Cold Weather Is The Master Weapon Of Murphy's Law: A Tale of Trainer Woe

Wow, it's been COLD.

Yeah, check out that sweater!

I'm sure a lot of you are nodding your heads in agreement, because it's been cold in a lot of places around the world, especially in the past few weeks.

Like, where I'm at, our lows were in the teens at night.  When I try to explain how cold it's been here in Florida to some of my family members in much colder climates, I wind up sounding like I'm telling a bad variation of "yo' momma so fat?" joke.  Instead it sounds something like, "Our weather so cold, we bring our penguins inside*."

I found icicles on our outdoor garbage disposal, there were thick ice patches everywhere, and trainers who found every article of clothing they could physically put on without cutting off circulation to major blood vessels necessary for life and/or bucket cleaning.

Look! Real icicles! In Florida!

Every winter in the zoo field, something happens that just strengthens our belief in our variation of Murphy's Law: if it can go wrong, it'll be really friggin' cold outside.

That reminded me of one of the worst experiences I had at work that didn't have to do with anything sad with animals.   

Years ago, one of the facilities I worked at had three dolphins born around the same time.  They were all born within a few weeks of each other, and were all healthy, happy dolphin calves.  They did everything dolphin calves do, which is similar to what a human toddler would do if they didn't have legs and their hands and arms were fused into triangles and they could swim really fast.

A grandma gives her daughter a break and swims with her three month old grand-daughter.

And as I've mentioned in previous posts, one of the most critical behaviors that any animal in any zoo setting needs to learn is to shift from one habitat into another.  If this seems crazy to you, this blog explains why it's so important.

Since the calves were born in the middle of the summer, which happens to be the Busy Season in this industry, we needed to have other habitats available for our dolphins who were not involved in raising the calves to do our interactive programs.  So the calves and their moms spent several months in one of our largest, main habitats and we did not ask them to move from one area to another.

When our Busy Season died down, we knew we had to start teaching the calves to gate.  Sometimes, if all of your target poles are lined up and the moon is in the Seventh House and you wear your lucky socks, the calves will follow their moms through a gate channel and into another habitat. 

But most of the time, one or both parties will decide that this task is the scariest thing ever.

Now, because coastal Atlantic bottlenose dolphins are a) smart, b) 350-500 pounds, and c) live in the water all the time, it can be very tricky coaxing them into a habitat if they've never seen it before, or if they haven't gated before.  And in addition to all of the other serious reasons why we need animals to shift into different living spaces, we wanted all of our dolphins to be able to go into any combination of habitats.  Sometimes, we'd give access to many pools at a time.  But if the calves refused to swim through a gate, they'd get stuck in a habitat which wasn't in their best interest.  You'd think, "Hey! You've got three massive habitats to swim in if you swim through this gate!"  But they're like, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

I googled "scariest thing ever" and this is what I got.  And I approve.

The way we decided to help out our calves was to put in a massive series of panels made out of PVC and shade-cloth.  It essentially acted as a false wall.   We put it in at the opposite end of the habitat and slowly (and I do mean slowly) move the wall closer and closer.  At some point, the calves go through the gate and into another habitat.  It may only take one time, or you may have to repeat the process several times, but eventually the calves realize that going into an unknown habitat is not scary.

Some people who are not in the field get upset when they hear or see this.  We hid nothing from our guests, so they saw how we used the panels to teach the calves to gate.  

"Why don't you just use positive reinforcement? Reward them for going in a little at a time?"

It's a good question, and it seems like the best answer.  But what I will tell you from personal experience, what we think is the best "nicest" option actuality ends to cause a lot more anxiety.  Because what we're forgetting here is that the calves are not going into the new habitat, not for anything.  Their moms may zip in (depending on how independent the calves are, and how lax the moms are in their own parenting styles), but the calves are like, "No way," and the moms come back out to be with their kids. 

Also, depending on calf, he or she may not be coming over reliably to humans for any kind of real training.  If they are coming over and playing with toys and eating ice, you could conceivably train them to go through the gate a little at a time.  But even if this was possible, it does not work very well.  Think of the phrase, "Rip off the band-aid".  Maybe you're someone who likes to slowly remove bandages, enjoying the pain of every little hair getting plucked out, knowing full well there is a less scary option.  If you are one of those people, I hope you're not an animal trainer.

JUST DO IT ALREADY

Once the calves get into a new habitat via this paneling process, they realize what they've been missing.  They may take a few laps with mom in there, but sometimes within minutes they are playing and doing their thing in the new pool.

With three calves, it's a little complicated.  These calves played off of each other.  Once they got into a new habitat, I could almost hear the conversation.

Calf 1: WOW! Did you even KNOW this habitat EXISTED?

Calf 2: It's like our fort!

Calf 3: Let's NEVER leave this place!

Calf 2: What about that place we just swam in from?

Calf 1: No, you must never think of that place.  THIS new place is the COOL place now.  

Calf 3: LET US MAKE THIS PACT AMONG OURSELVES TO NEVER LEAVE

And then the paneling process would begin for that habitat.  

