thing!"? Whoever it was, though, apparently did not raise the same question concerning the zebra. If they did, they weren't very successful in their attempt. Historically speaking, the zebra is considered to be perhaps the most difficult of all herbivorous mammals to domesticate. This fist became apparent as European colonists began to set up shop across Africa in the 18th and 19th centuries, relying heavily upon grazing stock and working animals for maintaining farmland. Africa, however, had other plans and introduced the settlers to the tsetse fly, that little blood sucking insect slightly larger than a housefly that had managed to keep Africa strictly African for so many years. The Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nation's Senior Officer B. S. Hursley, as well as the organization's Animal Health Officer J. Slingenburgh, estimate that tsetse transmitted Animal African Trypanosomiasis is currently responsible for a minimum of three million animal deaths per year. Keep in mind, that estimate applies to our current day and age of global cooperation in disease research, not the early 18th century when things would have been much, much worse. This is assuming, of course, that you can rely upon information coming from a guy who’s first initials are “BS”. The simple problem was that European livestock had never been exposed to African diseases such as AAT and had no immunity against them. However, the zebra had, and this logically made them the perfect choice for domestication for agricultural labor. Perhaps fortunately for the continent and natural history of Africa, attempts were completely unsuccessful due to the zebra's aggressive and unpredictable nature. One of the more interesting facts surrounding the unpredictable nature of zebras is the enormous adrenaline dump they seem to undergo in moments of panic. Throughout the last two centuries, this has been a fact of common knowledge among big game hunters, who cite the zebra as one of Africa's toughest animals to bring down. In his book Death In the Silent Places, Peter Hathaway Capstick recounts the incident where renowned elephant hunter W.D.M. "Karamojo" Bell killed ten zebras with ten rapid shots as a means to intimidate an advancing, hostile group of Karamojong warriors without having to take any human life. Capstick explains the impressive nature of this feat, which he refers to as "nothing short of a miracle", by stating that "The zebra is one of the toughest of all 'plains' game and impossible to kill instantly, unless hit exactly right". Considering that "plains game" includes wildebeest, Cape buffalo, and a wide assortment of antelope including the massive kudu and elands (which may be twice the size and weight of a zebra), that should give you some idea of just how tough they really are. In fact, I have witnessed captive zebra back down fully grown giraffes in food related disputes by backing up to them and kicking them in the legs repeatedly! Considering a large zebra will only break about five hundred pounds, this gives a large giraffe as much as a two-thousand pound weight advantage!

 

     Perhaps no other type of incident can demonstrate better, or prove more relevant to this article, than circumstances where people have found themselves on a zebra's bad side -which truthfully, is any side if you ask me. Here is a particularly good report from October 11th, 2010, published in The Telegraph, a popular British news paper. The headline reads "Zebra attack woman recovering after mauling". The article reads as such:

 

 

A woman is recovering in hospital after having her thumb and part of one of her breasts chewed off when she was attacked by her pet zebra, according to reports.

 

"Anne Mhidza, 40, said she felt lucky to be alive after the animal repeatedly bit at her during the attack near her home in Marondera, Zimbabwe.

 

 

The animal lover today told how she ran for her life when the domesticated zebra chased her across a field before charging at her and biting her chest.

 

She said: "I managed to run for about 40 metres but it caught up with me. It pounced on my chest, biting off part of my breast. While I was calling out for help I tried to force open its mouth using my hands and it bit off my thumb."

 

Ms Mhidza was rushed to hospital after the gruesome attack, which happened last Sunday.

 

Ms Mhidza told the New Zimbabwe website that her family had kept the zebra as a pet for a decade after taking it in as an orphaned foal and deciding to keep it alongside their herd of cattle.

 

The creature had always been calm until it turned on its owner after she stepped in to stop it attacking a cow

 

"We were shocked last week when the zebra bit one of the cows in the hind quarters as they were grazing," she said. "The cow bled profusely and later died.

 

"On Sunday last week, it attacked another cow. Instinctively, I threw a brick at it."

