News From The Mews

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...

When I enter Otto's mew, I instinctually try to be as silent as possible. I don't want to spook the Great Horned Owl, after all. But then my mentor reminded me that predators slink along quietly. She suggested that I talk to him to make it clear that I'm not a predator trying to sneak up on him. I understood the assignment, but found it difficult. I'm a naturally quiet and concise person and have a hard time chattering away without a structured conversation. Otto keeps his eye on me when he has food enrichment in his talons. When my daughter was born, I got the same recommendation. You must talk to your baby to strengthen brain development and language skills. I was surprised how easy it became to narrate my day to a little human. Luckily my newly acquired parenting skill transferred into Otto's mew. Now I find a stream of words coming out of my mouth during training sessions as I describe where I'm moving, what the glove is doing, and what type of treats are in...