And then one would go when asked without panels, but the other two would be like, "HEY! REMEMBER OUR PACT?" and it would unravel.

Their moms tried their hardest, but the three little calves were their own entities, playing by their own rules.

I play by my own rules.

The only problem was, paneling required many, many people in the water.  Since the panels had to stretch across the entire habitat (which was huge), and reach from surface to floor, the panel wall itself was very heavy and difficult to move in the water.  While we didn't WANT to move fast, we couldn't move quickly if we wanted to.  We needed five to seven scuba divers inching (centimetering, really) the bottom of the panels towards the desired habitat, and twice as many people floating at the surface to make sure the panels stayed at the correct angle. 

And, as you may have deduced, all of our paneling that year happened in the winter. 

Around that time, I took a trip for my birthday throughout Florida.  It was a great road trip where I essentially saw every corner of the state.  I stopped in Miami to visit some friends there and ate at one of my favorite restaurants.  But the next morning, I noticed I had a weird stomach pain.  It felt like I'd eaten too much, but I tried to ignore it so I could enjoy the rest of my vacation.

It was like I'd eaten a bag of sugar free gummy bears (google this if this references makes no sense)

Three days later, I had the same nagging pain but I was ravenous.  Still, I tried not to eat too much because it really made the pain worse.

When I got back to work, it was the coldest day of that year.  The high was 29 degrees Fahrenheit, and the water temperature was 52.  Fifty two.   The dolphins were fine; they were fat and happy and warm. But us humans were ill-equipped to hang out in that kind of cold temperature.

However, we were on the brink of getting the three calves to shift into other habitats on their own.  We had to continue with this momentum, because it was so critical for them (and for the other dolphins who we wanted to be able to have access to the main habitat) to gate.  My boss apologetically announced that we would go full-throttle on our paneling plan, despite the freezing temperatures.  Everyone in the park got involved.

I was assigned as a diver.  As you can imagine, I put on a bunch of wetsuits which amounted to roughly 98mm of neoprene coverage.  I couldn't find a dive hood, so I just sucked it up.  We didn't anticipate having to panel for a long time, because all three calves were gating more quickly.  But the Cold Weather Murphy's Law reared its ugly (albeit consistent) head.  

Murphy: Hey, little dolphins, I have an idea.  It's the coldest day of the year and these bald apes will be miserable in the water.  

Calf 1:  I'm already ahead of you.  We'll totally refuse to gate.

Calf 2: I can't wait to hear their heart rates plummet when they go into the end stages of hypothermia!

Calf 3: That's so mean, Calf 2!  But it will be funny to hear them scream when they jump in the water.

All calves and Murphy: BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So we asked the calves and their moms to gate.  The moms tried their best, but the calves refused.   We put the panels in.  I remember watching them sink below the depths, my stomach roiling, begging any universal power to convince the calves to gate without us having to get in.

No such luck.

We all got in, and we all paneled.  The entire way.  We repeated it again, and I swear those little calves just sauntered around the habitat.  They swam by the panels and looked at us.  No, I'm pretty sure they looked at me.

"Oh," one of the calves seemed to say.  "That one looks sick.  We should probably gate."

"Nah," they all replied collectively.

By the time we were finished, we were all frozen solid.  Our toes, fingers, hands, faces, were numb. All humans shivered uncontrollably as we got out.  We rushed to the locker rooms and tried to warm ourselves, but we couldn't change out of our wetsuits because we were going to do another round of this paneling again after lunch.

As I stood in the steaming stream of hot water, I detected a smell.  My most favorite smell in the world.

Pizza.

MANA FROM HEAVEN

All trainers picked up the scent and ran like madmen into the main office, where we saw heaping boxes of Domino's pizza.  My amazing boss had bought us pizza for lunch.

"No no," my stomach said.

"EAT IT" my brain said.  "IT WILL WARM YOU!"

I didn't need anymore convincing.

I ignored the searing stomach pains and HOUSED half of a pizza.  It tasted so wonderful and warmed me up from the inside out.  

"Why are you doing this to me?" my stomach said.

"STFU!" My brain screamed.   I ate more.

We set up for more paneling, but the calves took pity on us and gated much quicker.  I felt relieved in my mind, which quieted my brain down enough for my stomach's messages to get through.

"GET THEE TO A BATHROOM!" it screamed.

I ran, knowing at any moment all hell would break loose.  Everyone else was in the trainer locker room taking off their wetsuits, so I went to an empty guest locker room for privacy…..

…..and realized I was hermetically sealed in three (yes, three) wetsuits.  A 3mm shortie, a 3mm full suit, and a 5mm full suit.  Booties tucked into the legs.  I might've well be Han Solo carbon frozen.  

An actual photo of me (my hair is longer now)

"OH MY [censored] GOD!" I said out loud.  "I [censored]  AM [censored]  STUCK [censored] IN [censored] THIS [censored] WETSUIT. [censored]  [censored]  [censored]  [censored] !!!!!!!"

My stomach begged for mercy, for release.  But I couldn't give it that.  It was physically impossible for anything to happen so long as I was in the wetsuit prison.   I moved as fast as my frozen, useless hands would let me, tears streaming down my face because of the pain, frustration and embarrassment.

