I have decided not to regale you with the tales of another day hiking the north. Rather, I am going to tell you about one of the things I will miss the most when this internship has run it's course. My neighbors here are what make this experience an 'A+'.
One of the first neighbors that I met here is a fat groundhog. I have named him 'Whistle Pig'. He hangs around with the Bunnies next door. The lot of them can regularly be found munching on the vegetation surrounding our cabin. I regularly have breakfast with Whistle Pig and the Bunnies.
Further down the shore line, a family of beavers built themselves a nice dam house. The beavers usually swim by but they never stop to chat. Always too busy for small talk. I guess a beaver's work is never done.
The Great Blue Herons live across the pond. Most of the time, we see them just hanging around on the shore line. Watching them take flight is quite impressive, especially when they launch from the water. From time to time, their friends the Geese will show up for dinner. They usually end up leaving with a squak.
Lately when I have been going on my evening run, I am coming across eight to ten turkey vultures. I usually see them late in my run when I am huffing and puffing my way along the last mile. The vultures make a weak attempt to move out of my way when I approach. I tell them, "Not today guys!" as I run past.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Day 23: Night Time is the Right Time
After another fruitless survey at a northern lake, I sat down to work on my research paper in the Conservation Science Training Center. The chairs are the most comfortable around and it is the perfect place to get down to the business of writing up some science.
As I am getting underway, a fellow vet student comes in a politely pleads with Brian and myself to join her for a night time frog survey. Being the gentlemen that we are, only a moderate amount of bribery was required to enlist our help. It is difficult to resist helping when beer and cookies are the reward.
I borrow a head lamp from one of my cabin mates and load up my chest waders. The night survey of the wetlands is about to begin. I have been told that the night time is the best chance to catch a frog. When the spotlight goes into their eyes you can just pick them right up. I started out the survey hoping this was the truth.
When we reached the parking lot, there was a orgy of frog activity surrounding a nearby puddle. I could not resist the chance despite the frog calls indicating that it was not a species we were in search of currently. Down to my knees, I spotted a frog. I slowly approached on all fours. A quick dive with both hands leading the way and he was all mine.
Highlight: I rose with a tree frog firmly grasped between my palms. He was small compared to the green frogs, but a frog is a frog. Perhaps tree frogs are less evil than other types.
After releasing him, we began our actual survey. The wetlands area that was selected for the night had reeds which grew tall enough to obscure my view. Moonlight obscured the beam sent from my tiny headlamp. I was crouched low with every step scanning the ankle deep waters at the base of the reeds for flashing eyes or green skin.
Lowlight: Being so focused on the reeds directly in front of me, I lost sight of the big picture. This lead me to lose my balance and fall into a channel which was chest deep on me. The sloshing of the water as I regained my balance soaked by shirt but did not fill up my chest waders.
The channel's water level put me in a prospective which would be perfect for the frog search so I decided to stay. While wading slowly upstream, something large moved under my foot. Shortly after something slammed into my leg. Not hard enough to knock me off balance but hard enough to freak me out.
At this point I began writing a mental list of things a person wading chest deep in turbid waters at eleven o'clock at night should not think about...
As I am getting underway, a fellow vet student comes in a politely pleads with Brian and myself to join her for a night time frog survey. Being the gentlemen that we are, only a moderate amount of bribery was required to enlist our help. It is difficult to resist helping when beer and cookies are the reward.
I borrow a head lamp from one of my cabin mates and load up my chest waders. The night survey of the wetlands is about to begin. I have been told that the night time is the best chance to catch a frog. When the spotlight goes into their eyes you can just pick them right up. I started out the survey hoping this was the truth.
When we reached the parking lot, there was a orgy of frog activity surrounding a nearby puddle. I could not resist the chance despite the frog calls indicating that it was not a species we were in search of currently. Down to my knees, I spotted a frog. I slowly approached on all fours. A quick dive with both hands leading the way and he was all mine.
Highlight: I rose with a tree frog firmly grasped between my palms. He was small compared to the green frogs, but a frog is a frog. Perhaps tree frogs are less evil than other types.
After releasing him, we began our actual survey. The wetlands area that was selected for the night had reeds which grew tall enough to obscure my view. Moonlight obscured the beam sent from my tiny headlamp. I was crouched low with every step scanning the ankle deep waters at the base of the reeds for flashing eyes or green skin.
