(Z)oo Doo .. How Your Garden Grows

I know, I know. I just wrote a blog about poop. And I would spare you another poop blog so soon, but then you'd be missing out on amazing FREE compost for your garden ... and a few new insights on poop.

First things first: I used the word FREE. The Oregon Zoo is offering free, unlimited manure compost - Zoo Doo - on a first-come, first-scooped basis in February and March (dates below). Any good gardener knows that a beautiful, healthy garden is grown in good soil ... and good soil can be grown with the best natural, organic fertilizer there is ... POOP. Natural fertilizers promote good things: the growth of beneficial bacteria, earthworms, and fungi that build soil structure and foster healthy plants. (Non-natural fertilizers are nasty. Follow this buying guide.)

Ah, the circle of life. Delicious.
Photos: The Oregon Zoo

Besides the zoo, do you know where else you can get free poop? Life. Life is full of figurative poop, and we often try to wish our way out of it. Instead of digging in and embracing what can come of it, we get stuck frantically trying to dig ourselves out. So there we are, standing in a hole, shoveling poop out into tiny hills all around us, and then you know what happens? Yes, you know. S**t rolls downhill. Right back onto you.

But if it's true that a garden's health and beauty can come from poop, then could this not be true of our own mental health and inner beauty?

Live long and prosper, little plant!

Photo: Oldproof/Shutterstock

I'm talking about natural, organic Life Poop. The stuff that happens because, well, that's life. People we love die. We get sick. Someone else gets the promotion at work. I'm not talking about nasty, non-natural Life Poop - the stuff that happens because we create or perpetuate it. Drama. Unhealthy relationships. Bad choices.

Natural, organic Life Poop - that is, adversity - can promote good things: Character. Compassion. Purpose. It's all in how we view it, and what we "doo" with it.

Every nose should stop and smell the flowers.

Anyway, here's the inside scoop for local gardeners as promised:

Over six Saturdays in February and March (February 7, 21 and 28 and March 7, 14 and 21) from 7 to 10 am, Zoo Doo will be available at the zoo composting facility. Head just inside Gate A, located a couple hundred feet up the hill after exiting Highway 26. Tractor assistance from zoo staff is available for larger loads, and a U-load space will be available for smaller amounts (bring a container).

The Zoo Doo that will be available contains a fair amount of wood chips used for animal bedding, so it works best as a decorative top mulch. It's a great selection over bark dust, because it provides more nutrients. To learn more about Zoo Doo, follow this link (but disregard the dates listed there - they are old, but the information is still interesting).

See you at the zoo!

(S)kinks Are Big Fakers

Fake it 'til you make it.

One of my classmates summoned this phrase to encourage another classmate this week. It struck a chord with me, as I had just been sharing on my Facebook page how the Oregon Zoo uses fake snow throughout the year to enrich its animals. The zamboni at the Sherwood Ice Arena makes a pile of ice shavings, or "snow", which volunteers shovel into the back of a pick-up truck and haul back to the zoo. It gets distributed among various animals who love to play in it and forage through it for hidden treats.

Snow cute! River otter at the Sedgwick County Zoo in Wichita, Kansas.
Photo by Jaime Green/Wichita Eagle/MCT via Getty Images

When I was hired as an emergency communications operator years ago, I sorely lacked the confidence I needed to progress satisfactorily through my training. I lagged behind the other trainees who were hired at the same time as me. "Fake it 'til you make it" became the mantra of one of my coaches, as she tried to push me over the hurdles my insecurity had erected around me. (It - or something - eventually worked. I "made it" through probation at the eleventh hour.)

Another coach told me that a trained monkey could answer 911 calls.
Didn't really make me feel better about my ineptitude.

At the zoo, I love showing kids Sydney, our blue-tongued skink. They are confounded by his large body, short limbs, and snake-like skin. They try to guess what sort of reptile he is ("Alligator???" is an incredulous common proffering). And then, with a flash of his blue tongue, they are completely won over.

Skinks are ideal education animals as they make for an interesting discussion, have loads of personality and great dispositions. Sydney is great at being handled and very cooperatively flicks his tongue repeatedly during our short talks.

These skinks are very common in their native Australia. They also have a lot of natural predators. They move well despite their large size, but unlike longer legged, more arboreal lizards which can quickly ascend trees to escape becoming someone's buffet, the blue-tongued skink must resort to a bluff. When threatened, these lizards puff up their bodies to look bigger, opening their mouths (which are bright pink inside), hissing and sticking out their bright blue tongues. Bright colors in nature often signal "poison" to other animals, so a skink - while actually not poisonous - may surprise and confuse its predator long enough to scurry away to safety.