 

The zebra then abandoned the cow and charged at Ms Mhidza. Worried neighbors managed to scare the animal away after the incident. Wildlife officials later arrived at the scene and destroyed it.

 

Zimbabwe Parks and Wildlife Management spokeswoman Caroline Washaya-Moyo told New Zimbabwe it was not sensible to try to domesticate a wild animal.

 

She added that doing so was illegal and dangerous."

 

     While I particularly like the last statement in the article, perhaps the most relevant fact disclosed by the report was that the zebra had been a family pet for over a decade. The type of behavior exhibited by the zebra by attacking its owner of over ten years reflects an almost non-mammalian behavior, the type of thing one would expect from a pet boa constrictor rather than a relative of the horse. I also find it intriguing that the zebra turned on its owner when she tried to stop it from, of all things, picking on another animal. While my own zebra incident is not by any means meant to be compared to the one mentioned above, I do believe it occurred for many of the same reasons. So let's go back to that cold night at the Brazoria County Fair, some fifteen years ago, and examine exactly what happened when I met my first zebra up close and in person...

 

     Walking through the various open animal exhibits, I felt as if I were on safari in some pre-historic landscape were species from around the world must have once lived together, armed with nothing more than a paper cup full of grain-based animal food. Noticing the different browns and grays of animal coloration around me, I was immediately drawn to an out of place image of black and white stripes across the petting zoo area. Immediately, I recognized the familiar pattern. It was a zebra! Suddenly, the host of animals around me became little more than distractions. Perception, you see, plays an enormous role on a young child's mind in a situation such as this. While all wild animals are, well, wild to say the least, some animals appear to be “more wild” than others. Llamas, for example, may have been roaming the Andes for as many millennia as zebra have been roaming the Serengeti, but one hardly sees Animal Planet highlighting the life of the wild llama. In addition to the idea that zebras are more exotic than other animals, they are unquestionably more unique in their appearance, sporting wild mohawks and wearing prison striped pajamas on their fur. I began my approach, completely unaware of just how dangerous the animal so casually displayed, the one I was planning to feed by hand, actually was. The zebra was held in a square enclosure made from rectangular mesh fence, the type of rig you might use to house goats in. Ignoring the small pigs begging for attention near my feet, I contemplated the best way to attempt feeding the zebra. Holding the paper cup in my right hand, I extended my arm towards the zebra's soot black muzzle. I should have fed the pigs instead. Suddenly, before I could even react, the zebra tossed its head to the side and bit down firmly upon my right forearm, pulling me forward and off balance. In shock, I dropped the paper cup to the ground and began to pull against the vice-like grip of the zebra. No dice. It actually tightened its hold on my arm and began to slowly rear its head, putting an enormous amount of pressure on my shoulder as that joint became the weakest link between my bodyweight and the unbelievable strength of the zebra. I don't know what that zebra wanted, but it seemed determined to take my arm as collateral! After what seemed like six months, but was probably only a couple of weeks, someone noticed that I had a striped horse attached to my arm. An older gentleman rushed over and, grabbing my right arm in one hand, began pushing against the zebra's muzzle with the other. Obviously frustrated and probably confused, the zebra finally relinquished its hold. Assuring the man that I was ok, I left to find my parents. I don't think I even looked back at the zebra.

 

     While I pretend to dislike zebras, the truth of the matter is that I greatly admire them, and viewing the incident in retrospect, I actually see the zebra as having been the victim. Here was a truly wild and dangerous animal confined to an enclosure barely large enough to accommodate it. It had been exposed to hundreds of loud people for hours on end, all trying to touch it and have their pictures taken with it. This would have been the zebra's routine for close to ten hours a day for almost two weeks. In fact, now that I think about it, I almost feel as if the zebra deserved to bite me and that by pulling free from it, I deprived it of some form of retribution for being viewed as an object of human amusement. Of course, I'm probably over complicating things with this point of view, and there certainly isn’t any evidence to support it. But that doesn't mean is isn't true, now does it?

