What Happens When An Animal Trainer Tries to Grow Plants: Botany 101.

I'd like to first apologize about the title of this blog.  This post is NOT Botany 101.  I don't even know if there's a level lower than 101.  Maybe I should've called it Botany .000000001.  Or "Botany For Blonds."  Or, "I stuck plants in the ground, will they grow?".

All of my posts up until now have been about working with animals.  They're easy to care for and interact with, if you're not an egotistical maniac.  Feed them (the animals, not the egotistical maniacs) appropriate amounts of high quality food, clean their habitats, provide them with medical care, give them a lot of unconditional love, and laugh it off when they ignore everything you ask them to do.

Some fish, some toys, lots of love and laughter means one happy sea lion!

But see, my interests aren't limited to animals.  Yes, my degree is in zoology, but that was just as function of practicality.  I only had four years* of school to learn something well, so I had to choose between a general major like biology and a more specific major.  Ultimately, I chose the latter.  But nonetheless, that doesn't change the fact that one of my interests is one of the largest and most under-rated groups of organisms on the planet: PLANTS.

I love plants.  They smell neat (or really bad), they are beautiful (or not), you can eat them (or die), they can heal (or burn, sting, rot, maim, kill), they provide shelter and security to almost every living thing to one degree or another, they cannot get cancer (but some plants can give you it!), and they can survive bizarre genetic mutations that would easily kill an animal and/or put Michael Crichton's imagination to shame.

So why haven't any of my posts been about my years of experience learning about and cultivating plants?  Because I have the King Midas Complex when it comes to vegetation. Every plant I touch turns to gold and dies (clarification: it does not turn to actual gold). Most of my plants end up looking like a pile of hay.

If they survive, it's because I gave them to someone else who knows what to do.

Let's revisit the list of what it takes to care for an animal, and then compare it to what it takes to care for a plant one would find in a garden. 

The Official and Scientifical List of Required Care of Animals and Garden Plants

Animal                                                              Plant

1. High Quality Food                                        1. Sunlight for photosynthesis of sugars 

2. Clean Habitats                                               2. Dirt with the correct  concentration of scientifical

                                                                              chemicals and pH, moisture, and soil drainage

3. Medical Care                                                 3. Super human vision and a sixth sense that can detect

                                                                              and respond to invasions of slugs, ants, white flies, etc   

                                                                              and in some way get rid of them in a effective manner 

                                                                              that does not require spraying Agent Orange all over

                                                                          4. Oh, and make sure  you watch for fungal infections

                                                                          5. Ensure your garden plants are not eaten 

                                                                              tranquilizing all wild animals to unconsciousness 

                                                                              within a 10 mile radius for the growing season

                                                                          6. Fertilize with appropriate amounts by becoming 

                                                                              familiar with advanced organic chemistry and its 

                                                                              effects on plant tissue on a microscopic level

                                                                          7. Thin your garden once seeds have sprouted; callously

                                                                              decide who lives and who dies, then toss the rejects' 

                                                                              bodies unceremoniously next to their luckier kin

4. Unconditional Love                                      8. Spent at least 9 hours a day worrying over your 

                                                                              garden and why none of your plants have leaves 

                                                                              anymore

5. Don't sweat the small stuff                            9. Water 

Watering plants is a skill I've acquired thanks to my experience using water as enrichment for dolphins!

Despite all of this, I decided to give gardening a shot.  Now, there are a lot of blogs out there that do an amazing job tracking their homesteading or gardening projects.  These blogs are laced with beautiful photos, delicious recipes, creative ideas, and the occasional story of failure.  I can essentially guarantee that my gardening stories will not in any way resemble that.

Here are two crappy pictures of my garden:

Garden two

Garden one

Here is an itemized list of the plants in there:

1. Strawberries (so the slugs and sugar ants have something to eat out in the wilds of my backyard)

2. Green Beans (which hide the slugs and sugar ants from my sights)

3. Weeds (sons of #%&*(#$)

4. Peppers (I can't tell if they naturally grow slowly, or if I've killed them before they've even grown)

5. Collards 

6. One sunflower (because why do you need more than one?)

7. Okra

8. Beets

9. Cucumbers

10. Marigold (Which the pyramid ants ate already)

11. Weeds

12. Red beans

13. Lettuce (which must be delicious, because 8,035 whiteflies can't be wrong)

I also have some apple trees, two pecan saplings, a key lime shrub (with one-inch spines), and some other decorative flowers. 

