Tails from the Heart (Part 2): The Soul of Gamma Ray

It took me a long time to realize that there were a whole lot of myths surrounding fish.   Here are some of the debunked myths I've gathered that are relevant to this story:

1) Fish do not have a three-second memory
2) Fish are capable of feeling pain
3) Fish have individual personalities


Okay, roll your eyes or laugh at me.  My degree is in zoology and I've had a passion for charismatic megafauna, most of whom have eyelids and/or fur.  Or as one very smart person said, "animals with souls".    So my interest in fish essentially consisted of an interest in Fish That Can Eat You.  

A Fish That Could Eat You if He/She Wanted, But He/She Will Probably Settle For A Toilet Seat

Like most children, I fished and had a fish tank.  However, my early ichthyological education was very limited as I was surrounded by adults who knew a lot about Business, Finance, Mathematics, History, Religion, and Philosophy.  They did not, however, have a deep interest in Biology.  Yet, they strove to answer all of my questions.  My passion being in animals, most of my questions were on that topic.  

For example, when an unfortunate bluegill found itself on the wrong end of my fishing pole via a hook in its eye socket, I immediately reacted with concern.  I found the nearest Adult and told them what happened.  

"Does it hurt him????" I'd ask.

"No," replied the Adult, attempting to pull and twist the hook out, making the eyeball bulge and bleed.  "Fish can't feel any pain."

"Why is he flapping his tail like that?!"  Oh, the horror!

"Uh, he wants to swim!" the Adult said.  "He's just happy we are letting him go!"   

Lip-piercing is all the rage

I think I knew that the fish was in a tremendous amount of pain, but I didn't want to admit to myself that I'd caused this horrific injury to a critter just looking to eat some suspended worms.   So for years, I told myself that fish couldn't feel pain.  I didn't do anything to cause pain to fish, but I didn't worry myself when I went fishing.  I figured hey, even if fish feel pain, they probably don't have a sense of Self and don't really know what's going on to them.  The hubris of humanity!

Luckily, thanks to my budding career in marine mammal training, I spent a lot of time around fish.  I got to know playful groupers, cunning eels, and curious mangrove snapper.  But perhaps the most special of all fish I've ever met was a cow nosed stingray named Gamma.

Some cow-nosed rays

Gamma and her buddy X (ha ha) came to Marineland as a donation.  Getting fish donations is more common than most people realize at aquariums, especially saltwater setups.   Gamma and X came from an aquarium in what I believe was a surf store.  The tank was not the correct habitat for the rays; it was rectangular, and those corners mean bad news for stingrays.  Gamma and X spent too much time slamming into the corners of their enclosure, and as a result caused themselves a lot of injury.   The store owner felt badly for the rays and brought them to Marineland.

Unfortunately, X was far too injured and ill, and died not long after they arrived.  The aquarists successfully nursed Gamma back to good health, and the marine mammal team began training her.  I was one of the lucky people selected to get in on the ground level to start Gamma's training.  

It didn't take long for Gamma to realize where she needed to go to eat when her training session started.  In fact, it didn't take long for us to teach her some basic behaviors: target, dorsal tactile, ventral layout, and even a little follow behavior.  She began to do limited interaction programs, which in turn changed people's view about sting rays for the better.   I fell head over heels for this little fish.

Over a period of a couple of weeks, we started to notice that Gamma was losing weight.  We increased her diet; we always tried to feed her until she was stuffed.  We fed her clams, shrimp, and capelin (a type of fish).  She ate the food readily and to satiation, but she still lost weight.  When our aquarist team could not figure out what was going on with Gamma, they did not hesitate to reach out to other aquariums and ray experts.  They all said the same thing: Gamma had a parasite.

We treated Gamma with what we could, but we were told it was likely a very common but untreatable internal parasite found in the majority of cow nosed rays.  If it was this parasite, we were told Gamma would not survive.  Because veterinary care of cow nosed stingrays (and many other fish) is not necessarily as advanced as that of "Animals With Souls" (remember, fish "don't have feelings"), the diagnostic tests were very limited for poor Gamma.  We basically had to decide if we should assume she had a terminal illness and euthanize her, or if we should keep fighting for her survival on the off-chance she had a curable problem.