Blue-tongued skink.
Not that you had any question about that at this point.

Fake it 'til you make it.

I don't think I really bought into this mindset until the last couple of years. Until March 2013, I was stuck in a secretarial position feeling like I was capable of so much more, but seemingly unable to convince my employer otherwise. I finally chose being brave over being comfortable, and got myself hired as an Animal Care Aide at the local county shelter. I didn't know as much about breeds and diets and handling - about anything, really - to justify getting hired, but a little bit of volunteer experience and a well crafted cover letter and resume helped me "make it".

A few months in, the shelter's Volunteer Coordinator position opened. I knew I wasn't technically qualified, but I also knew I'd be great at the job. I decided to use that confidence to apply. I knew I wouldn't get the job. But I was in full "fake it 'til you make it" mode.

I hope.

I didn't get the job. Not for naught: my efforts resulted in me becoming a blip on one manager's radar, which led to my current shelter position as TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) Incentive Coordinator. I knew nothing about grants, or incentivization, or TNR for that matter. But when that manager remembered my resume and asked if I would be interested in coordinating this pilot program, I thought of how I enjoyed being innovative at work regardless of my position ... and I thought of my skills in organization and coordination ... and I said yes. And for the first couple of months in my new position, I was faking it and faking it ... and at some point it clicked, and I started making it.

So I decided to volunteer as Vendor Coordinator for SummerFest, my community's annual summer celebration. Not that I knew anything about SummerFest or vendors. Nevermind all that. I wanted the experience, so I convinced the committee I was the right person for the job. And I was. My efforts resulted in twice as many vendors as had attended SummerFest in the past, and I just received my invitation to chair again.

Okay. I'll do it.

I keep eyeing a position as Development Director at a local animal rescue. I first looked at the posting only because my boss - that manager that I mentioned before - told me about it. "Not that I want to lose you," she said, "but it would be a great opportunity for you and you'd be awesome in the position." I read the job requirements and decided it was totally out of my league. A few weeks later, it was listed again. Too many "desired applicant" requirements there to fake. The position remains unfilled, and today it was listed a third time. Hmmm. No applicant possesses every desired requirement.

I think I long resisted the concept of "fake it 'til you make it" because I considered it to be the equivalent of lying. But what I've learned is that this catchphrase means that I should imitate confidence ... and as my confidence produces success, then real confidence is generated.

And as the last couple of years can attest, that's real.

(P)unxsutawney Phil and other Animal Augurs

Happy Groundhog Day!
Photo: Gene J. Puskar/AP Photo

Good ol' Punxsutawney Phil has predicted six more weeks of winter. But Whiskers J., a six-month-old hedgehog from the Oregon Zoo, has defied the famous Pennsylvania groundhog and has declared an early spring!

Somebody get this guy a day of his own.
Photo: OregonLive

But what do animals know about the future? After all, the Cincinnati Zoo penguins picked the Seahawks to win the Super Bowl.

Unanimous, but wrong. But adorable!
Photo: WCPO Cincinnati

Actually, there are several cool examples of animals being foreseers of some future events. Catfish in Tokyo have been observed to predict earthquakes, their activity level heightening several days before recorded seismic activity. Cows are somewhat reliable predictors of rain; they lay down to conserve heat, and since rain is often preceded by sudden drops in temperature, cows are often found lying down before a shower. Sharks can detect changes in ocean pressure which can be caused by impending storms, and they head for deeper water before hurricanes strike.

In 2004, herds of elephants in Thailand spontaneously fled for higher ground just before a tsunami devastated the country. These animals use infrasound - the area below human hearing - to communicate. Infrasound waves are emitted over long distances by thunder and earthquakes, which the elephants were able to sense and act upon.

And then there is Oscar the therapy cat, who resides at a nursing home in Providence, Rhode Island. Oscar has correctly predicted 50 deaths by curling up on the bed of the resident who is soon to pass away. One possible explanation for this ability is that the cat can smell ketones, the biochemicals released by dying cells.

Cuter than I imagined the Grim Reaper to be.
Photo: Steere House

Now. All I need is an animal that can predict whether or not I will become a zoo keeper. But the owl will just keeping asking me "who?", and the tortoise will take forever to answer. Pigs might tell me to expect it when they can fly, hyenas may cruelly laugh .. and honey badger just don't care.

