News From The Mews

I have very stressful memories of learning to make braided paracord jesses during one of my internships years ago. The process requires threading one piece of paracord through another. I learned to burn one end of the cord and push it through with a bent paperclip. Frustration ensued as it often took 10 or 20 attempts to pass it through completely. Luckily, I found a new tool that makes it much easier. The fid is a blunt needle made for weaving or lacing paracord. The fid holds onto one end of paracord and can smoothly guide it through the second piece of cord. Now this step of the jess-making process takes just 1 or 2 attempts. Whew! I learned that the Latin word fides means "trust." The root can be found in words like con fid ence or fid elity. I don't know if the paracord fid was named after  fides,  but I certainly feel like I can trust this piece of equipment to keep my frustration at bay.

  Digger peeks out of the humidity box after shedding her skin!

"Please drop the fur," I begged Aldo. It's breeding season and the American Kestrel seems more interested in showing off his food than eating it. Normally I don't mind if he holds on to his meal. But we had special guests visiting the Museum and I did not want Aldo meeting the Governor with a piece of half-gnawed mouse leg hanging from his mouth. Luckily he dropped the leftovers in his crate and we went outside to meet the group. Aldo was able to do what he does best - impress the audience with his tiny but mighty charisma - without a distracting rodent embellishment.

Carson the Red-tailed Hawk was so excited for her first bath of the season!

One morning, the Tiger Salamander was nowhere to be seen in his habitat. I thought it was unusual since his face was always visible at his burrow entrance. I still couldn't see him the next day. Oh well , I thought, salamanders like to dig, so he's probably hiding deep in the substrate. He'll come up when he gets hungry. Days kept passing with no sign of him. I started to get more and more worried. I shone a flashlight down his burrow hole. Nothing. I gently poked my finger around the substrate. No movement.  After a week and a half, I was convinced something terrible had happened. Did he get trapped, starve, or impossibly escape? For what I was convinced was a rescue or recovery mission, I stripped down his habitat and started excavating the substrate as if I were an archaeologist seeking fragile artifacts. After some digging, I lifted the large fern and I felt a leap of relief. There was the tail end of the salamander. He wiggled, telling me he was alive and not pleased a...

My husband and I have been enjoying evenings curled up by the pellet stove with mint tea and an episode of  All Creatures Great and Small on PBS. This week, one line of dialog struck me as particularly good writing and, more importantly, a beautiful way of viewing modern animal training.  To set the scene, a veterinarian is called to a farm about a race horse that was unrideable after a long and stressful transport. No physical cause can be found for the horse's aggressive and agitated behavior; it must be psychological. The owner says to the veterinarian, "I thought perhaps you could break him." Dr. Farnon looks solemn as he replies, " I'd say he's already broken. Our job is to put him back together again. " I am not a horse person, but I understand "breaking" a horse is a traditional training method that breaks the horse's spirit so the rider can control the animal completely. What a sad way to begin a working partnership. I was pleased t...