We chose to give Gamma a fighting chance.  She swam around her exhibit, but was spending a little more time at the bottom.  Her cartilaginous skeleton was clearly visible through her skin, and she finally stopped eating.  

Despite her lack of appetite, Gamma still came over to her trainer when we'd visit her throughout the day.  Not only that, she would sit on our hand or come by to let us pet her soft, almost velvety wings.  She'd circle back around towards our hands for another rub, then another, and another.  When I commented on Gamma's solicitation of tactile interaction to the head aquarist, he simply replied, "Well, they are social animals."

That gave me pause.  Social animals are typically the creatures we have as pets, or the wild animals to whom we relate.   We think it's completely plausible, even likely, that social animals like dolphins, wolves, elephants, bonobos can form meaningful relationships.  Maybe we go even further to acknowledge common social behavior in parrots, chickens, or meerkats.  But we forget about fish; so many species of fish spend time with other fish in schools.  Setting aside brain size*, why should we be so quick to dismiss the possibility of eyelid-less creatures needing social interaction?

Gamma spent the last of her few days with her trainers and the aquarists.  Although weak and thin, she managed to muster up enough strength to visit any human that came to the side of her pool and rest on their upturned hand.  She passed away one morning, and left an entire group of humans in mourning.  She blasted apart any misconceptions we had about fish, inspired guests who had the opportunity to see her and interact with her, and gave us all the opportunity to peer into the life of an animal we don't usually get to see or even care that much about.  I learned so much from that one, single stingray.  

Some people (especially behaviorists) will read this post and believe there is a scientific way to explain Gamma's behavior that does not indicate the potential for thought or social need.  Her reinforcement history "programmed" Gamma to come over to the human stimulus; not a need for companionship.  I'm not interested in debating the why or the how any animal (including humans) acts.  Social behavior is not some higher cognitive power.  Just because humans have it, doesn't mean it's something elite.  But it is special.  And what is more special than two species coming together to discover something about each other?  For the humans, we humbly learn that maybe we are wrong about how we see "lower" animals.  And for the stingray, she learned to seek comfort in the most unlikely of places when she was terminally ill.   There is nothing more touching or special than that.  

Thank you, Gamma Ray!

My hand and Gamma!

________
* Does brain size actually indicate intelligence?  Of course not.  Politicians have the same brain size as us.

How My Work Uniform Fixed My Road Rage

I have a road rage problem.  No, let me rephrase that.  There is a problem today with the way people operate their motor vehicles.  My road rage is a symptom of the previously mentioned problem.

When I was in high school, I penned my very first Middle Flipper-esque blog entry (I don’t remember the name of the blog now).  I turned it in for an A.P. American Literature assignment my senior year.  In fact, my teacher awarded me the highest grade.  At the top of my paper, she stamped a purple stylus; a symbol indicating that she felt the writing was worthy for publication.  And what was the topic of this first masterpiece?

Road rage.

I’ve calmed down a little in my advancing years.  When I was in high school and college, I occasionally retaliated against drivers who cut me off, yelled at me, or followed me by tailing them and saying choice expletives.  Sometimes I expressed my anger in other ways involving hand signals.  Nowadays, I just swear my head off when I’m sure the other driver can’t see me.  

WHY I OUGHTA!

This problem becomes compounded when I am in my work uniform.  I have to Represent The Company when I’m in my uniform.  So when I’m driving to or from work and I encounter drivers such as: Grumpy Middle Aged Man With An Expensive Car, Spring Breaker With IPhone And/Or Alcohol, or Old Woman Whose Hair Appears To Be Operating The Steering Wheel, I really force myself to keep any frustration inside.   It works well on two levels.  First, I don’t make [insert Marine Park Name here] look bad.  Second, it helps me realize that there are far worse injustices in the world that I could get upset about*.

However, my patience was really tried a few years ago when I worked at Marineland of Florida.  

Marineland sits on a scenic coastal highway known as A1A.  A1A is a two-lane highway that winds its way through hammock forests, beach dunes, and old Florida attractions, restaurants, and homes, and along the Atlantic ocean.  Needless to say, it’s one of the best commutes I’ve ever had.  

A1A

The unfortunate part about using A1A as a commuter highway is that it’s 2-lanes.  A1A hosts vehicles such as school buses.   It is a scenic highway, so tourists and snowbirds often use it.  The speed limit for much of the commute from where I turned onto A1A until I got just outside of Marineland city limits was 55mph.  Stir all of these variables together and you’ve got a highway with a lot of slow driving.