All of these plants are actually doing well so far.  Well, except the desert rose, which is dying on the table outside.  But in my experience, the more I ignore a desert rose, the better it does.  So let's just forget it exists.

But what isn't going so well?  Controlling the insects.  I have a fire ant problem (as does the State of Florida, so I'm told).   Stay tuned for stories of battling those imps from hell.  

Slugs and sugar ants and whiteflies are now residents of my silly garden.  Putting pesticides on my plants is not an option, due to the fact that it's poisonous and at some point, I'd like to eat whatever my garden yields**.  Plus, I'm lazy, and I'd rather not kill other insects and arachnids that could kill the pests without me lifting a finger. 

After reading about safe methods of getting rid of tiny, pesky creatures eating all my crap, I decided to build an insectary, which is a garden whose sole purpose is attracting predatory insects.  A few weeks earlier, I realized that one of the native species of ants (the pyramid ants) in my backyard was starting to get rid of some of the fire ant colonies back there.  The pyramid ants haven't gotten all of them out, but they've done a good job.  

After spending a lot of time picking flowers and herbs that effectively contract out the Mafia of the Insect Realm, I came home and installed an insectary.  

Here's the Professional Digging Job I did for the insectary, with the Sprinkler Pipe I Totally Knew Was There Before I Dug. ***

Then, satisfied, I walked over to every single fire ant mound and cackled.  And dumped a mountain of diatomaceous earth on them, which will slice through their chitinous, armored bodies, dehydrating them to the point of death.  I also cackled while I did this.

And so officially begins the Middle Flipper's journey into botany.  Don't worry, most posts will be about animals.   But now, thanks to my black thumb, the Middle Flipper has tapped into an unused source of hilarity and frustration.  

If I were a plant, I'd wither if I saw this face.

_________________
* Before I drove nails into my eyes due to the amazingly underwhelming collegiate experience

** Probably two green beens and a lot of yard waste, in which case I won't eat it

*** I'll post photos of the actual insectary I planted when the plants have proven to me that they will live past 24 hours 

I Hate Melanoma!!!!!!

I spent several minutes staring at my computer screen wondering how I could come up with a quippy beginning to this semi-serious blog post.

It's not that I don't take melanoma seriously.  It's just that the only way I got through the experience was a lot of humor and a little bit of misplaced operant conditioning.

The first question people ask me when they found out I had melanoma was what the spot actually looked like.  I recall very clearly walking up the stairs at Clearwater Marine Aquarium in 2005, looking down at my left arm and thinking, "Wow, that mole looks darker than I remember it."

And that's about where I left it.  This is a massive feat for me, because my second profession is Hypochondriac Extraordinaire.   I've diagnosed myself with illnesses not seen since 1749, but on the plus side I've learned about terms such as anisocoria.  I don't just extend this tender worry to myself, but to my animals too.   People who live around me know this peer-reviewed scientific constant (known as Cat's Hypochondria Constant): If you cannot find me in the usual places (e.g. work, home, Publix's bakery), I'm sitting at a 38 degree angle at my computer, breathing very 3 minutes, absorbing WebMD information and/or google-imaging people or animals with illnesses I'm convinced we have.

So why, other than pure irony, would I not have (correctly) instantly diagnosed myself with melanoma when I saw, you know, melanoma on me?  Well, according to my research, I probably have one of twelve forms of dementia.

So before my brain is completely useless, let me share this story with you.

So I spend six months glancing down at this black spot, thinking that because I'm getting tanner, so must be this particular mole.  When my internship ended, I had to go back "home", which wasn't really home to me at the time.  My parents had moved from my native Chicago to New York City while I was doing my internship, so I went from a subtropical paradise with horrible traffic to a concrete city with horrible traffic.  And, within a week of being there, my mom informed me that I'd have to see a dermatologist since I'd been in the sun so much.