It was a while before I came out of the bathroom.

I came out in one full 3mm suit, because I didn't want to walk back in my bathing suit (no one wanted to see those tan lines).  I felt weak and dizzy, like you do after a G.I. failure.  But my stomach still hurt, and I felt like I was going to die.

Luckily, it was at the end of the day so there was just a lot of cleaning up left to do.  My boss asked me where I went, but I didn't want to look like a bad worker (plus, I didn't necessarily want to describe the biological terror that had been unleashed) so I made up some excuse.  

I went home with a fever, stomach pain, and the belief that I would probably never wake up the next morning.  

Well, this awfulness continued.  Even after the calves were gating fine, I still had to seal myself in  neoprene to do my job.  I'd put on my wetsuit, do a program, them peel it all off and weep in the bathroom thinking, "WHY! WHY COULDN'T HAVE THIS HAPPENED IN THE SUMMER WHEN I'D AT LEAST BE WARM AND NOT HAVE 87 LAYERS ON?!"  And then I'd put on my cold, wet wetsuits back on and repeat this awful cycle.

And after five days of not being able to keep down food or water, I woke up with the overwhelming feeling that someone had packed my mouth full of cotton balls.  I realized quickly thereafter I wasn't able to make any saliva, tears, or sweat (in that order), so I wound up in the ER where I was treated for severe dehydration.  The doctor told me I had a little parasite friend who was living with me and maliciously controlling everything about me and didn't  even offer to do the dishes.  A few rounds of intensive atomic-bomb level anti-microbial drugs and I was back to normal in two weeks.  

I'm pretty sure this is what was living in my intestines.

We could blame the food I ate in Miami.  We could blame unfortunate luck.  But of all the times this parasite decided to rear its ugly head, it was on the coldest days of the year when I needed to wear the most wetsuits.  So I'll tell you who I blame it on.  That arch nemesis of zookeepers everywhere: Murphy and his no-good, ridiculous law!

__________

* Of course, our penguins are warm weather penguins.

The Tale of the Hawk and the Sun Conure

I've wanted birds since I was a little kid.  "A Bird" was the top-requested item on every Christmas list I'd ever made from the inception of my writing ability to the end of my high school career.  I don't know what it was about birds that fascinated me so much.   They're awesome and everything, don't get me wrong.  There are very few animals I DON'T find awesome and wonderful*.  But we've all got our favorite species of animals, right?  I remember clearly the overwhelming feeling of awe when I saw my first dolphin show in Chicago at the Shedd Aquarium.   I remember thinking, "I want to know everything there is to know about these animals" (but I actually said, "DOLPHINNNNSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!").  

My first actual training job was with birds!

I had the same feeling when I saw a red-tailed hawk up close for the first time.  My fifth grade class took a field trip to a local nature center located on a forest preserve.  They had a few native Illinois animals who were unreleasable due to a variety of human-caused injuries.   The ranger who showed our class around spent a lot of time telling us about the red-tailed hawk, but I can't remember why she was there because I completely spaced out when I saw her amazing eyes.  That and she kept looking up at another red-tailed hawk who was flying high above her.  I wondered what she was thinking, and had the same "I need to know everything there is to know about birds" feeling.  

Little did I know that the type of bird that sparked my new interest would be the cause of one of the scariest days of my life.

My fifth grade teacher Mrs. Harris snapped me out of my daze and said, "Wow, Cat!  Maybe dolphins aren't your favorite after all!"

Well, I don't see why I need to have just one family of animals as my favorite.  I can have as many favorites as I like.  For example, I like all the donuts except the ones with stuff inside.  I've liked every type of macaroni and cheese I've ever eaten.  My favorite people are, well, people.  Not just one person.  

FAV

While I wound up working with dolphins, I still cultivated my interest in birds.  As soon as I got my first paid job in Miami, I adopted two adorable little budgies I named Coconut and Mango.   They weren't hand-reared but they eventually didn't have a heart attack when I changed their food and water every morning.  

Coconut (C-Nut, for short) hanging out in a Christmas tree.

My love of birds was common knowledge among my coworkers, and this led to another bird adoption.  A colleague could no longer care for her sun conure, and so I wound up with her.

 Are bird ladies weirder than cat ladies?

The story of Cher and me is by itself another Middle Flipper entry or two.  So let's just say after a rough start, Cher the sun conure and I became good buddies.

Behold: The Cher

I moved to Northeastern Florida not long after that.  I lived in an apartment complex that was one of those sprawling, town-housey type places.  My one-bedroom apartment sat feet away from a retention pond that was home to some wading birds, some turtles, and a couple of little alligators.   

And because I was (and still am) a poor dolphin trainer, I didn't have a washer or dryer.  This required me to walk about 30 feet to the clubhouse to use their laundry room.  

The scene of the crime.  Cher and I lived on the apartment on the far bottom right.

Cher and I did not like to be separated from one another, so I kept her with me all the time.  She'd hang out in my shirt, using it like a little hidey-hole the way conures do.   When I left to do laundry, she'd scream and scream and scream when I left her in the apartment, so I started teaching her that if she was calm and quiet when it was obvious I was leaving, I'd take her with me.