School buses notwithstanding, I often became frustrated when a vehicle in front of me drove well under the speed limit because they were enjoying the view.  Or perhaps they were not paying attention to the speed limit signs and figured There Was No Way A Scenic Highway Had A Speed Limit Over 25mph.   But still, I kept it inside when I wore my Marineland uniform.

One day, I had a later shift at work that started in the late morning.  Traffic was moderate on A1A, but it was moving along well.  Me and my little Prius happily hummed along the historic stretch of road when I noticed a large black Suburban roll through a stop sign and turn right in front of me.  I slammed on my brakes and luckily did not hit him.  

“WHAT THE FUN DIP?!” I thought to myself. 

The Suburban continued along with me following several car lengths behind it.  Suddenly, its brake lights came on and the SUV lurched forward.  I had enough space and distance to roll to a stop, but I wondered what was going on with the guy.  He started driving again, and got to a stretch of road that ran through a State Park.   

Washington Oaks State Park

The Suburban stopped in the lane.  A dead stop.  His brake lights were still on, but I thought for certain something had happened to the car or to him.  I tried to see the driver’s face in the mirror.  The driver rolled his window down and waved at me to pass him.  There were was a steady stream of cars in the oncoming lane, and because we were in a State Park, there was hardly a shoulder for me to pass on the right.  I stayed put and noticed that there were several cars now lined up behind me.  

I rolled down my window to try to see if the Suburban Man was okay.  Again, he waved me around him.  He then looked into his side view mirror and looked at me and mouthed, “GO!”  I pointed to the oncoming traffic and said, “I can’t.”

At this point, the cars lined up behind us are now tearing around us at Mach 4 speed on the right, and I’m starting to freak out that there’s going to be some kind of accident.  The Suburban Man refused to budge, and when I saw an opening in the oncoming lane, I passed him (legally, might I add!) on the left.  As soon as I got in front of him, Suburban Man started following me.  No, tailing me.  

Imagine: a hugenormous SUV driving mere inches away from the poor, pathetic little fender of a Prius.  And while I can boast all I want to about my Prius‘ fantastic turn radius and decent gas mileage, it takes my little car roughly 9 hours and 60,700 batteries to go from 0 to 60. 

Look! Look how many batteries!!!!!!! One for each mile per hour.

When I saw Marineland, I breathed a sigh of relief and pulled into the parking lot....

....only to watch Suburban Man (let’s call him SUV SOB) follow me in.  I panicked.  Several important questions raced through my mind.

1. What did I do to deserve this?
2. Was I going to get slaughtered by some crazy man?
3. What time was my lunch going to be scheduled for if my shift was so late?

I pulled into a parking spot and looked in my rear view mirror.  Phew, I thought.  I don’t see the SUV SOB anymore.  Maybe he drove away.

I got out of my car and began to walk to the back entrance, which entailed me walking through the parking lot and then back to A1A.  

“Next time, leave early!!!!”

I whipped around at the sound of a strange man’s voice and the hum of a large vehicle.  Oh my god, I thought.  This is it, this guy is going to beat me up.  I need to think of something eloquent, witty, and an appropriate for this situation.

“I’m sorry, I think it is extremely inappropriate behavior for a grown man to follow a woman he doesn’t know.”  My brain said.

“What?” My mouth said.

“If you’re late to work, LEAVE EARLIER!”

“Wait, I’m late to work?” I looked at my watch.

“WELL WHY ELSE WOULD YOU BE DRIVING LIKE A DRUNK?”

“Wait, what is going on right now?”

“YOU OUGHTA LEAVE FOR WORK EARLIER INSTEAD OF TAILING ME!!!!!!!!!”

“I wasn’t tailing you!  You cut me off earlier, but other than that I stayed a good distance behind you.”

“YOU WERE RIGHT NEXT TO MY CAR WHEN WE WERE STOPPED ON THE HIGHWAY!!!!!!”

Then, the duality of my personality came into effect: Uniform Cat and Normal Cat.

Uniform Cat:  You stopped on the highway, sir.  I had no idea what was going on.  I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.
Normal Cat:  Eat dirt.

Mmm, dirt pudding.