Lowlight: Being so focused on the reeds directly in front of me, I lost sight of the big picture. This lead me to lose my balance and fall into a channel which was chest deep on me. The sloshing of the water as I regained my balance soaked by shirt but did not fill up my chest waders.
The channel's water level put me in a prospective which would be perfect for the frog search so I decided to stay. While wading slowly upstream, something large moved under my foot. Shortly after something slammed into my leg. Not hard enough to knock me off balance but hard enough to freak me out.
At this point I began writing a mental list of things a person wading chest deep in turbid waters at eleven o'clock at night should not think about...
- Alligators like wetlands. Maybe someone released a pet alligator here.
- I saw a snapping turtle bite through a stick. I'm pretty sure that my waders are not as strong as a stick
- Northern Water snakes are "very aggressive" snakes. Do you think they hunt at night?
- Every episode of 'River Monsters' ever made features stories about people doing questionable things in the middle of the night. This seems fairly questionable.
Day 22: Round and Round
Today there was no escaping from the northern survey. I don't recall if I have mentioned this previously but The Wilds is located on reclaimed strip mines. The famous "Big Muskie" bucket would tear through the ground for coal. When there was no more coal to be had, the mobile strip mining factory would simply move to a new part of the property.
When the land was reclaimed in what is now the north property of The Wilds, the laws were different than they are today regarding who the land can be left. Today the land must be returned to its original contours. The north is a landscape of dense deciduous forest coating drastic elevation changes.
The trip to our survey site was some of the most challenging hiking I have ever done. If we found a clear path to walk, it was not clear for very long. We climbed over downed trees, ducked under autumn olive bushes and broke through about a million spiderwebs to finally reach our lake.
After all the travel to reach our hidden lake, it turned out to be quite a let down. I observed a large school of blue gill fish as well as a gigantic large mouth bass. Both turtles and frogs eluded my gaze all morning.
Finishing the survey we began the march back to our truck. The details get a little foggy from this point. Someone tells someone else they are always right. Someone makes a left turn when they should have made a right. Perhaps our GPS unit went on strike at some point.
The only sure thing is that Lake Team spent the next 3 hours hopelessly lost in THICK cover. Climb up one hill, slide down the steep grade on the other side. Thorn bushes mixed seamlessly with chest high grasses to cover the lowlands. No radio service, no easy way out.
Lowlight: Bloody, sweaty, and exhausted, we crept up to a lake. Strangely enough, it looked identical to the lake we had surveyed in the morning. Oh, wait, it WAS the lake that we surveyed in the morning. We had managed to spend three hours traveling in a complete circle.
Highlight: The only highlight of a day like today is when the sun sets, you are able to crawl in to bed and the entire experience becomes a distant memory. Thankfully we only have a few sites left to survey in the dreaded north.
When the land was reclaimed in what is now the north property of The Wilds, the laws were different than they are today regarding who the land can be left. Today the land must be returned to its original contours. The north is a landscape of dense deciduous forest coating drastic elevation changes.
The trip to our survey site was some of the most challenging hiking I have ever done. If we found a clear path to walk, it was not clear for very long. We climbed over downed trees, ducked under autumn olive bushes and broke through about a million spiderwebs to finally reach our lake.
After all the travel to reach our hidden lake, it turned out to be quite a let down. I observed a large school of blue gill fish as well as a gigantic large mouth bass. Both turtles and frogs eluded my gaze all morning.
Finishing the survey we began the march back to our truck. The details get a little foggy from this point. Someone tells someone else they are always right. Someone makes a left turn when they should have made a right. Perhaps our GPS unit went on strike at some point.
The only sure thing is that Lake Team spent the next 3 hours hopelessly lost in THICK cover. Climb up one hill, slide down the steep grade on the other side. Thorn bushes mixed seamlessly with chest high grasses to cover the lowlands. No radio service, no easy way out.
Lowlight: Bloody, sweaty, and exhausted, we crept up to a lake. Strangely enough, it looked identical to the lake we had surveyed in the morning. Oh, wait, it WAS the lake that we surveyed in the morning. We had managed to spend three hours traveling in a complete circle.