 

 

Bitten, Scratched, and Banged Up: The Closest I've Come To Dying

     While many people I have met are completely convinced that at some point in my life I must have walked under a latter while breaking mirrors with my open umbrella in doors, tipped over a salt shaker on Friday the 13^th, or tread on a Native American’s pet dog’s burial ground, the truth is that throughout my entire life, I have remained extremely lucky when dealing with animals. Though I have suffered from countless bites, scratches, and assorted injuries, I have been fortunate enough to have never been stamped “cancelled”, let alone seriously injured. I’ve been hospitalized by a venomous snake, I’ve been submerged chest deep in alligator infested water, vaccinated by a brown recluse, and have been stabbed, bitten, and poisoned by countless other animals. And through it all, I’ve never come closer to death than the horse-back riding incident I’ve chosen to recount in this article. Though this piece does not actually include an animal “attack”, this was perhaps the only animal related incident I have experienced where I was literally within inches of death. Here’s how I remember every terrifying minute of it…

     It wasn’t cold, it was freezing. Winter was setting in and the temperature was dropping nearly as fast as the sun, which was now barely visible over the horizon, heavily obscured by the thick tree line directly behind the house. Sporting a pair of jeans and thick denim jacket, I stood on the front porch, arms crossed in my best Robert Redford impression. I had been suffering from a lot of anxiety related stress lately and I figured that perhaps the best thing to calm my rattled nerves would be a long horse-back ride. While never the type to don a Stetson, I had always enjoyed the cowboy vibe I got from riding horses. Growing up on John Wayne movies makes this inevitable, I suppose. The ground continued to swallow the sun, as if it were sinking in quick sand. The orange and gold lights that had filled the sky faded to a dull blue grey, and then plain grey. I had been waiting a while now as several of my siblings had each taken turns riding Penny, our five-year old quarter horse. We had only gotten her last Christmas, the year it snowed a solid six inches, and we were all keen to practice our riding skills.

     At last, one of my sisters walked her up to the porch and tied her off, wrapping one of the reigns around the top rail. I walked stiffly down the steps and around the horse, breathing deeply and rubbing my head as I tried hard to forget about the anxieties I had been battling for so long. I slid my left foot through the stirrup while grabbing ahold of the saddle horn. “Why does it have to be the left side of the horse when mounting?” I wondered to myself. “Who made that rule? And why does everyone obey it?”. “Was it the same guy who said women under the age of twenty-one shouldn’t cross their legs during dinner?”. “Does it bother the horse if I mount on the right side, and do horses even know the difference between right and left?” I thought, as I eased up and swung my right leg over the saddle. It took me a second to find the other stirrup with my boot. John Wayne had always made it look so easy. Taking both reigns in one hand, I began walking the horse out towards the three-hundred foot, gravel driveway. If I thought it was cold before, being elevated on horse-back, completely exposed to the chilling wind certainly didn’t do much to change my mind. It didn’t matter though because my mind was being occupied by nature, which was the entire point. We kept walking.

     Reaching the end of the driveway, I turned her off onto the grassy path that followed the gravel road nearly a quarter mile before reaching the asphalt paved public road. There were pastures occupied by cattle on each side, allowing for ten feet or so of grass between the pasture’s fence lines and the white gravel road. Continuing to walk her in the same direction, the fence along my left angled off at ninety degrees, just before we reached the first of three trailer houses that aligned the remaining road. This provided one with a little extra riding area, though I was careful to avoid veering off into someone’s yard. Forget whatever notions you may have concerning country hospitality. The people living in my neck of the woods are just as likely to call the police on you as say hello, assuming they don’t shoot you first. Keep in mind that this is the South, where water is only drunk after five o’clock and there are more shotguns than pretty women. I stayed very close to the road.