At this point, I was speed-walking to the entrance.  SUV SOB kept driving next to me with his passenger window down, telling me what a terrible person I was and how I ought to leave earlier to be on time for work.  I ignored him and eventually I got to the door.  He sped off and I never heard from him (or saw him, thank god) again.

I sometimes imagine what I would’ve done had I not been on my way to work.  I probably would’ve said Really Witty Things That Put Him In His Place AND Taught Him Life Lessons.    But I didn’t, and now I guess I have to admit that no matter how awesome my reaction was, it wouldn’t have helped anything.

I do have some consolations about how I handled that situation.  I leave you with them to ponder.

1. I took the high road, which is usually better (this rule does not apply to siblings)
2. I was only yelled at, not pummeled by a strange man
3. I’m not dumb enough to stop in the middle of a 55mph highway to teach someone a lesson
4. After some careful calculations involving Math and Common Sense, I conclude that this encounter cost the man an addition $6.21 in gas due to a number of factors including the speed at which I walked away from him towards Marineland, his gas mileage, the distance for which he followed me, and my enormous imagination.
   
   _____
   * Such as too much frosting and not enough cupcake

What Happens When Animals Say, "Nah."

I'm going to let you all in on a little secret.  I woke up this morning and felt inspired to write a blog on what happens when an animal doesn't do what you want him or her to do.   

"While I write," I thought.  "I will let my sweet little cockatiel Lennon sit on my shoulder, because I didn't get to spend a lot of time with him last night."

So I walk over to his cage and let him out.  He came out and was really snuggly and very talkative.  Oh, how I love that little bird.

What a cutie!

I still had my yoga clothes on, so I wanted to put on a sweatshirt so Lennon wouldn't crap all over my bare shoulders to stay warm.  I walked into my bedroom, put Lennon down on the bed, and put my sweatshirt on.  When I went to pick him up, he started making little Nervous Cockatiel Sounds which he often makes when I leave for work, or when I put him back in his cage for the night.

As my finger approached his face, he lashed out and bit the %&*! out of it.  

I recoiled unprofessionally; no animal trainer is supposed to react to unwanted behavior. So fire me.  You stay still while an angelic-looking bird rips your flesh open because They Can't Believe You're Going to Leave The House Again!

So I put my sweatshirt sleeve over my hand and asked him to step up.  He did, but not without lots of biting.  And then he flew to my head (which was securely ensconced in the sweatshirt hood) and whined and bit my scalp through the hood fabric.  And when I went to get him off of my head right away, he bit again and again and again.

He eventually calmed down when he realized I wasn't reacting to his biting anymore.  I placed him on my shoulder, pet his little feathery cheeks, and told him he was a good bird.  Then I sat down and began to write about hypothetical examples of what happens when an animal says NO.  I figured hey, this is a question people ask all the time.  Plus, my blog's name and theme are about this very topic.  

I reached up and tried to get Lennon to step up on my bare hand.  This stoked the tiny, angry fire raging inside of his head and he attacked again.  I ignored him. I typed and tried to feel inspired while Lennon struck at my face, my head, my wrist, and my hands.  I didn't need a hypothetical example for this blog.  One was happening to me in REAL TIME.  So I had a little conversation with Lennon.

Me: Thanks Lennon, for being such an inspiring muse!  This behavior you're exhibiting exactly portrays the topic for my latest blog!

Lennon: WAHHHHHHHH I HATE YOU

His attacks did not stop, so I walked him back to his cage and placed him inside.  And now I can hear him, "WEE-WEE! WEE-WEE!" which most scientists agree translate to "DEATH TO ALL HAIRLESS PRIMATES".  So I don't think he'll be joining me for the rest of this blog entry.

Okay, let's break it all down.  First of all, if you're not an A-hole, you probably subscribe to the whole "positive reinforcement" training concept.  That is, you reward desired behavior and don't focus so much on the undesired behavior.  Secondly, if you decide to use positive reinforcement training, you're also empowering the animal to decide what they want to do.  

How does this work?  Well, you find out what motivates the individual, because each animal is an unique.  My rabbit will do anything* for vanilla wafers.  Lennon is more motivated by attention and affection.  I've worked with dolphins who are business-only: They just want fish.  Other dolphins are such finicky eaters that I actually have to reinforce them with their favorite toy if they don't play with their fish.