Highlight: The only highlight of a day like today is when the sun sets, you are able to crawl in to bed and the entire experience becomes a distant memory. Thankfully we only have a few sites left to survey in the dreaded north.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Day 21: Flo-Jo-A-Go-Go
After a long weekend spent enjoying the freedom of America, primarily with the good people of Weasel Boy Brewing, today was back to work. This morning marked the second foray into the rough terrain of the northern reclamation lands. A place with trails named "High Wall" and "Bumpy Valley" did not sound like the easy hike that a first day back demanded. After hauling our team to the parking area, I received quite a nice compliment.
"Ron, the head vet just radioed. She would like you to come assist with another cheetah procedure this morning. Do you want to go?"
"Oh, I guess if they need me I'll go help." was my humble response.
When I turned to a colleague, she simply rolled her eyes at me while taking my field pack. Lake team spent the rest of day with a challenging two hour hike to a survey site. During that time, I am told they discussed which of them had 'dibs' on future vet observations on the various species which may enter the clinic. I suspect that I was cursed a few times as well.
When I arrived at the clinic I got a quick update on Flo-Jo, the three year old sister of Bolt. Flo-Jo had decided to become anorexic over the holiday weekend. When a top predator being fed a premium carnivore diet stops eating, this is a major cause of concern. After several days of 'hands off' treatments, it was time to give her a full exam.
As per my usual job in these situation, I was responsible for counting heart rate, respiration rate, and taking her temperature. She had regularly irregular heart beat. One beat, pause, and then three quick beats. This is called sinus arrhythmia and not of any real medical concern. Flo-Jo's breathing rate was much stronger than her brothers under anesthesia.
The temperature part of my job occurs at the exit of the gastrointestinal tract. Flo-Jo had left me quite a bit of butterscotch pudding feces to clean up before I was able to take her temperature. Whenever I am faced with fecal matter in the course of my day, the same voice goes through my head. My father often says, "After all the shit you have given me over the years, this is how your are getting repaid!" Then we laugh about it together. I hope I never stop hearing that voice.
While taking Flo-Jo's temperature during the later stages of the exam, I was holding her tail up over my head as I leaned forward from the end of the exam table to read the thermometer. While waiting for the digital read out I heard the head vet say, "She's waking up..."
In my mind I saw flashes of the future: Flo-Jo the cheetah waking up angry to find me not only holding her by the tail, but with a thermometer shoved up her tailpipe. Two quick kicks from her powerful back legs knock me off my feet. She turns to pounce, her freshly cleaned fangs shining in the medical lights
Thankfully the head vet went on to finish the sentence with "..turn her up a little bit." Quite a relief. As Flo-Jo's exam finished up, I was tasked with putting Frontline on her to protect against fleas and ticks. The catch was that I would have to put the Frontline on the back of her neck, while she was in her transportation crate, after the anesthesia was removed.
I gingerly reached into the crate and maneuvered the tube of preventative into place. I looked down into Flo-Jo's eyes. I began to squeeze the tube. She blinked at me. SHE BLINKED! I squeezed harder and quickly removed my hand. "Did you get it all?" asked the head vet. "Oh yes." I confidently responded showing her the tube which I had managed to completely flatten in the process.
Highlight: The Wilds recently received three new Cheetahs for the breeding program. After finishing Flo-Jo's exam, the head vet asked the head cheetah keeper where to find the new arrivals. His response had all the flavor of a high-school lunch table gossip session. "Jabari is TOTALLY CRUSHING on Amber. Wherever you see her, he's going to be right there."
Lowlight: During the procedure, she had a small patch of fur shaved off of her neck to allow for placement of a catheter. Allowing myself to be a tourist for a brief moment, I leaned down and picked up a piece of the fur. I held in my hand an actual cheetah spot. The patch of fur was as soft and fluffy as it was beautiful. I REALLY wanted to keep it as a souvenir but decided that it would just break up in my pocket on the way back to the cabins. After careful contemplation, I placed it into the trash can. Looking back now, I probably should have risked it.
"Ron, the head vet just radioed. She would like you to come assist with another cheetah procedure this morning. Do you want to go?"
"Oh, I guess if they need me I'll go help." was my humble response.
When I turned to a colleague, she simply rolled her eyes at me while taking my field pack. Lake team spent the rest of day with a challenging two hour hike to a survey site. During that time, I am told they discussed which of them had 'dibs' on future vet observations on the various species which may enter the clinic. I suspect that I was cursed a few times as well.