     Reaching the end of the road, I turned Penny around and stared back towards my house, which I could now barely make out through the imposing darkness. I don’t remember what caused me to decide on my next course of action. Perhaps I wanted an adrenaline rush. But more than likely, I had just always wanted to try this and now was as good a time as any. You see, I had never galloped a horse before. I had walked one, cantered, trotted, and even loped on a horse, but never once had I ridden one at full gallop. Crossing over to the left side of the road, which would have been the right side across the road from me on the way up, I took a deep breath. Before I even knew it, I quickly tapped the horse’s flanks with my boot heels and yelled “ha!” just the way Robert Redford would have done it. Penny exploded. She started off fast, much faster than I had anticipated and with each pounding step she quickened the pace. Within five seconds we must have been totaling forty miles per hour. Just as we were nearing the last house on the way back, my right foot slipped from the stirrup. Terror struck and panic began to swell up inside me as I flailed my foot around trying to find the lost stirrup, all the while, the horse began racing off course, veering across the road straight through a neighbor’s yard. Holding on to the saddle horn with my left, I grabbed ahold of the stirrup with my right and managed to slide it back over my foot. To this day, I am still unsure whether or not that saved my life or nearly ended it. Though my feet were now both in their propper place, we were still racing wildly off course. I thought for sure we would crash into the pasture fence. We never made it that far.
 

     The moment I secured the stirrup, I raised my body back to its vertical position and looked forward. I will never forget what happened next. There was what sounded like a sonic crack in both ears as the whole world before me flashed into a bright yellow wall. I had just galloped my horse forty miles per hour into a trio of parallel guidelines anchoring a telephone pole into the neighbor’s yard. For the next second, though it actually seemed like three or four, I felt the strangest sensation: no sensation at all. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. I saw nothing but blackness as the yellow flash disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Looking back on this moment, I do believe I might very well have been unconscious. The next thirty seconds however, woke me up in a hurry and remain the scariest moment of my life to date. I hit the ground chest first at forty miles per hour, my right foot still caught in the stirrup. I vividly remember actually bouncing off the ground like a tennis ball upon impact. The horse screamed exactly as they do in ancient battle movies just before they die, actually flipping in a complete circle through the air over me, while my foot was still caught in the stirrup. Because I hit the ground chest first with one foot in the stirrup, and the horse landed further from the wires than I did, this means that she actually twisted through the air about two feet over my body and landed about twelve inches away from my head. Strangely, as I recovered consciousness upon impact, I was actually unaware of how serious the situation was. Noticing a strange powdery substance in my mouth, I pulled myself up on hands and knees and looked forward to see Penny flailing on her back, covered in blood. I tried to stand. With one step I fell back down in agonizing pain, hitting the ground next to Penny, who had managed by this point to roll over. She stood and staggered, taking three steps in my direction, then collapsed. I was lying prone, nearly unable to move. She stood again, taking several more steps towards me, and collapsed again. I realized that she was about to walk right over me and I began clawing at the dirt, desperately trying to move out of her way. But I couldn’t. She stood back up and stepped right over me, her legs wobbling uncontrollably as if she were a new born foal. Her hoof brushed my face as I rolled over to avoid being stepped on. She staggered, and I began screaming for help as I relentlessly fought to stay out from under her. I looked towards the nearest trailer as I screamed “Is anyone there!? Help me!” But no one emerged. As Penny continued to stagger forward, I managed to roll out from under her and after several additional seconds, she had stabilized somewhat and I had managed to sit up. Suddenly I heard voices screaming my name, each one louder than the one before. Thank the Lord, my sister had been sitting on the porch swing and had heard the crash of the guidelines and the wailing of the horse! Somehow my brother made it there too, the both of them running on foot as fast as they could. Showing enough good sense to reserve all questions for after the tour, they helped me up to my feet. Completely unable to walk, they helped me up over the saddle, where I laid horizontally the entire way back.
 

     Sprawled out across the couch, there was very little I could do. Though the pain in my chest was severe and the entire length of my rib cage had begun turning a lovely black and blue, I concluded that nothing crucial was broken or ruptured. I was not coughing blood and no bones appeared to be cleanly broken. I had severely chipped two or three teeth though, which is what had caused the powdery sensation in my mouth. I knew that Penny was likely in more trouble than I was. After all, that wasn’t my blood I had seen. As it turns out, she had her neck cleanly punctured within an inch of her carotid artery. The cavity in her neck was filled with blood and there was a hole in the side of her neck as perfectly round as if she had been attacked by a giant hole-punch. I have looked over the area of the crash multiple times since the incident but have never found any object that could have made an injury like that. To this day I have no idea what punctured her neck. Luckily, we both survived the incident and are, even to this day, quite healthy. Interestingly, Penny now only grows white hair in the location of the healed neck wound. Even more interesting though are the questions raised and answered after a thorough inspection of the crash site.