Behold, the power of the Nilla

Once the animal knows that you've got what he/she wants, then training can start.  Essentially, if the animal wants to do what you expect of them, then they will do it.  If they don't care about what you have to offer, then they may choose to decline.

What are some of the reasons for an animal to blow you off?  Well, I can't read anyone's mind.  I can barely figure out my own (and I'd venture to say most of you who know me would say the same thing about me).  Sometimes it's because:

1) You haven't rewarded them properly for that behavior

    Dolphin:  Wow.  Another fish?  How original. *rolls eyes*

2) The animal is scared or anxious of something

    Seal: There is a blue heron standing over there, plotting my demise I JUST KNOW IT! HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO FOCUS AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!

3) The animal is distracted by, erm, "Facts of Life"

    Boy Penguin: Wow, you're hot.

    Girl Penguin: Yeah, you too.  What's that blond haired girl doing over there?

    Boy Penguin: Don't pay attention to that trainer, baby.  It's you and me.

    Girl Penguin: Oh baby, oh baby. 

4) You've accidentally rewarded them for doing the undesired behavior

    Parrot: *screaming incessantly*

    You:  OMFG SHUT THE EFF UP!!!!  CAN'T YOU TELL HOW SERIOUS I AM BECAUSE I AM YELLING REALLY LOUDLY IN A DISCIPLINARY WAY USED TO TELL SMALL CHILDREN TO BEHAVE!

    Parrot: MY OWNER IS SCREAMING TOO! PARROTS LOVE TO SCREAM! IT IS HOW WE COMMUNICATE! WE ARE COMMUNICATING!! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!!!!!!!  I'LL NEVER STOP SCREAMING!

SCREAMING IS MY FAVORITE

5) The animal has no clue what you're asking him/her to do because you haven't actually trained them

   You: Sit, Fido.  Sit.  Sit. Sit. Sit.

   Dog: WTF? 

   You: Sit. Sit. Sit! SIT! SIT! FIDO! SIT!

   Dog: This is boring.  I need to sit down.

   You: Oh! My dog is trained!

When the undesired behavior is in progress, marine mammal trainers employ what we call an "LRS" which stands for "Least Reinforcing Scenario", which means "Just Ignore The Behavior For Like 3 Seconds."   You don't yell, you don't punish, you don't draw attention to the undesired behavior.  Why?  Because you want the following two things to be crystal clear to the animal:

1) You are allowed to do whatever you want without fear of anything bad happening to you

2) But I am only going to reward desired behavior

Here's an example of good response to an undesired behavior:

You: Sit, Fido!

Dog: Did she just say down? *lies down*  

You: *Wait for dog to stand up again, then LRS* 

Dog: Oh rats, I guess that wasn't the right response.

You: Sit

Dog: Sit! I can sit!! *sits*

You: Good dog!

Here's an example of a bad response

You: Sit, Fido!

Dog: Did she just say down? *lies down*

You: No! Fido! Sit! I said sit!!!

Dog: Oh! Mom is so excited!!! I am such a good dog!!!!

You: FIDO! SIT! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

Dog: I LOVE LYING DOWN!!!!

So you can see, there's a lot to consider when an animal doesn't do what you ask them to do.   So how do you handle that situation?  How do I deal with an emotionally wrecked cockatiel with abandonment issues?

Sparing you the details of my behavioral plan for helping poor little Lennon, I can just say it involves changing my predictable behavior and spending a lot more time with the dude.

But when an animal says NO, you need to listen as a trainer.  It's not a time to get frustrated long-term.  It's a time to sit back and re-evaluate your situation.  The real art of training is understanding and practicing the two-way communication between the trainer and the trainee.  The animals are allowed to say no.  You need to figure out how to sweeten the pot.  You have to ignore the undesired behavior but also make certain you're rewarding the animal when he or she is doing what it is you want them to do. 

Training should be fun for human and animals alike!

So I guess when you get the Middle Flipper, or Paw, or Wing**, look at it as a positive challenge.  And if you're not an animal trainer, realize that the name of the game isn't compliance.  It's making the game fun for the animal so they choose to participate more times than not...but also making sure you're not whoopsie-daisy rewarding undesired behavior by drawing attention to it.

So now readers, I have to go.  I have to go practice what I preach with a sad little birdbrain. 