When I arrived at the clinic I got a quick update on Flo-Jo, the three year old sister of Bolt. Flo-Jo had decided to become anorexic over the holiday weekend. When a top predator being fed a premium carnivore diet stops eating, this is a major cause of concern. After several days of 'hands off' treatments, it was time to give her a full exam.
As per my usual job in these situation, I was responsible for counting heart rate, respiration rate, and taking her temperature. She had regularly irregular heart beat. One beat, pause, and then three quick beats. This is called sinus arrhythmia and not of any real medical concern. Flo-Jo's breathing rate was much stronger than her brothers under anesthesia.
The temperature part of my job occurs at the exit of the gastrointestinal tract. Flo-Jo had left me quite a bit of butterscotch pudding feces to clean up before I was able to take her temperature. Whenever I am faced with fecal matter in the course of my day, the same voice goes through my head. My father often says, "After all the shit you have given me over the years, this is how your are getting repaid!" Then we laugh about it together. I hope I never stop hearing that voice.
While taking Flo-Jo's temperature during the later stages of the exam, I was holding her tail up over my head as I leaned forward from the end of the exam table to read the thermometer. While waiting for the digital read out I heard the head vet say, "She's waking up..."
In my mind I saw flashes of the future: Flo-Jo the cheetah waking up angry to find me not only holding her by the tail, but with a thermometer shoved up her tailpipe. Two quick kicks from her powerful back legs knock me off my feet. She turns to pounce, her freshly cleaned fangs shining in the medical lights
Thankfully the head vet went on to finish the sentence with "..turn her up a little bit." Quite a relief. As Flo-Jo's exam finished up, I was tasked with putting Frontline on her to protect against fleas and ticks. The catch was that I would have to put the Frontline on the back of her neck, while she was in her transportation crate, after the anesthesia was removed.
I gingerly reached into the crate and maneuvered the tube of preventative into place. I looked down into Flo-Jo's eyes. I began to squeeze the tube. She blinked at me. SHE BLINKED! I squeezed harder and quickly removed my hand. "Did you get it all?" asked the head vet. "Oh yes." I confidently responded showing her the tube which I had managed to completely flatten in the process.
Highlight: The Wilds recently received three new Cheetahs for the breeding program. After finishing Flo-Jo's exam, the head vet asked the head cheetah keeper where to find the new arrivals. His response had all the flavor of a high-school lunch table gossip session. "Jabari is TOTALLY CRUSHING on Amber. Wherever you see her, he's going to be right there."
Lowlight: During the procedure, she had a small patch of fur shaved off of her neck to allow for placement of a catheter. Allowing myself to be a tourist for a brief moment, I leaned down and picked up a piece of the fur. I held in my hand an actual cheetah spot. The patch of fur was as soft and fluffy as it was beautiful. I REALLY wanted to keep it as a souvenir but decided that it would just break up in my pocket on the way back to the cabins. After careful contemplation, I placed it into the trash can. Looking back now, I probably should have risked it.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Day 18: Przewalski's horse
My routine here is anything but routine. Today I started another survey with Lake Team only to leave early for assistance with a veterinary procedure. Today's patient was a Przewalski's horse, an endangered wild horse whose name sounds nothing like the way it is spelled. We will call him 'P Horse' for the sake of brevity.
When tranquilizing a wild horse who is not happy to see you, you do not skimp on the chemical restraint. The name of the drug used today escapes me but the caution used was not lost. "I'm wearing gloves and goggles because if any of this gets into my system, it will kill me." Katie went on to explain that this drug is like morphine times one thousand. When she went to deliver the dose to the restrained horse, I took a step back and held my breath. One can never be too careful when death is on the line.
The P Horse took it all like a champ. When released from his physical restraint, he walked into the padded room and quietly went to sleep. Once the slumber was confirmed, all hands were on deck to move the great beast into the hospital room where today's exam would take place.
This P Horse had decided to tango with a wire fence a few weeks back. His dance landed him in the hospital due to lacerations and swelling on his lower right leg, When the cast was removed, I got a good look his injuries. I'm not going to paint a vivid picture of what I saw, but trust me when I say this guy regretted kicking that fence.
Lowlight: When taking the heart rate of the P horse, I came up with a ludicrous number for a horse. After it came out of my mouth, I knew the number was way off but I didn't realize what I had done wrong. I made the rookie mistake of double counting the heartbeat. In a large animal hospital setting, I am very much a rookie.