New York, the city that never sleeps or cleans up its garbage.

That's when the panic struck.  I stared down at my arm and knew for sure that something was wrong.  Just like I'd known two weeks earlier that my hair was falling out and I was going to be bald by 30.  Or three months earlier, when I just knew my cat had been bitten by a venomous spider only found in parts of Middle Earth.

By the time I got to my appointment, I was wrought with worry.  I couldn't think about anything else.   When Dr. Michael Jacobs (J-Dog, for short) entered the room, he quickly scanned me and decided to Remove The Cause Of My Concern.

A week later, my family took our annual trip to Rhinelander, Wisconsin.  We decided to stop first in Chicago, then drive the rest of the way up north.  I spent some time with my best friend Kelly, and returned to the hotel in excellent spirits.  I checked my cell phone and saw that I'd missed two calls.  From J-Dog's office.  And there was a Voicemail.

There are three things in this universe that make my blood run cold.  Here they are (in no particular order):

1) Seeing anonymous phone numbers + voicemail on my phone screen
2) Seeing doctor's phone numbers + voicemail on my phone screen
3) When the Tagalongs box is empty but I thought for sure there was one more in there

May you be ever full of tagalongs!

My shaking hands picked up the phone and listened to the voicemail.  It was J-Dog's office, telling me to call them right away.  And then they added:

If We Are Closed, Here Is The Doctor's Personal Cell Phone Number So You Can Call Him Without Delay

Oh GOD!!!!!!!!!! That's it, I'm dying.

When J-Dog picked up the phone and learned it was me, he told me the news in a way I could really understand.

What J-Dog said:
"That spot on your distal left bicep has a Clark's Level II melanoma nevus with a Breslow depth of 0.36mm.  You'll have to come in immediately for surgery."

What I Heard:

"Better start telling people who can have your stuff."

He asked me if I understood what he'd said.  As a fellow medically-oriented person, what with the years of WebMD research, I answered confidently that OF COURSE I understood.  I hung up with J-Dog and called my parents who were with some family friends.  When my dad picked up the phone, I lost all composure and told him the news.  I'm 75% sure I said something like, "I have stage 2 melanoma and I have to go back to NYC for surgery." And then I started crying.

My parents rushed back to the hotel and called J-Dog again.  They got the real information, which did not include stage 2 melanoma, but Clark's Level II, which is just a fancy method of staging the depth of the cancer.  And luckily for me, Clark's Level II ain't so deep.  In fact, it was well within the curable range.    And, we learned further, I could absolutely wait a week to have the surgery.

With that minor fire extinguished, I had the daunting task of enjoying my vacation a) in spite of the melanoma diagnosis, b) my deeply ingrained character flaw in which I live in worry in the past/future, but not the present moment and c) I had no access to a computer and therefore WebMD and I were forced apart.  

I spent most of my vacation really scared.  I spent time in my bed worrying about prognosis.  I'd never had surgery before, and I didn't know what was entailed at that time.  I also became completely and irrationally convinced that I had to avoid any exposure to sun, because maybe that would make the melanoma get worse before I had the surgery.  So when I did force myself to get outside to enjoy the outdoors, I found myself avoiding the sun in Vampiric Proportions.

After the Rhinelander vacation, I had several doctor's appointments that involved a lot of blood tests as well as Assessing The Ailed Arm.  My surgeon was (is?) a well-respected oncological surgeon at Sloan Kettering, which is within walking distance from my parents' apartment.  This doctor informed me that my surgery would entail a Wide Area Excision of the biopsied area, that the excision site would be roughly 3 to 5cm (an inch or so), and that while the original biopsy probably took out all of the cancerous cells, the excision would really make sure it was all gone.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me.  Then she said started quoting statistics of 5-year survival, of 10-year survival, and of recurrence.  My head was not necessarily in the right place to assimilate all of the numbers (plus, the part of the brain responsible for mathematics is notably missing from my head and has been replaced with a section entirely dedicated to thinking about Chris Hemsworth).  