_____

*This is not an admission of guilt for any crimes that may or may not be connected to my rabbit, Kenobi "Bunny Balls" Rust. 

**Sorry reptile-lovers, I'm not sure how a snake would flip you the bird.

The Mysterious Case of the Expanding Face

I had this whole idea of a blog planned out for a while ago.  And then you know, life got crazy and I found no time to write*.  And then, my face exploded.

Last week, in spite of my last blog post about Fuh-Reezing Weather, a Warm Front pushed through.   But this Warm Front brought along some friends (roughly 43 billion of them).  You might have heard of them? Raindrops.

Proof of Dolphin Training Occurring Despite Raindrops

So one day last week, I (and my fellow colleagues) spent roughly 9 hours in a wet wetsuit.  There was almost no break in the rain.  And at the end of the day when I changed to go home, I noticed the all-too-common Wetsuit Rash on my neck.

Wetsuit Rash occurs when dedicated men and women in the aquatic industry spend a long period of time in wet neoprene and are relatively active.  The intensity of this Rash begins at Vexing Chafing and runs through to Torture Commonly Used in Medieval Scandinavia.

My particular case began at the benign end of the spectrum, but quickly (and mysteriously) progressed.  By the next morning, I had hives all over my neck.  But thanks to the distracting nature of my job (you try ignoring the cherubic face of a marine mammal to lament your Wetsuit Rash), I didn't realize how far it had progressed until the end of the day when I had an exchange with a coworker who asked me simply if my neck was feeling okay.

At that point, my distracted mind suddenly fixated on the burning and tightness enveloping my entire neck up through my cheeks.  I reached up to touch my face and it felt as what is commonly defined in the Medical Industry as Weird.  

That evening, as I slouched on the couch and crammed as many SVU episodes into my brain as I could, I kept touching my cheeks.  The skin on my face felt like drying rawhide.    Nonetheless, because I have a borderline sleep disorder in which I actually die for a period of time at night, I was able to go comatose for a while.  Until....

1:30am.  I wake up, as I usually do, for what I call my Guilty Worry Panic Time.  This is the time, once a night, when I arise from my deep death sleep and Worry.  Here is a list of things I worry about:

1)  Things I've Said To People (No Statute of Limitations)

2)  How Will I Ever Train That (Insert Behavior Here)?!

3)  Emotions I've Felt That Maybe I Shouldn't

4)  Will I Have Enough Money To Pay The Bills?

5)  How Many Donuts Are Too Many?**

I wake up in the middle of the night haunted by the thought of not eating enough of these.

But normally, my Guilty Worry Panic Time is around 3am.  So when I woke up and realized how much earlier I’d been roused, I knew immediately something was wrong.  Not to mention, my face felt like it was going to explode.

I walked to the bathroom and flicked the light on.  Here is a conversation I had with myself:

RationalSelf

Self

 Self: LSKDG(&*W#%IOSD<GKSO#*%*&@%)*(ASLIUDSG!!

RationalSelf: It appears as though my entire face is swollen.

Self: WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF I LOOK LIKE THE MOON.  BUT AN OLD MOON.  WITH BAGS AND LINES AND MY FACE IS 25 TIMES ITS NORMAL SIZE

RationalSelf: Oh, how fascinating.  Look at gravity and my tendency to sleep on my left has made the left side of my face more swollen than the right. 

Self:  I CAN’T SEE OUT OF MY LEFT EYE.  MY FACE HAS EXPLODED.

Etcetera, etcetera.  

The best part about this discovery of my massive noggin is that I kept going back to the mirror to “Double Check”, just in case my immune system was all like, “JK! Your face isn’t a marvel of physics and immunology!”

After a terrifying trip to WalMart at 2am, I loaded myself up with Benadryl and fell into a coma.

The next day, I woke up and felt my face had expanded even more.  Sure enough, as I tried to peer through the slit that was now my left eye socket, my face looked like a loaf of bread.  I had Chipmunk Cheeks.  I had Fat Eyelids.  I had a Ginormous Double Chin.  And I had to work, of course.

When I went to Publix in the morning to pick up my lunch for the day, I pathetically hid my face behind sunglasses.  This attempt was as futile as hiding a lawn mower behind a cashew.  I knew the bulbous portions of my face squeezing out from behind my sunglasses were mesmerizing the staff at the grocery store who have seen me come every day for the past six weeks.  