Cher spent our fifteen second walk in my shirt, in a harness, or in both of my hands depending on the situation.  For the same reason she seemed to like being in my shirt, she appeared comfortable when I'd hold her like a potato with both of my hands, her head the only part of her body sticking out.  She never struggled, and sometimes she'd solicit this method of handling. 

This is NOT how I potato-held Cher.

She wasn't flighted, either, so I wasn't worried about her getting away.  My biggest fear was her tumbling into the pond and ending up in the gut of one of the alligators, so I held onto her very securely.

Alas, the harness was ripped to shreds by Cher one day broke.  I potato-grabbed Cher and walked outside.  Immediately, she went on alert.  I looked around, expecting to see some turkey vultures flying overhead which always set off Cher's alarm bells.  There were a few, but as I scanned the horizon I identified the source of her fear:  a Cooper's hawk, sitting about 500 feet away on the tennis court chain link fence.

The foe!

I brought Cher in close to my chest and actually said, "Don't worry Cher-Bear, that hawk can't get you."

I started walking towards the clubhouse.  I don't know what went through Cher's tiny brain then, but it was probably something like,

"LIUSDGLIUSDLVIUSDLIGHWOETO2635WH)USODBHLSDN ASTP252352(ETLHSDLHKVAOSIY!!"

She used that magnificently horrifying sun conure beak to crush the most perfect location on one of my finger joints.   Within three-tenths of a second, Cher mauled my finger enough to free herself from my grasp and was flying away from me…..towards the pond.

My blood ran cold (and also, down my mangled hand) as I watched the little orange bird beat her wings at a rate that would put a hummingbird to shame towards what I knew would be her watery grave.  I ran after her, wondering what I was actually going to do if she went into the retention pond.  Would I go in after her?  Would I get stuck in the silt at the bottom and drown like so many others?  Would an alligator eat her?  Would we both die and I'd have to spend an eternity in the afterlife together apologizing to Cher for being so stupid? 

Our hero, in deep trouble!

Cher had enough of her flight feathers to maintain a long glide, but no lift.  She hovered above the water like a pelican riding the surf.  I ran and hyperventilated.  She was halfway across the pond and still going strong.  I ran and hyperventilated.  Now she was three-quarters of the way across.  I felt a small glimmer of hope in between the running and they hyperventilating.  Oh my god, she's going to make it across!!!!!!

And then, as Cher closed in on her landing space on the bank of the pond, I saw a brown blur race across the water.  

The Cooper's hawk.

"LIUSDGLIUSDLVIUSDLIGHWOETO2635WH)USODBHLSDN ASTP252352(ETLHSDLHKVAOSIY!!"

 I thought.  Amid the black, grey, and brown songbirds of Florida, Cher was  the brightest-colored bird this Cooper's hawk probably ever saw in his or her life.  I imagine the Cooper's hawk had the following thought:

"Just sitting here on the tennis courts.  La la la la la.  Maybe I'll eat a mouse, or a rat, or maybe a - WTF IS THAT DELICIOUS ORANGE THING FLYING OVER THERE?"

The Cooper's hawk couldn't believe his good fortune.  "I can't lose with this one," the hawk probably thought.

I screamed as I ran, hoping perhaps to startle the hawk away from Cher.  Of course, the hawk was probably so focused on how ridiculously incredible this opportunity was that he'd have never left his prize.  

"That's it," I thought.  "Cher's dead.  I'm going to watch her get taken away by this hawk.  I'm so stupid.  How could I be so stupid?! I'LL NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF!"

I heard Cher's last scream, and I knew it was over in that instant.  I stopped running and collapsed onto the grass.  I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.  

Poor Cher!

Suddenly, the hawk rolled backwards, flapping its wings in a panic.  He scrambled and righted himself, and shot up to the nearest apartment roof.   I looked back at Cher, who waddled as fast as her little parrot legs could take her into the decorative shrubbery around the base of the building the hawk was now on.

I ran again, wondering how badly injured Cher was; there was no way she came out of that tangle unscathed.  

Cher sat underneath a bush, puffed up and heaving.  She made a little growling sound when she saw me, but I couldn't see any injuries.  She bit the %*#% out of my finger when I went to pick her up (the punishment I deserved in that moment) and then allowed me to pick her up and put her into my shirt, where I secured her with both of my hands so even if she did try to break my finger again, she'd at least be in my shirt and couldn't escape.

Poor, scared Cher.

I peered up at the roof.  The Cooper's hawk looked down at me, cocking his head. 

"What the HELL was that thing?" he seemed to ask.

I rushed Cher back to the house, where I inspected every part of her.  I was terrified.  Even one tiny scratch from a hawk's talon could cause massive infection.  But she was completely untouched.    I called the my bird vet (the closest one was 90 minutes away), and they told me if she didn't have any marks on her, she was going to be fine and I should just keep her quiet.  I quadruple checked through all of her feathers, nooks and crannies.  Nothing.  The hawk had left not a mark on her.

How was that possible?

