Lessons taught by 'teaching animals'

— Albert Einstein

As the people who read my articles know, I am fascinated by natural phenomena. I am particularly taken by our fellow animals and their relationship to us and to each other. Though my evidence is, for the most part, empirical, I am convinced that under certain circumstances, all living species communicate. This includes plants; there are actual studies that appear to prove this theory.

I rescued and cared for wildlife for more than three decades. In the early years, I was licensed by the California Department of Fish and Game. Later, it was necessary to be tested and approved by the federal government.

My home facilities underwent regular inspection. In other words, don't try any of this at home unless you're licensed; it would be illegal. Sometimes, publications would refer to my various animals (and they were certainly various!) as "pets." They were not pets. They were always "teaching animals" and as such traveled with me to schools and other organizations to instruct people about their habits and place in our world.

One such animal was a gray tree squirrel named Flower. Flower was a male, and I probably would have named him something else. He had, however, been found by two little girls when he was what we call a "pinkie." Squirrels are rodents and born quite helpless and hairless. The girls thought he was a baby skunk and named him after the Disney character; I didn't have the heart to change his name.

With plenty of heat and nourishment, Flower grew into a fine fellow. He lived in a very large cage, with plenty of climbing branches and a lot of burying material, in my kitchen. He was vitally interested in the goings on of both humans and domestic animals. He was, of course, the subject of much discussion by visitors. Not everyone has a squirrel living in the kitchen!

Flower was very good when shown to people on my teaching trips. He would allow himself to be stroked, closing his beautiful eyes as though in ecstasy. I did, however, warn people not to just go up to his enclosure and stick in a finger or two. One brave (or dense) soul did just that, and it happened only once. Flower bit him.

I was different. Perhaps because Flower considered me some sort of "Mom." One day I was giving Flower one of his favorite treats, a fresh string bean. He grabbed it and buried it immediately, then came back to where my hand had been. I explained that was the last bean and, perhaps foolishly, left my finger inside his cage.

He grabbed that finger with both tiny "hands" and began to pull, making little grunting sounds and closing his eyes. Thus began the game that lasted all of his years, which I called "Are you gonna fight me like a man or a mouse?" He truly seemed to enjoy this, and he always fought like a man.

One day, I came home from my volunteer work at the Los Angeles Zoo, and Flower's cage was empty. I knew his little fingers were clever, but I never thought he'd get out. We had several house cats and two dogs, and Flower was fair game if free. I searched everywhere, to no avail.

By the time my husband came home, I was in tears. He took a couple of turns around the house, grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. There, under a reclining chair, were Flower and our tabby cat Marmalade. They were curled together and sound asleep.

Ziggy the boa's groomer

Ziggy was a small boa constrictor (a rosy boa about 3 feet long). I had several small boas and a kingsnake in terraria in my bedroom. At that time, I also had several cats, among them Gideon, a magnificent Siamese. Ziggy was very tame, and I often carried him around the house on my neck. It was quite a challenge for folks who came to the door.

None of the other animals seemed to notice Ziggy much. Then one day I'd been reading while Ziggy roamed about my person; I suddenly realized I couldn't find him. I could, though, hear Gideon purring loudly.

I looked across the room, and there was Zig, coiled gently around Gideon, who was patiently "grooming" him. The boa seemed to be enjoying the process, which happened many times after that disconcerting event.

Odd or rare occurrences?

Are these occurrences odd or rare? I think not. We have many instances of mammals nursing babies from very different species and then caring for them. There is at least one account of an eagle who raised a duckling. ("Gifts of an Eagle" by Kent Durden and Peter Parnell. Simon and Schuster, 1972. Out of print, but can be had with some searching.)

I prefer to believe we all have the means of communicating with one another if we try. It's what makes my small world a happier place.

Desert corner

By Lee Reynolds