     As it turns out, the bright yellow flash was a wide, plastic yellow lining on the top two wires. It seemed to be right in front of my face at the time of the flash. However, if the wires had hit me directly in the face it more than likely would have killed me as well as knocked me directly backwards rather than forwards over the wire, where I actually landed. Perhaps I had gone just under the top wires but had caught the bottom one. Maybe the horse’s legs had caught the bottom strand and her neck had caught the top two. Perhaps the top strands had caught the saddle horn, still flashing yellow in front of me as we were flipped over them. Who knows? The ground surrounding the guidelines was covered in a very thick layer of soft dirt, which more than likely saved my life. Had it been gravel or even hard earth, I would very likely have suffered from broken ribs and possibly even ruptured or punctured organs. What I find most interesting about the entire incident though, was the way my foot was caught in the stirrup. This had directly controlled the manner in which I landed. I had hit the ground on the left side of my chest while being swung by my trapped leg in a downward, diagonal arch going left to right. Had I failed to find the stirrup the instant before the crash, there is no guarantee that I wouldn’t have landed on my head and broken my neck. Perhaps it even kept me from landing underneath the horse, which would also surely have killed me. The little details, it seems, are always the most important.

          Looking back on the incident, it’s hard to find anything I did right. I was an emotionally taxed, un-experienced rider trying to gallop a horse for the first time in my life, at night. Does the situation really warrant further investigation? I clearly made one mistake after another and they very nearly proved to be my last. One positive outcome did come from that experience though. I completely forgot about my anxiety for the next few days! Perhaps there is a market in this…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bitten, Scratched, and Banged Up: Why These Things Happen To Us (but mostly to me)

     For this piece, I have decided to include several different incidents that happened over the course of several years. While the following incidents may not be worthy of inclusion on Untamed and Uncut, they were certainly of great importance to me, especially during the moments at which they occurred! Part of this article will be dedicated to the explanation of a point which I have always felt to be extremely important from the perspective of a wildlife educator and that is the simple fact that animal attacks or altercations with people never happen out of context. By this I mean that under any circumstance in which an individual finds themselves being hurt, injured, or killed by any type of animal, there are or were a specific set of circumstances in place that made it possible and likely to happen. While sometimes these circumstances are nearly unavoidable, they are always set in place by our actions. It must be understood that animals have one specific life goal, and it's not to win the lottery, compete in the Olympics, or appear on reality TV. Animals are all specifically and specially designed to survive and pass their genes on to the next generation of their species. Altercations with human beings are, for the most part, not part of their plan for fulfilling that goal. These instances only occur when we violate the rules for other specie’s completion of this purpose, such as the defensive bite of the copperhead I recounted in the last episode, or when the incidents actually serve as the completion of this purpose, such as the many crocodile attacks that occur every year in Africa. The former case demonstrated an animal defending itself from what it perceived to be a predator, whereas the latter demonstrates an animal executing its predatory instincts upon what it considered as just another prey animal. In each circumstance, a mistake was made on the human end that allowed the attack to occur. It is therefore important to remember that animals are never at “fault” for an attack on humans. The word “fault”, by its very definition, implies an agreed upon code of morality, one that animals are simply not subject to. There is no right or wrong within the animal kingdom, simply survival and the alternative. All animal behaviors are direct results of this dynamic. What follows are specific examples of how I managed, at one time or another, to upset the balance and pay the price in spades!

 

Polly Wants A Cracker… Or A Finger!