I thought back to the incident.  And this is what I believe happened:  Just as the Cooper's hawk descended onto my poor sun conure, wondering how he could've deserved a meal so easy, Cher did what she did best.  She probably bit some part of the hawk's body as hard as she could (and from personal experience, probably multiple times in rapid-fire succession).   While I can't know for sure if the Cooper's hawk had ever encountered a parrot in his predatory life, I like to think that he had zero experience with a bird with a bite pressure like a sun conure, and he probably did not take a lot of precaution in his final takedown.   Hence, the scramble ensued and Cher scared a terrifying predator away from her and saved her own life.

I fought a hawk off with my bare hands.

I look back on this story with nothing but regret and embarrassment for myself, and endless awe for Cher.  I made a series of very dumb decisions, despite good intentions and attempts at making a risky situation safe.  I've since never taken my birds into the open unless they are securely in an appropriate travel carrier or in a harness.  In fact, the more research I did on having birds outside, the more I learned of stories of hawks slamming their way through screened-in porches to get to parrots.  Yikes!

Cher is just as sassy and healthy as she's been since the hawk attack seven years ago.  She is a normal sun conure who enjoys screaming really loudly and throwing food on the floor, destroying wood, and taking baths in her water dish.

As I reflect on this experience, I often wish I could've transcended the linguistic barrier between man and animal the moment I looked up and saw the perplexed hawk look down on me.

"What the HELL was that thing?" he seemed to ask.

"That," I'd say.  "Is a Cher."

_____________

* Fire antssssssssssssss

New Year's Reflection: First Days On The Job Are Hard For Everybody!

The inspiration for this post came from a multitude of muses, one of which being my first year anniversary at my current job on January 1st.

I'm sure most people spend the end of the year reflecting on their accomplishments of the previous year, including but not limited to: marriages, babies, graduation, winning the lottery, or in my case, realizing I really like Rice Krispy Treats after a lifetime of hating them.

I don't know why I hated them, but I love them now and that's all that matters.

My current job began on January 1st of 2013, so it really went without saying that I'd sit back and think about what I'd learned and achieved at my new job when New Year's eve rolled around.   Not only that, I read a few nervous interns post on IMATA about what their first job experience would be like.   

So let's explore this topic of your First Job as a marine mammal trainer (and I'm sure this applies to those of you working with the terrestrial types, too).   

First, let's get this little factoid out of the way:  It's always scary to start a job, no matter what your experience level is.  Your first internship, your first paid position, your first job at a new facility even though you have a few years of experience, your first management job at a new place, it's always nerve-wracking.  How nerve-wracking?  It's somewhere between "Starting Sixth Grade With People From The Other Elementary School" and "I'm Naked And Have To Give A Public Presentation".

An actual picture on me on day 3 of my job at CMA.  You can probably tell how well that went from this picture of me and Winter.  Why is my bucket floating away from me????

Okay, so it makes sense that it's terrifying to start your first internship.  I mean, for me, I was excited to start my journey towards my dream job and all.  But I wanted to make a good first impression, I didn't know basically anything about training, I didn't know if I'd be good enough to ever Make It, etc. etc.  It's normal.  Even your first paid position feels a lot like that, because while you've made it over the hurdle of getting your foot in the door, you still have a lot to prove. 

But why then, once you get your Coveted Training Experience, would a new job still feel so scary?  Allow me to opine in a simple-to-read, itemized fashion (my favorite style, as you've probably gathered).


1. You Don't Know Where Anything Goes

Marine mammal training is ORGANIZING.  Well, it's a special kind of organizing.  It's not like, nice and neat per se.  Some facilities look like The Container Store and others look like my bedroom does right now, but like I totally know where everything is in my bedroom, it's just in stacks or piles.   

Is this what your facility looks like?

Regardless, marine mammal facilities have to meet certain legal standards for cleanliness (still others, like ones I've worked at, have to hit higher criteria to get the highest accreditation possible just because we're awesome like that).   Not every facility has the funding to have a place for everything that's nice and neat, but they sure do have clean, secure places for everything.   

Your feeding buckets, for example, have a Place To Live.  Sometimes it's on wall racks, sometimes it's in a clean refrigerator, sometimes it's on shelves, sometimes it's on a drying rack cabinet thingy Who Has No Name I'm Aware Of, or maybe they are stored neatly in clean bins once they are dry.   But as a trainer of any level, you need to know where your buckets Live.   You feel like 3/5 of a trainer on your first day at a new job when you've successfully cleaned a bucket but have no clue where to put it.  So you stand around wondering, "Will I look dumb if I ask where this thing goes? Isn't that something I should know?"   No, you won't look dumb.  Yes, you'll feel dumb for asking.

It's not just buckets that have to be stored in their correct place.  Toys, vitamins, your uniform, medical equipment all need to be in their proper location and it is different at every single facility, so basically nothing you are used to from your old job will transfer over to your new one in this capacity.  

This is something that is really jarring for me, because I am not organized at home (see above comment about bedroom) but I am at my job.   If I don't know where something goes at my job, I panic because I can't do what I do with things like my laundry, half-read books, bills….which entails me putting them on the nearest flat surface, telling myself to put them away later, then putting them in a box years later when I eventually move to my next apartment or house.