I suppose I could consult some animal wisdom tarot cards. They direct me to the peacock, the illuminator. Or I could just ask this guy:

Clairvoyant Canine.

Yep. That's what I'll do. Because even if he tells me the going will be "ruff", I know he'd also tell me to keep chasing that ball.


For more information:
http://thefw.com/animals-groundhogs-can-predict-future/
http://mentalfloss.com/article/59091/can-animals-predict-future

(Q)uahog Clam

I turned 40 yesterday, which pretty much puts me smack dab in the middle of life, given an average life expectancy of 77.3 years (for a white female born in 1975).

I don't think I'm ready to be halfway done with my life already.

But I'm in good company: Priscilla and Patches, our male and female (yes, respectively) Desert Tortoises at the Oregon Zoo, have a similar life expectancy. These two are program animals, which means they are docile enough to be used in educational experiences at the zoo and in our outreach programs.

Desert Tortoise
Courtesy of Oregon Zoo

I volunteer with the ZooSnooze program, one of the opportunities volunteers have to be hands-on with animals. It's pretty great to be able to show off an animal like the Desert Tortoise and share interesting talking points with small groups. Such as why Priscilla is a boy and is named Priscilla: because it takes over a decade for their boy parts to become noticeable, and when we first acquired him we thought he was a she. (And because, paperwork. It would be too much of a hassle to change his name at this point. Zoo bureaucracy and all.) But I don't usually talk about boy parts with kids. Yikes. I'm not a parent for many good reasons; not having to explain the birds and the bees is one of them. I refer, instead, to the gular horn, an extension of their lower shell which males use in fighting with other males.

It's about as riveting as you'd expect. Be sure to hang in there until the bitter end!

But I digress. And my attempt to console myself with animal life expectancies doesn't really work, because I start lamenting about people taking on exotic animals as pets - pets which will outlive them or whose humans will grow tired of them long before the pets can even attempt to outlive them ...

Okay, that really doesn't make me feel better.

I don't feel better, until I think of 40 in comparison to very long-living animals.

Lake Sturgeon, 152 years
Courtesy of Lake Champlain International

Red Sea Urchin, 200 years
Google Image, Unknown Photographer

 And the Quahog Clam, which lives to be an astonishing 400 years old.

Ocean Quahog Clam, 400 years
Courtesy of Paul Kay

Seriously?!? 40 is only one-tenth of 400. I don't need to live another 9 lifetimes. Yay, middle age! I just made myself feel a whole lot better.

Happy birthday, me!


For more information :
http://news.discovery.com/animals/top-10-longest-living-animals.htm

(F)ly, Little Bird

The Arctic Tern,  a medium-sized seabird, migrates annually from pole to pole, flying an average of 44,000 miles. 44,000 miles, flown by a bird. If that sounds like a lot, it is. Arctic Terns win the distinction of having the longest annual migration of any animal in the world. Furthermore, since these birds live relatively long lives (approximately 30 years), this means that their lifetime migration is the equivalent of flying to the moon and back ... three times. A bird.

Frankly, this gives me an entirely new perspective on how long my own journey has been, searching for a career path that excites me.

The awe-inspiring Arctic Tern

Granted, an Arctic Tern is probably a little more single-minded and needs-driven than a human suffering from the affliction of free will.

I turn 40 this week, and to say that I am frustrated and disappointed that I have neither a satisfying career nor my bachelor's degree yet is an understatement. But my birthday will come and go, and those facts won't change, and I'll just get on with things.

What I can be proud of is the fact that I actually have been getting on with things for a couple of years: in less than a six-month period beginning at the end of 2012, I began volunteering at the zoo, working with animals in a paid position at the shelter, and pursuing my degree in earnest.

When the Arctic Terns begin their migration south, they don't do so with immediacy. They spend close to a month at sea in the middle of the ocean, a lengthy stop-over that researchers believe is their chance to "fuel-up". The waters farther south provide less food, and the birds must be prepared. Their return journey is even less direct; the birds take a circuitous route which allows them to take advantage of global winds, thus reducing the energy they must expend to reach their breeding grounds in Greenland.

I can't clearly identify my "fueling-up" points at this stage in my personal migration, or the benefits gained from my own circuitous route. But I'm confident in a couple of things: First, I am not the only free-willed human out there feeling like they have mucked up most of their personal journey thus far. And second, retrospect will show me how and why my trek was the right one for me.