     Standing outside on my front porch, I could see the usual line of cars parked at the end of my long gravel driveway, each waiting as the minutes on their clocks ticked closer towards nine-thirty. Today was BLAST day, the bi-weekly class for my family’s private run science co-op. The focus of the semester was zoology and today was bird day. One by one, each car pulled through the circular driveway, dropping off our students. With the living room being fully converted into a classroom, everyone had a seat on the floor, anticipating the morning assembly that is taught by yours truly. With a childish grin on my face, I eagerly anticipated the day’s events. We had arranged for the parent of one of our students to bring two tropical birds for a demonstration that would serve as a fantastic visual as I introduced the kids to the amazing avian class. Mentally reminding myself not to rush through the topic introduction, I laid the groundwork for the day’s classes. “Tell her to bring them in now” I said looking to my sister and co-teacher, motioning towards the door with my chin. “Alright guys, just like the last two weeks, we have a live animal for you to see up close. Raise our hand if you can remember our rules we follow when we have an animal in class”. Hands shot up as each and every child immediately adjusted themselves to the “crisscrossed applesauce, hands in your lap” position and silenced themselves, already knowing what our animal handling rules are. Choosing the most still and quiet students to answer my questions, as I always do, I prepared them for our special guests.

 

     You see, birds always present a unique challenge when handling them in front of a crowd. They don’t have what I like to refer to as the “compromised sense” as some animals do. By this I mean that while some animals see poorly and make up for it with excellent olfactory and hearing senses, or have a poor sense ( and in some cases, no sense) of hearing but make up for it with a strong olfactory senses and excellent sight, the simple fact is that birds excel at all three. While it is true that a bird’s olfactory system is the least developed of its sensory perceptions, to suggest that this implies a week sense of smell would be similar to concluding that Shakespeare’s early works sucked because they were less developed than Hamlet. The truth is that most birds have a better sense of smell than humans, as well as a phenomenal sense of hearing and perhaps the very best vision in the animal kingdom. In the case of animal handling within a large crowd, the combination of these three highly tuned senses triples the chance of some type of stimulus from the surrounding environment -most likely from a spectator- causing the bird to become nervous, irritable, or erratic in behavior. And while both reptiles and mammals may certainly experience similar discomfort while being handled, to this day I have never had either of the two fly away from me as a result. If that happens, you will be the first to know about it. Another interesting aspect of handling birds is the manner by which they are handled. With reptiles and mammals, you are able, in most circumstances, to secure the animal with both hands to ensure they remain safe. This also plays a pivotal role in both removing them from their carriers at the beginning of the handling session and placing them back inside their carriers when finished. If an alligator, for example, becomes upset or aggravated, it will twist and turn in your hands until given the chance to calm down or until it is placed back in the carrier. However, because you have a safe and firm cast mold –like grip on him with both hands, there is little trouble it can actually give you while doing this, assuming he is smaller than some of the dinosaurs I’ve been foolish enough to hold from time to time. The same can be said of lizards, turtles and tortoises, chinchillas, rabbits, tenrecs, and most other handling animals without feathers and beaks. If, however, an intelligent bird has cause to be upset, frightened, or feels just plain stubborn on that given day, then my friend, you are in for a terrible surprise! Because birds must be perched on your arm, wrist, or hand, and are therefore free to move around on top of it, placing one where it wishes not to be is a very difficult task indeed. In addition to making you look like an idiot in front of your students, peers, or supervisor, it has a dampening effect on the program being taught and does little to booster the “wildlife whisperer” image that you no doubt have of yourself. And sometimes they bite… really hard.

 