Algebra or Chris Hemsworth? Uh, not even a question.

I asked for clarification.  The doctor said, "If this cancer comes back, it'll be in your liver,  your brain, or your spinal cord.  Have a nice day."  And my mom and I were ushered out of the office.

Finally, the day of the surgery arrived.  The nurses at Sloan Kettering were extremely kind and understanding, which was really great because you know, they see people on some of the worst days of their lives.  And even though my situation was far better than many others (for which I'm thankful on a daily basis), I can tell you that having another human being provide you with the tiniest act of kindness can serve as a light in the dark.  My light involved a nurse with a killer taste in music giving me a CD player and insisting I listen to the Beatles from the moment I sat in the waiting room until the moment I woke up from the surgery.

You boys made everything right!

Wait, wait, there was something else that happened that was awesome that day before the surgery began.  The bed/table/slab whatever you want to call it, was the most delicious, luxurious bed I've ever experienced.  It was soft and HEATED.  And then they gave me drugs to pass out.  It was really great.

When I woke up, I felt like I'd had the best sleep of my life.  I still heard the Beatles singing in my ears, and I felt so relieved that this experience was over.  The surgeon came out to debrief me on what she'd done.

The good news was the cancer was likely gone.  The relatively trivial bad news was that instead of a 3cm excision, I had a 9cm slash.  Whatever, I thought.  I just want to get home and watch TV and go back to life as normal.

I hallucinated while on the prescribed pain meds, so I stopped taking them after a day and just relied on good ol' Advil.  A few days later when I had to change the bandages, I saw the excision for the first time.  I looked like Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas, which I thought rocked.  What else rocked about my recovery?  Walking around NYC with my arm in a sling, especially on the subway.  People stopped bumping into me when my arm was in a sling.  In fact, long after I needed it, I still used it when I took the subway anywhere.

The scar, four weeks after the surgery.  Delicious.

But while my physical recovery was going well, my emotional one was not.  Not only was I naturally prone to being Convinced I Was Sick and Dying, but the one time I wasn't freaking out about something that seemed wrong was the one time I DID have something scary.   So it stood to reason that I probably had something else wrong with me, or another melanoma somewhere that was quietly growing and poisoning me.  

My anxiety became so bad that while driving up to Maine for a few weeks of summer classes I tried to reinforce myself with a bagel (it was a good bagel) for saying and thinking positive things about my life as it was.   It was a noble effort, but I ended up housing the bagel after a few tiny, positive-thought-laden bites.  I mean, who can seriously eat a New York-style bagel in anything less than 5 bites?

My primary reinforcement in 2005

My scar became keloid and served as a constant reminder of that time. My mom and aunt both went to the dermatologist after my ordeal and had melanoma spots found, but thankfully they were caught as early as mine was.  A close family friend passed away from metastatic melanoma a few months after my diagnosis.   To this day, as much progress as I've made, I still go through phases where I worry and worry and worry, driving everyone around me insane (well, more than I usually do).

Some people ask me why I chose a career of being out in the sun when I've had melanoma, but the fact is that my melanoma was well on its way to badness before I lived in Florida...I just noticed it a couple of months after I moved there.  I'm very careful in the sun, but the key is to go to a dermatologist regularly to make sure if anything does start to go south, it's caught before it's a problem.

So what's a good way to end this narrative?  Oh, I have no idea.  I mean, I still worry about these things.  But a year ago, I decided to finally do something commemorative about the experience.  I love body art, and wanted a sleeve for a long time, so I decided to get a half sleeve of dolphins on my left arm, which covers half of my scar.  It sort of juxtaposes an experience that obviously made me question a decision to work in the sun with what is reality now: every single day I am doing what I'm passionate about, and that is caring for animals*.

The sleeve after the third session was completed.  Thanks to Jesse Britten!!

So just as I had trouble starting this blog post, I'm having trouble ending it.  Maybe this post was a little more somber than others, but it's an important part of my life I wanted to share.   Nonetheless, I think I'll leave you with this cute picture of an old man dolphin.