Then, when I got to work, I had to unveil (no, unleash) my new look to my coworkers.  They were really (I'm being 100% serious here) kind and kept all kept their laughing in until I cracked a joke about my appearance.   And then, I went to the Hospital where I was told I was having an Acute Allergic Reaction. The doctor gave me a prescription for steroids and sent me and my face on my way.

The rest of the day at work provided me with really great moments involving showing my doughy mug to dolphin show audiences, otter feeds, and seal sessions.   Just when I thought the situation couldn’t harbor any further humor, gravity, which had given my face a lopsided appearance overnight, decided to play another trick on me.  Whatever was filling my face to the point of expansion began to drain down into my “neck.”  The quotation marks are not, contrary to popular belief, there for “dramatic effect” (those ones are).  They are there to insinuate that the area between my shoulders and my cranium is yes, physiologically defined as a neck, but by 2:00pm, it did not in any way resemble a neck.

Here are some helpful visual samples of what my “neck” looked like by the afternoon dolphin show:

Oh, yeah.

Oh, look how it ripples!

*Actual photo of myself*

Me, my giant face, and my new waddle now mesmerized audiences and colleagues alike.  My wetsuit really accentuated this becoming feature by squeezing it out and over the neck opening, so I could actually feel the waddle overlapping the wetsuit.  It moved so fluidly, it could only be described as Lava Lamp.

Luckily, after a couple of days of a methylpredisolone dosepak, my face shrunk back down to normal, the waddle disappeared, and I now look like myself again.   What was the cause of this Great Expansion?  Neither I nor the Medical Minds who examined me can pinpoint its source. Nor are they worried it was something serious.

As animal trainers, especially ones who work outside, you never know what kinds of things you’ll encounter.  Sometimes you get Allergic Reactions.  Sometimes you get Bad Sunburns. Sometimes you get Fire Ants Trapped In Your Bathing Suit (more on this later).  And you know what? I’m okay with that.  Because let’s be honest, as long as the animals don’t mind that there’s more of me to look at, I can deal with having a Balloon Face.  

___________

* I found Law & Order SVU on Netflix.

** None.

A Note to Northerners

I have a bone to pick with my non-zoological friends who still live up North.   When winter rolls around here in the Southeast, my Northern friends are first to say, “CAT! You’re complaining it’s 46 degrees?  Well, it’s SUBZERO here!” 

Sub-Zero

So, for the purposes of Education, this blog shall address the topic of Marine Mammal Trainers complaining about the Cold to their Northern friends who work inside.  Feel free to read the entire blog, or skip to the end for a fun exercise to level the playing field.

Ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you that if the air temperature is lower than 55 degrees Fahrenheit, and you are wet for most of the day, you are Colder Than Anyone Up North.   Northerners, I understand that to get to your car or bus stop, you have to brave the frigid, sub-zero temperatures across a distance that could amount to tens of feet.  Maybe, if you live in a city and use a subway system, you have to walk a few blocks.  

Maybe the chill of the air nips at your nose, or whatever part of your face is exposed from underneath your really warm-looking hat or hood.  Maybe your dry pants get a small amount of snow on them.  But, truth be told, it’s a little hard for me to see just how cold you are while you’re wrapped up in that large Northface jacket.  Luckily, this chilly torment will be over as soon as you walk in to your office.  There, once you’ve thawed out from your extreme exposure to the elements for an ungodly amount of time, you can further complain about the weather that you’ll actually BE in for roughly 9 minutes cumulatively.

And then, there are the animal caretakers who are inside for 9 total minutes.

Northern winter.  The kind of winter you enjoy from an 80 degree, heated room.

Marine mammal trainers get up every morning feeling a Sense of Purpose and Joy in their job.  They get ready to face the day and Build Relationships with Animals, Inspire Guests, and Do Right By the World.    And then they walk outside.  Let me share a recent experience I had with working in the elements:

The other day, I walked outside into 30 degrees.  Thirty degrees are way too few degrees, in my opinion.  Especially in Florida.  Not only did I suddenly realize what sort of day (cold, wet) I’d have at my current place of employment, but I noticed my car was solidly encased in ice.  