In the meantime, I don't need to focus on a destination as distant as the moon. Or even 44,000 miles. I just need to fly, little bird ... fly.

(C)hange is for the Birds

When I first started volunteering in the North America area of the Oregon Zoo, part of my routine included some work with our herps. "Herp" is a vernacular term derived from "herpetile", meaning reptiles and amphibians. Like this guy:

Newt. Cute!

A few months ago, the care of our herps was redirected to a specific Herp Keeper. So, while I didn't do much more than change out their water and spritz the plants in their exhibit (oh, and count them to make sure everyone was still there), now I only wave at them as I walk by them.

This morning I was told that the birds in our collection are going the way of the herps. That is, they will remain on exhibit in North America, but a Bird Keeper will now be solely responsible for their care. So, all that pervasive duck poop that I mentioned in my last post? Not going to be my problem anymore.

It's a little sad. The ducks all have personalities and I'm going to miss interacting with them. It's fun to give them their worms and feel like the most popular person on zoo grounds when doing so. And it really is awe-inspiring stepping into the bald eagle exhibit, despite the fact that they avoid us at all costs.

Jack, our male bald eagle. He only has one eye, which he is using to make sure
I give credit for this awesome photo from the Oregon Zoo website.

But, as they say, change is the one constant. The zoo is certainly not immune to this law of life. When the keepers I work with broke the news to me this morning, they were concerned that I wouldn't want to keep volunteering as my routine would change. But I am the rare bird that loves change, thrives with transition, and resents routine. So I'm excited to see what this means for me! It may mean that I get to work with animals I've spent minimal time with so far, or do more in-depth work (training, enrichment) with the animals that are currently part of my routine.

Today, for example, I helped train our river otters for injections. On the inside of their enclosure, a large PVC pipe has been cut in half lengthwise and attached with the open side facing the keepers. The goal is to get the otters to crawl inside willingly, which they do for food, and remain in place while receiving an injection. Training the animals to accept treatment willingly is an important part of their care, greatly reducing the stress they might otherwise feel if confined against their will. So, I lured the otters with food, and the keeper practiced poking them with a dull syringe, desensitizing them to the sensation.

We'll see what the next few weeks of transition look like. And, hopefully, I'll see my list of skills and qualifications grow!

(P)oop

Since I (unintentionally) took a year hiatus from this blog, I might as well come back with a bang. So, poop it is!

I deal with a lot of poop during my 3-hour volunteer shift at the zoo each week. If I worked mid-day, perhaps I'd do more with enrichment or training or even diet prep for the following day ... but I'm there in the morning, and a night's worth of poop is there waiting for me. Depending on the area I'm assigned to, my "good morning" from the animals is either unsightly and pervasive (ducks) or disturbingly aromatic (river otters). Mountain goats are the most polite poopers, sprinkling their dry, dainty pellets into neat little piles. Let us not discuss bear poop. Ever.

Unicorn poop, far more lovely than any zoo animal poop I am likely to encounter

This past year has been exceptionally busy. My husband has asked me to consider stepping back from my volunteer commitment in an effort to reduce my stress level. But it's strangely therapeutic, hosing down poop. (If only I could get the same sense of satisfaction from cleaning my own house!) 

Cleaning up zoo animal poop also brings a sense of adventure: Can I maneuver this hilly, rocky terrain as nimbly as the goats? Is today the day I fall into the beaver pond instead of crossing safely over the waterfall? Will I deftly clean up the ringtail exhibit without one of them perching in a branch above me and christening my head? It can also make for great comedy: Tilly, our river otter mom, in an effort to teach her son Ziggy the poop dance, would inadvertently poop directly on him as he moved in for close examination. And always, within inches of the exhibit window, to the delight and disgust of zoo visitors.

Plus, poop can just plain be interesting. It can tell us about digestion, bacteria, gastrointestinal parasites, viral diseases, and other medical conditions, such as pregnancy. How do you know which poop is Tilly's if she shares an exhibit with two other otters? Simple: add something like glitter or blue food dye to her meat. Her poop becomes undeniably hers, and can be collected and tested for hormonal changes which potentially indicate pregnancy.

So, poop can be very telling. And the fact that I'm blogging about it might also be telling ... but I'll leave it at that and share this Osaka Aquarium otter poop dance video in closing. You're welcome!