After the treatment wrapped up, it was time to wake up sleepy P horse. This is always the exciting part of any procedure here. It is a delicate balance between delivering the reversal for anethesia and escaping before the animal has a chance to hurt anyone. During the sterilization and recasting of P Horse's leg, he was resting on a large foam pad with a vinyl cover similar to a large couch cushion.
When it was time to wake up, one of the animal care workers was overzealous in grabbing the pad from under the horse. The quick snatch coupled with the weight of the rolling P Horse resulted in the cover ripping and only to foam pad being removed. The vinyl cover ended up draped over the back of a now aggravated and confused P horse. Watching through a peep hole in the recovery room door, I had a front row seat to the unfolding drama.
A brave zookeeper stepped into the "danger zone" behind the horse. A kick from this well muscled stallion would easily shatter bone. The rest of his team stood outside the door with bated breath. He snatched the blue vinyl cover from the P Horses back as the horse turned to take a look at what was going on. While shouting "I'm OK", the zoo keeper made an exit that would have made Snagglepuss proud.
When the zookeeper walked past the windows of the vet hospital surrounded by his smiling pack of peers, we had a moment. My thumbs up said, "Good Job!". His confident nod said, "I know, just another day at the office".
Highlight: I managed to stick around for everyone's favorite endangered neonate's afternoon treatment. Caring for Amy Ray is where I prove my worth. I am happy to do whatever is needed to aid in her recovery.
When approached with a rake by the Head Vet, I replied that I am not above mucking stalls for her. To be truthful, I would do just about anything to come back to the Wilds on a Vet Externship during my fourth year of school. Perhaps even as a Resident Veterinarian in a quest for a Conservation Medicine specialization.
Each day, Amy Ray's treatment schedule gets a little bit shorter. The goal now is to support her until she is eatting on her own. I was tasked with observations after treatment was completed to see if she would eat from the feed buckets when her mother returned to the stall.
Amy Ray does not quite have the hang of this solid food thing yet. She follows her mother in a funny game of 'monkey see, monkey do'. Mom takes a step, Baby takes a step. Mom lowers her head, Baby lowers her head. Mom eats from the food buckets, Baby chews on Mom's ears. So close...
When tranquilizing a wild horse who is not happy to see you, you do not skimp on the chemical restraint. The name of the drug used today escapes me but the caution used was not lost. "I'm wearing gloves and goggles because if any of this gets into my system, it will kill me." Katie went on to explain that this drug is like morphine times one thousand. When she went to deliver the dose to the restrained horse, I took a step back and held my breath. One can never be too careful when death is on the line.
The P Horse took it all like a champ. When released from his physical restraint, he walked into the padded room and quietly went to sleep. Once the slumber was confirmed, all hands were on deck to move the great beast into the hospital room where today's exam would take place.
This P Horse had decided to tango with a wire fence a few weeks back. His dance landed him in the hospital due to lacerations and swelling on his lower right leg, When the cast was removed, I got a good look his injuries. I'm not going to paint a vivid picture of what I saw, but trust me when I say this guy regretted kicking that fence.
Lowlight: When taking the heart rate of the P horse, I came up with a ludicrous number for a horse. After it came out of my mouth, I knew the number was way off but I didn't realize what I had done wrong. I made the rookie mistake of double counting the heartbeat. In a large animal hospital setting, I am very much a rookie.
After the treatment wrapped up, it was time to wake up sleepy P horse. This is always the exciting part of any procedure here. It is a delicate balance between delivering the reversal for anethesia and escaping before the animal has a chance to hurt anyone. During the sterilization and recasting of P Horse's leg, he was resting on a large foam pad with a vinyl cover similar to a large couch cushion.
When it was time to wake up, one of the animal care workers was overzealous in grabbing the pad from under the horse. The quick snatch coupled with the weight of the rolling P Horse resulted in the cover ripping and only to foam pad being removed. The vinyl cover ended up draped over the back of a now aggravated and confused P horse. Watching through a peep hole in the recovery room door, I had a front row seat to the unfolding drama.
A brave zookeeper stepped into the "danger zone" behind the horse. A kick from this well muscled stallion would easily shatter bone. The rest of his team stood outside the door with bated breath. He snatched the blue vinyl cover from the P Horses back as the horse turned to take a look at what was going on. While shouting "I'm OK", the zoo keeper made an exit that would have made Snagglepuss proud.