_______
* And eating cheese, but a half tattoo sleeve of cheese is not in the future.

How I Prove Gravity

My job requires me to become proficient in a lot of tasks.  Here is a short list of these tasks:  maintaining established behaviors, training new behaviors, developing staff members, eating as many pretzel M&Ms as I can in a work day, etc.  It also requires me to Be On Stage, so I can hopefully inspire our guests to give a hoot about the living world in some way.   Since 2005, I've honed these skills (and let me tell you, I am like a master at eating M&Ms) and continue to strive to constantly improve myself for the sake of the animals and the people who depend on me.  And as I reflect on my skill set, I've realized this:

If there's one thing I do well, it's proving time and time again that yes, gravity is an existing force on this planet.  My favorite method in testing (and providing further evidence for) this Scientific Law is the one where I walk and then suddenly fall down.

Oh, gravity! You do exist!

Almost all of my falls since I graduated college have been in my job.  While at the Miami Seaquarium, I tried to relay some Important Information I've Already Since Forgotten to a fellow coworker.  I attempted to do this while I, please brace yourselves, walked at the same time.  Not only did I risk my safety by attempting to multitask, but I did so on a narrow catwalk several feet above one of the medical pools.  As I rounded the corner to continue my critical conversation, I confidently placed my left foot into thin air.   I fell into the pool at a lazy pace, because thankfully my leg was able to catch the side of the wooden catwalk for most of my fall down.

You can see the catwalk from which I splatted in the background of this photo.

Several months later, I attempted the difficult feat of walking near a shallow haul-out area without looking at my feet.  This idiotic mistake resulted in a twisted and severely sprained ankle.

Despite having a sprained ankle, I could still air juggle.

While I was at Marineland, I thought I was doing a pretty good job with my balance.  Other than random injuries, I can't recall a time when I fell*.   Wait, that's a lie.  I do recall falling up a flight of stairs and spilling about 17lbs of fish on the ground.  

Okay so, maybe I didn't do so well with walking at Marineland.  A few years ago, in response to my klutzy nature, I began practicing yoga seriously and have ever since.  I've reaped all of the benefits of a strong, consistent yoga practice, except the one where I can function while I am on one or both of my feet.   And most of my near-tumbles at Marineland were the result of, yes I'm being serious, non-skid surfacing throughout the entire facility preventing me from actually falling.  I didn't fall as much, but I sure did rip off the tops of both of my big toes when I tripped.

When I went back to Clearwater Marine Aquarium, I found myself in rare form.  I had a mission to add to the heaping pile of evidence that Earth's gravitational force is 9.8 meters per second.  In fact, I felt so strongly about this demonstration of basic physics that many of my performances occurred during public presentations with dolphins.  In fact, in one show (the first one I did there since getting hired), I fell in twice.  On a dolphin.  Who was deaf. 

This position I chose to be in may or may not be 105% responsible for my falls at CMA.

Recently (27 hours ago as I write this), I took a spill down some stairs in one of the back areas of our seal habitat.  This is the latest in a long string of falls I've had since moving here.  In fact, I've had so many incidents that they already have names, such as:

1) The Sound of Music Fall, which was my exceptional re-enactment of Julie Andrews as Maria in the opening scene "The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Music, Ahhh ah ah ah!".  While Maria swung herself merrily around the trees in a lush, peaceful meadow, I had only a metal ladder attached to an underwater platform.  Despite an attempt at a graceful entry into the water, my foot lost purchase on the slippery dock and I Maria'ed my way face first into the water onto a dolphin.

Who doesn't love this play?

2) The Fall in Which My Feet Fly Out From Underneath Me and My Entire Posterior Region Encounters The Dock With A Sound At Noticeable Volume, which is exactly as it sounds.  All I can say is that it involved a dolphin show, a poorly-placed foam mat, and my feet.

3) The Seal Stair Fall, the most recent of all.  All you need to know about this situation is that I used a target pole to save myself akin to the way Gandalf uses his staff in the Cave of Moria.

Here I am, on the steps near the seal habitat.  (This is an old picture; I've since shaved the beard).