Luckily, I had retained my ice scraper from my years living in the North.  I triumphantly shaved the frozen sheath of water off of my windshield.  Then, I got in my car, turned the thermostat to 99,999,999 degrees, and waited for the engine to heat my short ride to work.  I made sure to stop at a grocery store and buy a hot lunch.  I thought in advance about whether I’d like to wear my wind pants or my 3mm wetsuit with my steel toed boots.   To assume either are effective in weather below 50 degrees is a lie we trainers tell ourselves routinely.  

I have three wetsuits on in this photo.  No, I'm not making this up.

When I dressed for work, I chose a wetsuit/boots ensemble. I even tossed on a fleece jacket, for a carefree look. I accented this classic fashion with an industry favorite: Latex Gloves Over Normal Cheap Gloves We Get By The Dozen at Target.                

A trainer's best friend

That day, I fed a number of different types of animals.  Here are some of the things that these animals have in common:

1. They spend most of their lives in the water
2. Their restaurant-quality food needs to be kept at a cold temperature
3. Their restaurant-quality food is covered in ice (aka frozen water)
4. These animals need to eat routinely
5. These animals live outside

Every time I fed one of the aforementioned animals, my hand had to go into an icy bucket or cooler.  It had to touch fish until the target animal decided to ingest it.  I repeated these steps one zillion (give or take) times throughout the day for each training session.  Even with the Glove-on-Glove ensemble, it does not fully protect your hands and fingers from the biting cold.  And let’s face it, it’s simply not practical or professional to wear gloves in that manner, unless you’re going for the Stay-Puft marshmallow man look.

It's a nice look.  But not for the Marine Mammal Training Industry.

So at around 10am, the gloves came off for show and interaction program purposes.  And as time marched on, and I (and my fellow coworkers) got wetter and colder, and the temperature remained below 50.   And by about 3pm, we had all been wearing our soaking wetsuits for seven hours.  Our bright red fingers were so numb, banana slugs could’ve written more legible behavioral records than what we produced that day.

Nonetheless, we charged through the day.  We told jokes through chattering teeth, we laughed despite our involuntary shivering.  We said some Choice Words to the Weather.  We enjoyed our job because we got to look at these faces all day:

And then, around 5pm, when all of the cleaning is finished, and the last little tasks are completed for the day, we can only think of one thing.  The only thing on this Planet (and possibly others) that can truly combat the Weather’s powerful Cold Fronts Used Cruelly Against Marine Mammal Trainers:

A hot shower.

A really, really hot shower.

A recent study indicated that Marine Mammal Trainers take showers at temperatures used in such activities as: boiling lobster.  And the only thing I can do once I’m in this hot shower is slip into a Shower Coma.  Symptoms of this include: standing in the water stream frozen in one position, an inability to form words to think or say in this moment other than “I’m going to spend the rest of my life in this shower at this temperature”, and drooling.  And then, when your frozen toes and fingers stop feeling like trolls are stabbing them with bits of glass, you know your body temperature has approached 98.6 degrees. Then you can enjoy being inside for the night until you do it all over again the next day.

Now, for those of you who are not in this field and/or the skeptics, I’ve thoughtfully prepared an exercise for you to do at home when it is between 30 and 50 degrees.  This simulates what I’ve just described in this entry.

1. Put on a tight-fitting sweatsuit
2. Fill up a bathtub with water (can be any temperature)
3. Lie in bathtub with your sweatsuit on
4. Get out of bathtub
1. *BONUS: Place feet (with or without socks) in rubber boots
5. Walk outside.
6. Count to 28,800 and do at least 4 of the following activities:
1. Place your hands in ice cubes off and on for fifteen minutes
2. Talk to strangers without showing how cold you are
3. Try to write something legibly.
4. Look at cute pictures of animals (This is easier if you have a pet you can play with outside)
5. Just when your clothes are beginning to dry, jump back into the bathtub, and run back outside
7. Go inside and take a hot shower.

Of course, we all have to remember that despite being uncomfortable (or at times, miserable) outside in the elements, marine mammal trainers adore the animals with whom they have the privilege of knowing.  The times I notice the pain in my hands, or the chill in my core, or my hair freezing at the ends is only when I’m walking from one animal habitat to the other.  I don’t notice being cold or uncomfortable when I’m playing with or training one of the amazing animals I get to hang out with on a daily basis.   They are really worth it.

** Standby for entry in 6 months on Unbearable Heat and Marine Mammal Training **