When the zookeeper walked past the windows of the vet hospital surrounded by his smiling pack of peers, we had a moment. My thumbs up said, "Good Job!". His confident nod said, "I know, just another day at the office".
Highlight: I managed to stick around for everyone's favorite endangered neonate's afternoon treatment. Caring for Amy Ray is where I prove my worth. I am happy to do whatever is needed to aid in her recovery.
When approached with a rake by the Head Vet, I replied that I am not above mucking stalls for her. To be truthful, I would do just about anything to come back to the Wilds on a Vet Externship during my fourth year of school. Perhaps even as a Resident Veterinarian in a quest for a Conservation Medicine specialization.
Each day, Amy Ray's treatment schedule gets a little bit shorter. The goal now is to support her until she is eatting on her own. I was tasked with observations after treatment was completed to see if she would eat from the feed buckets when her mother returned to the stall.
Amy Ray does not quite have the hang of this solid food thing yet. She follows her mother in a funny game of 'monkey see, monkey do'. Mom takes a step, Baby takes a step. Mom lowers her head, Baby lowers her head. Mom eats from the food buckets, Baby chews on Mom's ears. So close...
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Day 17: "In West Virginia, It's a goral"
Today my time was split between the two worlds I live in here, field research and vet hospital. Lake team's morning was spent surveying my favorite lake yet. It is known as "Waterfall" by the staff here although I saw nothing which resembled Niagra Falls. .
Hiking into the survey site was one of the best hikes yet. It was pretty much a well defined path the entire trip. The trail began in a coniferous forest and ended in a deciduous forest. There was no sign of the lake until we crested the hill to find ourselves right on it's shoreline.
My survey time this morning was quite brief. I spent roughly a half hour on the water until my watch read 9:45. I waded back to the shore and picked up the radio to call the head veterinarian. After saying her call number, I was ready to ask the question I had been looking forward to since I woke.
Lowlight: Me: "Is the gORAL knockdown still a go for this morning?"
Head Vet: "Yes Ron, The Go-RAL procedure is still scheduled for Ten o'clock."
Apparently when I radioed her to check, she was in a meeting with all of the big shots at The Wilds. They had a good laugh at my mispronunciation of the name of the Chinese Goral. Thankfully, I don't mind embarrassing myself. It's worked out pretty well for me thus far.
The Goral was being brought in due to lameness on his right front leg. X-Rays revealed that the poor guy had an entirely fused carpal joint. On the bright side, it was on his front leg. Gorals rely heavily on their back legs for their trademark jumping and climbing abilities.
Highlight: During the Goral procedure, I trimmed my first hoof. It went better than I expected. When the Goral woke up from anesthesia, he had a full mani-pedi courtesy of the Hoofstock Salon.
After the exam, I noticed that it was very close to Amy Ray's afternoon treatment so with permission I stuck around. Sometime over the weekend, she decided that she is now a rodeo bull instead of a baby camel. She kicked, twisted and bucked around the barn stall like the star of a PBR Rodeo before calming down to allow us to check her bandages.
Between treatments, she would circle around us and repeat her bull impression. It was simply adorable. So much so that our normally serious vet whipped out her iPhone to get some video of Amy Ray bounding around like a big scary camel.
Her white blood cell count still indicates that she is fighting an infection. You would never know it by looking at her. She continues to dabble in solid food. Her mentation is bright and responsive. Before the end of her afternoon treatment, Amy Ray had walked around to greet everyone in the room.
Part of the rules I abide by here state that I am not permitted to post any images of collection animals taken in "non-visitor areas". I can't hardly wait until she is released back into her home pasture. I promise that you will get to see every snapshot when that day arrives.
Hiking into the survey site was one of the best hikes yet. It was pretty much a well defined path the entire trip. The trail began in a coniferous forest and ended in a deciduous forest. There was no sign of the lake until we crested the hill to find ourselves right on it's shoreline.
My survey time this morning was quite brief. I spent roughly a half hour on the water until my watch read 9:45. I waded back to the shore and picked up the radio to call the head veterinarian. After saying her call number, I was ready to ask the question I had been looking forward to since I woke.
Lowlight: Me: "Is the gORAL knockdown still a go for this morning?"
Head Vet: "Yes Ron, The Go-RAL procedure is still scheduled for Ten o'clock."