      Needless to say, when the birds were brought in, my excitement was well tempered, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at me, with a healthy dose of apprehension and caution. With both animal carriers now placed on the table behind me, our guest teacher introduced the birds. The first was a beautiful blue and gold macaw, which is perhaps the most common among the large, captive owned macaws. And Lord was he huge! Perched atop his owner’s forearm, he must have easily beaten three feet in length, including the tail. And as I anticipated, the large crowd began to have an immediate effect on his behavior. Luckily, the macaw merely became shy, uneasily shifting his weight back and forth, continually looking away from the crowd to his owner in the exact same manner by which a toddler shies away from an admiring stranger and turns towards his or her mother. Our guest speaker was no slouch though and anticipated the bird’s every move, calming it considerably with some salted peanuts still in the shell. As she fed the macaw one peanut at a time, the kids “oohed” and “awed” as the macaw grabbed each with its unique zygodactyl feet and perfectly shelled them in its massive, vice-like beak. About this time, some loud chirps and whistles began coming from the other carrier. Someone wanted some attention, or at the very least, some of those peanuts. “You can get the other one out” our guest teacher told me, looking at the second carrier. As I opened the carrier door, a beautiful green and gold caique stepped out onto my hand. This second bird was much smaller, a little less than half the size of the macaw. Displaying the caique (pronounced “ki-yeek”) to the class, the guest teacher and I took turns sharing information on our avian friends. Somewhere between the social hierarchy of macaws and the average body temperature of tropical birds, I realized that I still had my watch on while holding the caique, which, as the British say, simply isn’t done, old chap. Before handling any type of animal, it is basic procedure to remove all watches, bracelets, loose jewelry, and the like, to ensure that whatever animal you happen to be handling does not become entangled in them. I had left my watch on, but I wasn’t the only one who noticed. The caique noticed too and began nibbling on it with its powerful, scissor –like beak. Knowing the bird could, and probably would, bite clean through my watch band, I placed my other hand just in front of its legs, expecting it to step across to my other hand. I would then simply remove the watch and continue. At least that was the theory. The caique, however, had no such plans! As I reached my other hand up to the caique’s legs, instead of stepping over as I anticipated, it quickly reached down with its beak and grabbed onto my right index finger. At that moment, my world stopped. Here I feel it is important to note that I have, as the title of this series of articles implies, been bitten by a wide variety of animals. From the regular animals such as house cats and dogs to the not so regular animals, including, but not limited to, snakes, zebras, and alligators, I have experienced more than most in the form of an animal’s teeth clamping down on my sweet young body. I can say, however, without any hesitation or second thought that in terms of sheer bite force, none of them hurt as badly as that caique did. The best and most accurate way that I can think of describing the sensation of a caique clamping down on my finger is this: imagine a strong friend is trying to amputate your finger with a pair of dull bolt cutters. If you can comprehend what this might feel like, then you can understand the sense of panic that was flooding my mind as the reality sank in that I might actually lose the end of my finger to this bird and that it was about to happen in front of thirty children! Keeping a cool head as I have learned to do over the years, I remarked to the bird “Come now, that isn’t very nice”.  The kids thought that to be particularly funny, as I hoped they would. I didn’t want them to know that inside my mind, I was screaming! Using the composure one only earns through years of experience and hundreds of animal bites, I bet everything on performing the hardest action there is during an incident like this: I completely relaxed and didn’t move a muscle. Whether or not this deliberate action caused the bird to calm down, I’ll never know. What I did know, however, was that on some level it must have worked because after what felt like six months, the caique let me go. Miraculously, I wasn’t bleeding and my finger wasn’t broken. I even finished the lesson without breaking composure, if you can believe that.

 

     What went wrong? Well, several things did. For starters, it simply wasn’t an intelligent idea to handle a highly intelligent, emotional, and potentially dangerous bird in front of such a large group. Had her owner handled her, I doubt that type of incident would have ever happened. However, the caique had never seen me before that moment and her shyness and unease towards me, coupled with the anxiety of being held in front of a large group, was simply too much for her to handle. It would be the same as expecting a child to perform in a school play in front of a large audience, with kids she didn’t know, on her first day of school. Too many demands on the caique at once resulted in anxiety, which nearly resulted in yours truly missing every “y”, “u”, “h”, “j”, “n”, and “m” in this article. Not to mention the fact that I forgot to remove my watch. Had I not overlooked that simple rule, the incident would have been far less likely to occur in the manner it did. Perhaps the caique would have just attempted to fly the arm’s length back to its carrier instead of biting my finger. It was a lesson learned the hard way. Perhaps it could be chalked up to my own unique “compromised sense”. The common kind, that is.  

Tune in next time to hear how I nearly managed to kill myself and the horse under me... at the same time!