But why do I bring this tendency of mine now?  Is it to brag about my enviable antigrace?  Alas, no.  As more of my former coworkers join me at this new wonderful place, I'd like to think I provide them with a sense of familiarity while they acclimatize to their new surroundings.  All the while I'm really proving myself a capable team member for my new coworkers, who must either feel bad for me, or just wonder how I've made it through life without intensive therapy**.

_________

* This is likely due to the brain damage I've sustained over the years

** The answer is pretzel M&Ms

Caption Contest: Can You Really Put A Label Worth Of My Mug?

Marine mammal trainers get photographed.  A lot.  I happen to have one of the least photogenic faces of anyone currently alive.   I also speak very animatedly to everyone I meet.  Pair these facts together and what do you get?

A collection of unflattering pictures of yours truly.  Oh, I have so many more. 

Submit your ideas for captions for the following three photos.  The winner shall be declared on Tuesday the 9th on here and on Facebook! 

Pic 1

Pic 2

Pic 3

 God I'm hot.

The Middle Flipper is...(Part 5)

....a dolphin who plays keep away.

One of the most unique experiences in a dolphin trainer's life is their first six months on the job.   Most of us naively assume that after an internship, a helpful membership to IMATA*, and surviving the Holy Trinity of job applications, swim tests, and interviews, we've Made It once we land our first position.  

Oh, we think.  We've finally Achieved Our Dream!

Livin' the dream!

Well, I don't know about most of you fellow animal trainers out there, but let me say that my first job as an Apprentice Trainer was 60% Excitement and 40% Sheer Terror.  You've got the job, yes.  But now you need to become a Good Trainer.  That road is long and never-ending, but it seems most daunting at the very beginning.  I spent six months of my life worrying only about never making a single mistake.  Ha!

Among some of the many fine examples of how my first place of employment takes excellent care of their animals, we Apprentices were indoctrinated with Animal Safety Protocol.  We had a series of tests we had to take as new hires before our probationary period was up.  If we did not pass, we would be asked to leave.  Not only that, but a passing grade meant an 80% or higher.  This was serious business, and it was great to have my first job show me how important animal safety is.

As you may have already deduced, I passed all required tests.  I promised myself I would always uphold the Safety Protocol, and never cut corners.  I, Cat Rust, Apprentice Trainer, would ne'er fail the animals nor the Company!  Nothing and nobody could shake my determination to be the shining example of Maintaining Animal Welfare!  And then, one day, one of my bosses tested me.

So who was it?  Was it the curator? The supervisor? The senior trainer?  No.

It was one of the grey, bald, aqua bosses we commonly call dolphins.  And this particular dolphin's name was Abaco.

Abaco, the Man, the Myth, the Legend.

At the time, Abaco was about five or six years old.  He lived with a group of other similarly-aged dolphins.  Their habitat was located in a different area than where our trainer's office was, so several times every day we'd load up a cart with their buckets for their training sessions. I had only been working with these animals for a few months, but was enjoying getting to know them individually.  

One day, after a particularly good training session, one of the senior trainers asked me to put toys into Abaco's habitat.  Not forgetting the Pledge of Safety, I double-checked all of the footballs I wanted to give them.  They were properly inflated, their structural integrity was sound, and they had been recently cleaned.  I tossed them into the habitat and waved to the other trainers as they left me to watch the dolphins play.  

One of the Rules: all toy play must be supervised, in case a 400 pound animal with 88 cone-shaped, sharp teeth decides to dismantle their playthings.   This was very unusual, as their toys were designed to withstand harsh play, but one could never be too careful.  Plus, the Rule was fun for the trainer who got to watch (unless you did not enjoy watching dolphins play, in which case your career path was incorrect).

As I watched the dolphins play with the footballs, I found a chair and pulled it near the habitat's edge.  I sat down and looked at my watch.  

"Oh good," I thought.  "I have 30 minutes until I need to be back for My Next Assigned Task."  I could not be late, as that would be a Mistake.  And as we've discussed previously, I did not allow myself to make any of those.