2. You Want To Help, But You Don't Know What The Hell Is Going On

This especially applies to all levels of experience, because you always want to make a good first impression at your new job.  And we all know how much cleaning, lifting, fish-sorting happens on a daily basis.   This topic also overlaps with the first one.  Here is an example to illustrate this point:

Trainer: Hey, can someone please find me Sammy's toothbrush for my next session?
Me: Oh! I want to find it! I want to find it on my very first day so you will think, wow, Cat is really
        good at her job!
Trainer: Okay, sure, it's in the med lab in the drawer underneath the centrifuge.
Me: Where is the med lab?

Then the trainer explains to me where the med lab is, which is something like, "It's the second door on the right down the hall", but my nervous brain interprets it as walking directions to far-away places, such as Washington D.C.    Then I get hopelessly lost until someone points me in the right direction, at which point I grab the wrong toothbrush and can't actually find my way back to the trainer to tell them that I'm hopeless and should probably just get fired.

Hey, do you know where this pole is supposed to go once I'm done with it?

Especially once you've had an internship under your belt, you know when things need to get done.  Habitats need to be checked for the night, buckets need to be scrubbed, fish needs to be ready for sessions, shows, interactions.  But you don't know how to do those things yet at your new job and so you stand around terrified that you appear as useless as a butter knife and/or bipartisanship.  

Butter knives are………..pointless!!! HA HA! Get it?

3. You Don't Speak The Mysterious Facility Terminology

Terminology is the lifeblood of animal training.  Most marine mammal facilities rely on a standardized and mostly-scientific set of terms.  Some of these terms are familiar to the laymen (e.g. positive reinforcement, desensitization), some of them are familiar to people who are trying to break into the industry (e.g. SDs, LRS), and others sound like medical ailments common in the mid-to-late 1800s (e.g. abulia).

I didn't make this image: This guy did.

For the most part, the behavioral terminology is consistent in each zoo or aquarium.  But the Facility Terminology is an entirely different animal.   Your first few weeks on the job will be filled with words and phrases that make literal sense on a word-by-word basis, but the overall meaning will be entirely lost.   Here are some real life examples of how the phrase, "My animal left me me mid-session" would be said at each facility I've worked at.

"Flipper wandered."

"Not all who wander are lost…but they are all not under stimulus control."

"Flipper cruised."

Whoa, Death Valley!

"Flipper drifted."

Just drift away...

"Flipper hit the pool."

Hit the pool! Relax!

As an intern or new trainer, it's even more foreign to hear how more experienced trainers talk about their animal family and their behavioral histories.  I remember very clearly listening to one of the senior trainers at my first paid job talk about changing up social groups for a show and how that gating would go.   If she were to explain it to me, a novice trainer with zero clue what was going on, she'd probably have said something like, "We're going to ask dolphin A, dolphin B, and dolphin C from group 1 to swim into B pool, which is this pool right here, from A pool, which is where they are now.  Then we will have dolphin D, dolphin E, and dolphin F from group 2 swim from that pool over there (D pool) into A pool, so they can do the show."

But of course, since I was new and completely irrelevant to any gating scenario, there was no need for this kind of long-winded explanation and so a more cogent and Facility Terminology-riddled direction was given:

"Sep the Ones into B and the Twos into A."

Sep? What? Was that a word?  

When I started working with pinnipeds, the phrase "chewy" was used to describe a seal or sea lion who was playing with their fish.  But the first time I heard this phrase it made me actually laugh out loud because I could not for the life of me figure out what was happening.  It went something like this:

Me: How did that sea lion session go?
Trainer:  It was okay, Sea Lion was chewy.

I could only think of the granola bar.   Or gummy things (I LOVE GUMMY THINGS).

OH. EM. GEE.  Now THAT'S chewy!!!!!!

Every time I go to a new place, I'm always jarred at the images that pop immediately into my mind the first time I hear some of the new phraseology inherent to each one.   But of course, as I become fully immersed in the language or culture of the facility, I say these phrases knowing fully well what I (and my coworkers) mean, which is the point of terminology in the first place. 

This also includes SDs for anyone above an entry-level position.  Learning new SDs feels the same way it did learning Russian in college when I couldn't (and still cannot) for the life of me remember the word for vacuum cleaner so I just kept making something up.  

Side note: the word for vacuum cleaner is "пылесос" which was about as easy for me to figure out as was the back bow SD at my first job.


4. You Don't Know Anyone By Name Or Any Other Identifying Characteristic

At any job at any level, it's always weird to be the New Kid because you don't know important information about your new coworkers such as: their name.

I try pneumonic devices but I'm blond and consume too much sugar to really have a chance at that.  Luckily, Facebook is a great tool for one to get to know their coworkers before they start working somewhere (hmmm, this sounds familiar).  But there have been more than a few times when I've tried to start a friendly conversation with a new coworker (or, gulp, a boss) and realized I can't for the life of me remember their first name.

On top of that, you don't know anyone's personal history.  No inside jokes, no knowledge about anything that you could potentially relate to….but that's okay, because that's just how it is.   And of course, the more sincere effort you put in to getting to know your new pals at work, the faster you get over this syndrome.