Apparently when I radioed her to check, she was in a meeting with all of the big shots at The Wilds. They had a good laugh at my mispronunciation of the name of the Chinese Goral. Thankfully, I don't mind embarrassing myself. It's worked out pretty well for me thus far.
The Goral was being brought in due to lameness on his right front leg. X-Rays revealed that the poor guy had an entirely fused carpal joint. On the bright side, it was on his front leg. Gorals rely heavily on their back legs for their trademark jumping and climbing abilities.
Highlight: During the Goral procedure, I trimmed my first hoof. It went better than I expected. When the Goral woke up from anesthesia, he had a full mani-pedi courtesy of the Hoofstock Salon.
After the exam, I noticed that it was very close to Amy Ray's afternoon treatment so with permission I stuck around. Sometime over the weekend, she decided that she is now a rodeo bull instead of a baby camel. She kicked, twisted and bucked around the barn stall like the star of a PBR Rodeo before calming down to allow us to check her bandages.
Between treatments, she would circle around us and repeat her bull impression. It was simply adorable. So much so that our normally serious vet whipped out her iPhone to get some video of Amy Ray bounding around like a big scary camel.
Her white blood cell count still indicates that she is fighting an infection. You would never know it by looking at her. She continues to dabble in solid food. Her mentation is bright and responsive. Before the end of her afternoon treatment, Amy Ray had walked around to greet everyone in the room.
Part of the rules I abide by here state that I am not permitted to post any images of collection animals taken in "non-visitor areas". I can't hardly wait until she is released back into her home pasture. I promise that you will get to see every snapshot when that day arrives.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Day 16: The Switch-A-Roo
The fact that frogs are evil creatures who constantly conspire against me is something that has been well documented on this blog. Today was a new high mark for the "Frog vs. Ron" saga. I am fairly sure that frogs on Pond Seventy-Two practice witchcraft.
When I exited the truck to begin the survey, I heard a bullfrog calling from the corner of the pond. I carefully made my way toward the trill sound. I could hear my amphibian foe right next to me, but was unable to locate him.
Standing quietly, I intently scanned the base of the reeds for several minutes. When I finally located the source of the frog calls, I found him staring at me. The frog was hiding slightly more than an arm's length away.
At this point, I has two options. I could try to catch this little bugger with my bare hands or I could attempt to net him. Since this was the first time I had brought my fishing net from home into the field with me, I opted for the net.
When I swiped down I could see him trapped under my net. "Nowhere to run to now", I thought to myself with a grin. That's when it happened. As I raised my net, the frog was completely absent. In place of the frog was a large female banded sac spider speeding toward me. I have no doubt that some form of frog dark arts is responsible for this trick.
Highlight: Largely due to my new Chest Waders (Thanks Dad!!), I was able to reach places which I had not previously been able to survey. When I finally returned to the truck at the end of the day, my feet were dry for the first time since we began this journey three weeks ago.
Lowlight: I also returned to the truck completely empty handed. Another frog lured me into a treacherous area of the pond. Before today, I had never climbed a tree underwater before. I do not look forward to attempting that again.
When I exited the truck to begin the survey, I heard a bullfrog calling from the corner of the pond. I carefully made my way toward the trill sound. I could hear my amphibian foe right next to me, but was unable to locate him.
Standing quietly, I intently scanned the base of the reeds for several minutes. When I finally located the source of the frog calls, I found him staring at me. The frog was hiding slightly more than an arm's length away.
At this point, I has two options. I could try to catch this little bugger with my bare hands or I could attempt to net him. Since this was the first time I had brought my fishing net from home into the field with me, I opted for the net.
When I swiped down I could see him trapped under my net. "Nowhere to run to now", I thought to myself with a grin. That's when it happened. As I raised my net, the frog was completely absent. In place of the frog was a large female banded sac spider speeding toward me. I have no doubt that some form of frog dark arts is responsible for this trick.
Highlight: Largely due to my new Chest Waders (Thanks Dad!!), I was able to reach places which I had not previously been able to survey. When I finally returned to the truck at the end of the day, my feet were dry for the first time since we began this journey three weeks ago.
Lowlight: I also returned to the truck completely empty handed. Another frog lured me into a treacherous area of the pond. Before today, I had never climbed a tree underwater before. I do not look forward to attempting that again.
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