The adage "Time flies when you're having fun" ought to be amended.  I move to change this popular phrase to read:

"Time flies when you're having fun, unless a required task begins to encroach on a time-sensitive duty, in which case you are no longer having fun, you are trying to find a tangible element of Time Itself, wrap it around both hands, and heave it backwards to Just Start The Hell Over."

As the half hour lapsed, I began to get the footballs out of the dolphins' habitat.  Four of the dolphins had since moved on to other more fun dolphin tasks, such as Rolling All Over Each Other.  There was one football left in the water just out of reach.  I looked beneath the surface to see where the dolphins were before I tried to reach the football with a target pole.  

As I reached the pole out towards the ball, a dolphin rushed towards it and retrieved it in its mouth.  The dolphin moved so quickly I couldn't tell at first who had foiled my clean-up.  When he slowed down and peered at me with his left eye across the pool, I saw the culprit.  Abaco.

Oh, how cute! I thought.  Abaco wants to play with this football.  

Footballs.  Every dolphin needs one.

I glanced at my watch again.  I only had a couple of minutes before I needed to be back at the Scheduled Time.  As an Apprentice Trainer, you do not show up late to anything.  You show up early. And I most definitely was not going to be early at this rate.

Another Rule I had to follow was I could not actively try to ask Abaco for the ball back.  That was a Trained Behavior, and I did not have anything with which to reinforce him, should he bring the ball back to me.  

In my embarrassing naivete, I thought perhaps Abaco wanted to play a game of fetch with me.  I stood at the edge of the pool wall with my arms extended.  

Me: Come on, Abaco! Bring it over, I'll toss it back!

Abaco: remained still, the football still in his mouth "Yeah, right!"

Me: We are going to have so much fun playing fetch! You bring the ball, I toss the ball, you bring it back, I toss it out again...

To which Abaco replied by quickly spitting the ball out of his mouth.  It floated a few inches in front of his face, but still well within his control. 

"There," he said to me.  "You see? I don't give a %(*& about the football.  But you still can't have it."

I looked back at my watch.  I was now officially Late.  I had no way to get back to the office, because it required me to leave the habitat with an a toy Unsupervised.  I stuck to my guns.  I'd just have to get in trouble.  I could not break a Rule.

I feigned disinterest in the ball.  I walked around the other habitats, checked on the manatees in a nearby exhibit ten feet away.  I peered over my shoulder at Abaco, who had since let the ball float away in the current.  He stared at me, turning his head to follow me as I moved nonchalantly around the area.  

I waited until he returned to a normal swim pattern.

No, my Gut told me.  Don't go for the ball right away.  He's expecting that.  

I smiled at my own cleverness.  Dolphins are smart, but c'mon, they can't outsmart a human.

As the sun slipped behind the clouds, the football moved lazily towards the wall closest to me.  I made my way slowly over to the pool, watching the dolphins swim unaware of my presence.  I looked beneath the surface to make sure there was no dolphin, but the cloud-cover made it impossible to see the bottom of the deep habitat.  

GO FOR IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my Gut said.  I lunged forward and reached for the football.  My fingers grazed its side and a wave of relief washed over me  an actual wave of water washed over me.  Abaco launched himself at the football from directly beneath it.  He sped away, ball in tow.  He popped up at the opposite end of the habitat, staring at me triumphantly.   I'm 108% sure he was laughing.

Me: Blast! You've outdone me again, Abaco!

Abaco: The game is up, Mere Human! Declare defeat, return to your kind in humble shame!

Someone has to come out here to check on me, I thought.  I'm really late for My Assigned Task.  They're going to come here to find out What The Eff I'm Doing.   I prepared myself for being scolded.  I thought about the future of my career.  And then the Terror of Apprentice Trainership set in.  What if I got in trouble for being late?  Would they understand it was because I was following a Safety Rule?  What if that didn't matter?  What if I was supposed to go to the nearest department, use the phone, and call for help?  What if I went to the nearest department, used the phone, and called for help and got in trouble for leaving Abaco alone with his football?  What if I left Abaco alone with his football, and a dozen or so space aliens hovered their spacecraft above the habitat, beamed up the football, and no one could ever find it again when we did the daily toy inventory? 