This breaks the ice in every way fathomable.

My preferred method of Breaking The Ice involves allowing gravity to do its evil thing to me, because it never fails that I'll have had at least one to three embarrassing falls at work by the time my first two weeks are up.

5. You Don't Know Any Animal By Name Or Other Identifying Characteristic 

By. Far. The. Hardest. Thing.

Animal ID.  No, not, "Oh that? That's a bottlenose dolphin! And that? That's a river otter!"

I'm talking about correctly identifying individual animals without hesitation.

They always match!

You want to know all of the animals, no matter what stage of the game you're at.  If you're an intern, well you want to be the first intern to get cleared on animal ID.   Any other experience level above that, you want to know your animal ID quickly so you can prove you know your stuff and so you can hit the ground running as soon as you can start working with the animals.  Put another way, you're not allowed to work animals if you can't correctly identify them immediately.  D'uh.

Sometimes, it's not too hard.  If you're at a smaller facility or your department doesn't have lots of critters, you're okay.  

But when you have a bunch of African penguins staring at you, your heart rate starts to pick up.  Nothing is more humbling than not knowing your animals.   When you work with a particular taxa, it's a little easier for your brain to distinguish between individuals you've never seen before.  But when you go to work with a different species, it's like your brain can't figure out what to make of the visual information you're receiving.  

Eventually though, being the visual animals that we are, our brains DO figure out who's who.

6. You Will Make Mistakes But That's Totally Fine, Because You Are Not SuperHuman

People worry all the time that they are going to Make A (as in one, singular) Mistake when they start their new job.

Read, remember, rehearse.

Well, I'm here to tell you not to worry.  You won't make A mistake.  You'll make lots of mistakes!  Why? Because:

1) You don't know where anything goes
2) You want to help but don't know what the hell is going on
3) You don't speak the mysterious facility terminology
4) You don't know anyone by name or any other identifying characteristic
5) You don't know any animal by name or any other identifying characteristic

Also, you're a human being, not some kind of deity with a perfect track record of knowing where buckets are stored.   

If I listed all of my mistakes that I made as a new employee ALONE, this blog would take up 67% of the Internet.   


So let's bring this all together.

If you keep your head in the game, don't unnecessarily beat yourself up, and know it's normal to feel waaaaaay out of your comfort zone at a new job no matter WHAT level you are, you will get through the weird awkward times and enter the land of Confidence.  

It'll only take days to know where things go and what the hell is going on.   It'll take days to weeks to understand and then fluently speak the facility terminology (and then you feel really cool)*.

You cultivate relationships with not just your human coworkers, but your animal ones as well.  And one day, that magnificent brain of yours will take all of the visual information you obtain looking at the animals on a regular basis and make it impossible for you to mess up individuals.  In fact, it's only a matter of time before you think to yourself, "It's so OBVIOUS the difference between these otters, they look so entirely different! How did I ever mess this up?"

So for those of you starting new journeys at new places, whether it's your first first time or your fifth, take comfort in the discomfort.  It's where you grow.  It's where you learn.  It's where you harvest fodder for later hilarious stories, which you'll use to comfort and boost the confidence of employees and interns that come to your team in the future.   It gets better if you allow yourself to persevere! 

I LOVE THIS PICTURE

_______
* You're basically multi-lingual by the time you've worked at two or more places

Funny Things Guests Say: The Craziest Question Ever

I began my journey into marine mammal training in January of 2005.  In the elapsed nine years, I've heard a lot of really hilarious and/or confusing questions or comments about the animals.  I've already shared some of those comments here, and I've plenty more to relay to you.

However, there is one moment that I a) will never forget, b) believe is the most insane thing I've ever heard a person say to me while I'm at my job, and c) understand is the most creative myth regarding Coryphaena hippurus.

Weren't there enough words in the English language to make the common name of this dude something OTHER than dolphin?!  Like, Yummyfish?

It was during the off season and I was scheduled to conduct the sole dolphin interaction of the afternoon.  It was the last dolphin program of the day; a shallow water encounter with the option of doing a foot push and dorsal tow.  The program typically lasted 15 to 20 minutes, and involved opportunities to touch, feed, and play with dolphins, all while hearing educational facts about them.  The trainer had a lot of flexibility with what he or she could do within a program; there was freedom to incorporate as much variability as possible.  

And like all interactive programs and shows, the guests' moods make or break your session.  Twenty minutes can seem like the length of the Stone Age when:

               1) You have a kid in your program who would rather snap chat god-awful attempts  
                    at artistic creation than toss a football to a dolphin. 

Snapchat, WTF?  Good thing your logo is really cute.

              
                2) A know-it-all adult tells you about their weekly illegal encounters with wild 
                    dolphins

Internet (and deserved) shame

               3) A guest tells you repeatedly how they don't agree with having dolphins in
                    aquariums, but gets very upset when their kiss pictures don't turn out and tells        
                    you they're just going to go to a "competing business" (yes, this actually
                     happened)

Mmmhmmm

Of course, when I have guests who are rude, annoying, or (worse) apathetic, I try to find what interests the person to an extent.  But at some point, I'll admit I give up, and I just hang out with my animal until the person or people show some infinitesimally small sign of life or politeness.  It might be awkward or frustrating for me to hang out with a bunch of duds, but I don't want that to affect the animal in front of me.