I had to call for help, I didn't know what to do.  I'd now played Cat and Mouse (to clarify: Abaco was the Cat) for over thirty minutes and I needed to get some expertise.  I ran as fast as I could to the Sea Lion Department, which was not too far away.  I breathlessly called my office and explained to the senior trainer what was going on.

The reason I know that mouse is my kindred spirit is because I too would steal cheese.

Me: OMG I'M SO SORRY I CAN'T TALK LONG I LEFT ABACO WITH A FOOTBALL UNSUPERVISED BUT HE WON'T GIVE IT BACK AND I'M LATE FOR MY ASSIGNED TASK AND I UNDERSTAND IF YOU FIRE ME ON THE SPOT BECAUSE I'M A HORRIBLE APPRENTICE TRAINER WITH NOTHING TO OFFER ON THIS PLANET (OR OTHERS) I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY OH GOD MY LIFE IS OVER!!

Senior Trainer: Oh, don't worry.  We figured that's what happened.  Just wait until he throws the ball out, or just wait until we get out there for the next session.

Me: Oh, okay.  See you soon.

Relieved, I went back out to Abaco's lair.  "I shan't play your childish games anymore!" I declared.  "You can try all you want, Abaco.  But I have won, because I don't need the football! I have taken your power! I emerge victorious in this Battle of Wits!"

Abaco and I did become pals.

Abaco disappeared beneath the surface with his football.  I leaned back in my chair and returned to a calm demeanor.  

The football popped back up at the surface.  In a matter of a few seconds, the ball moved closer towards my reach, but it moved against the current. 

Curious, I leaned forward in my chair to see through the water, and as the sun peered its way through the clouds, I suddenly saw Abaco sitting a couple of feet beneath the football, staring up at me. 

"OMG," I said.  "You're baiting me!"

We remained still, sizing each other up.  "I'M GOING FOR ITTTTTTT!" I told Abaco as I threw my hands towards the football as fast as possible.  Abaco charged the football and slipped it out of my hand, racing away towards the other dolphins.  The other dolphins began porpoising and vocalizing.  They followed Abaco around the habitat, watching him with the football.  Every time Abaco surfaced away from me, he'd tilt his head towards me, and throw the ball as hard as he could.  When he got closer to me, he held onto his prize so I had no chance of getting it.  

Now all five dolphins were riled up.  On every throw that happened on the opposite side of the pool, Abaco's tosses were more and more charged.  He was really gloating about this, I thought.  I conceded defeat.  

Me: You win, pal.

Abaco: No kidding, chump.

And then, Abaco learned a lesson in sore-winning.  In his wild celebration, he tossed the football a little too far.  The other dolphins in a tizzy, the smallest of them all rose to the surface and snatched the ball away from him.  And then, she threw the ball completely out of the habitat.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"  I said as I ran down the hill to get the ball.  I laughed out loud as I walked back up to the habitat to place the ball back in its toy box.  

All five dolphins sat up to watch me.  Among them, Abaco.  I stopped laughing and looked at him, filled with respect.  I don't know what he was thinking then, but I knew that he had given me the gift of a memory that I'd never forget.  He also gave me perspective.  While I was coming from the right place in making sure I was following the safety protocol, I was also worried about being on time, about the future of my career.  Abaco's keep-away game forced me into the present moment.  How often do we allow ourselves to enjoy a misadventure unfolding before us, completely out of our control?  Why should I have worried myself about MAYBE getting a slap on the wrist for being late, when I was only doing what I knew was right with the massively wonderful bonus of seeing dolphin intelligence in action (and my own intelligence well, missing)?   I think the lesson here is relevant to people from all walks of life.  So if you take away anything from this blog post, let it be to set aside what stresses you for just a moment, and enjoy what you are experiencing NOW.**

Here's some perspective.

_______
* International Marine Animal Trainer's Association.  Check out their website www.imata.org


** Which right NOW, happens to be the last part of this blog.  Shameless plug?  Correct.

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.