So anyways, on this slow day in south Florida I met my interaction guest.  Let's call him Bartholomew.  He looked like he was in his late twenties/early thirties, and he was very quiet.  I introduced myself and asked him if he was excited to meet our dolphin, Ripley. 

"….." he said.

"Well follow me!" I said, and got into the water.   Bartholomew entered the habitat tentatively, and stood behind me.

"Hey dude," I said.  "You can walk up right next to me if you want to get closer to the dolphin."

"……" he replied.

I figured perhaps ol' Bart was nervous, as some people are before they meet a dolphin up close.  I asked the A-B trainer to send me Ripley, thinking maybe once the man was closer to the dolphin he'd lighten up a little.

Ripley swam slowly over to me, in the way Ripley does best.  In fact, it's worth talking a little bit about this dolphin since it is relevant to this glorious tale.  Ripley at the time was in his late teens and was born at the facility I worked at.  He and I had the following things in common:

1) Our favorite pastime is relaxing

Tra la la, I love to relax!

Ripley was a laid-back dude.  He was (and still is) a perfectly healthy guy.  He interacts with his dolphin pals and plays with his toys, he learns new behaviors, he does shows and interactions.  But Ripley doesn't need to get anywhere real quick.  He does his thing in good time.  Sometimes he preferred to stare at his trainers just below the surface of the water, where he'd sit motionlessly until he decided to take a breath.  That was his thing.

So Ripley comes over and I ask him to wave to Bartholomew, still lurking behind me.  I hand Bart a fish to toss to Ripley, which Barty silently refuses.  I feed Ripley the fish, then bring out the Glorious Football, great Conversation Starter and Catalyst for Good Times For Both Man and Cetacean.   

"Want to toss this ball out for Ripley?" I asked.

"….." Bartholomew declared.

Okay, I thought.  This guy is either cetaphobic or has a terminal case of boredom.  I tried everything.  I went the ultra-education route, I cracked jokes. I asked Ripley to do a few behaviors that showed off some impressive dolphin behaviors.   Alas, nothing worked.  

"Okay Bartholomew," I said.  "I'm going to hang out with Ripley, you just let me know if you want to touch, or feed, or ask for behaviors, or in any way react to anything ever."

"……" he said.

An entire 20 minute program elapsed without a single word uttered from B-Dog's lips, so after I ensured that Bartholomew's eternal silence was not a result of a medical emergency and/or death, I chillaxed with Ripley until I was given the end signal from the A-B trainer.*  

I turned to my muted guest and asked the obligatory, "Well, do you have any other questions before we say goodbye to Ripley?"

"….." he said.

I turned to ask Ripley to swim to the A-B trainer when much to my surprise, Bart spoke.

"Actually," he said.  "I do have one question."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" I asked.

He paused, staring at Ripley, who at this point had sunk beneath the water and was staring at me in the way Ripley did best.

"Do you guys send your dolphins off to be slaughtered, or do you do it here somewhere?"

I was wholly impressed with myself that I did not reply with the first thing that came to my mind:

…….

The best I could parlay was, "Uh."

I stared at Bart, Bart stared at Ripley, Ripley stared into space.  

"I'm sorry, what?" I finally managed.

"Don't you guys sell the meat to restaurants? I saw dolphin on the menu last night and figured they were buying it from here."

Once I had admitted to myself that this conversation was actually happening in real life, I was able to respond cogently.

Me: Oh no!!  The dolphin you saw on the menu is a type of fish.  It's called dolphin fish, but it's not this kind of dolphin, the mammal.

Bartholomew: Oh my god! I am so relieved! This entire time I've been staring at Ripley thinking, 'Oh man, how long do you have left, buddy?'

It all instantly made sense.  Poor Bartelstein spent his entire dolphin program staring at Ripley, who probably looked like he was nearing the end of his tenure (what with his laid-back demeanor and everything), thinking he was staring into the eyes of a creature who would be on a menu in a matter of time.  I told my relieved guest about Ripley's temperament, about how no marine mammal dolphin in this country would be treated in that way, and again, the dolphin on the menu is dolphin FISH.

Bartholomew then wanted to interact with Ripley, which I gladly allowed for only a few additional minutes (because hey, Ripley did his end of the bargain even if Bartypants wasn't into it earlier) so he could at least get a chance to enjoy his encounter.  

To date, I have never heard anything such as I have just relayed to you, dear reader.  The memory stands alone on its pedestal as the Most Insane Guest Encounter Ever.  I hope he remembers this experience as fondly (and bizarrely) as I do.   And in a way, I look forward to a stranger in my future topping this, so I can provide you with another Sunday of Chaos in the marine mammal training world.

____________
* This end signal was, I kid you not, "Are you having a good time?"  "Yes!" I replied.  I can't speak for the other human being involved in this experience, I thought.