Issue 10 Jun-Jul/2007

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 Issue 10 June-July/2007

Graphic Design & Story Inquiries

Bob Fielder
publisher@creaturesall.ca
Account Information
Linda Fielder
In This Issue
editor@creaturesall.ca Tim, Sue & Charlie – all the reasons I had ever given
Subscription Inquiries
Linda Fielder my children for not having a dog came back to haunt me 8
subscribe@creaturesall.ca
Caught in the Middle – a thousand thoughts flashed
through my mind 10

Printing
Silly Goose – one of the six ducklings was missing 16
The Prolific Group
Mailing address:
The Endangered Squirrel Monkey – I listen closely
creaturesall
P.O. Box 126,
for the sounds of motion 19
Langdon, AB T0J 1X0
403-512-9544 A Tale of Two Critters – they caught dad on the wrong day 24
creaturesall is published 6 times per year (February,
April, June, August, October and December) by 1160613 I Wish I was a Dog – I’d practice scratching itches 29
ALBERTA LTD. and distributed freely in Alberta the first
week of the publication month. Advertisers and contrib-
utors assume responsibility and liability for the accuracy
of their claims and statements. The opinions and views
Columns
expressed in articles do not necessarily reflect those of
the Publisher or advertisers. creaturesall reserves the Wagging Tales – stories from a veterinarian’s clinic 11
right to refuse any advertising. Written submissions
become the property of creaturesall on publication. By
proferring your photographs or written submission you Creature Feature – the Calgary Zoo 13
grant us permission to reproduce it in creaturesall,
other printed media, on our web site or as a component Taking Down the Fences – A.I.W.C. 15
of an online download. All submissions will receive a
reply if email address is provided.
Writers & Cover Artists may make submissions Spaces and Species – the Nature Conservancy of Canada 21
by email to: publisher@creaturesall.ca
Copyright 2005 by 1160613 ALBERTA LTD.
Cross Paths – the Ann & Sandy Cross Conservation Area 23
Cover Artist
Carla Pelkey The Gardening Bug – the Calgary Horticultural Society 27
My artistic talent
surfaced while still in
my teens. Since
Youth Said It – Crickett, the extraordinary cat 28
graduating from Visual
Communications, ACAD Obsolete – cari-creatures by Sean Skerry 28
in Calgary, my career has
spanned advertising and
marketing in both The Final Word – porcupine alley 30
salaried and freelance
positions. ‘MandaLeaf’
resulted when my
interest in the transformational mandala took
on a new form in 2000. Although mandalas are
Departments
usually created using traditional materials, I
began using leaves as my medium. As a result, I
Publisher’s Note 5
created the word ‘MandaLeaf’ – now also the
name for my graphic design business. I continue
to create personal commissioned mandala
Letters 7
designs while ‘branching out’ to other leaf
creations. For more info: www.mandaleaf.com In Passing – celebrating the lives of animal friends 26
page3
Yeah... I know... your dog ate it.
but why not try again?

CALL FOR
ARTISTS &
WRITERS
for details check out
ck
www.creaturesall.ca aa
aa
gg
or email
publisher@creaturesall.ca

page4

It would seem we creature folk
are divided into two camps; dog peo-
ple and cat people. Sure, I know,
there also exists that ‘fringe’, lizard,
bird, snake, hampster group (the
‘exotics’ if you will), but by and large,
statistics reveal the two aforemen-
tioned camps as predominant.
Forced to declare allegiances, I’d
have to list myself along the canine
side of the ledger. After all, I have two
mutts whose combined expenses over
their fourteen year lifespan has, to
date, cost us more than would a 5 bed-
room, beach-side Tuscany retreat. I
justify acceptance of those expenses
by telling myself I am setting a good
example for my children.
Truth is, what I’m really doing is
seeking to avoid having those same
children address my rapidly deterio-
rating prognosis, sometime in my not
too distant future, with sentiments
like, “Well, he is pretty old and he’s
led a good long life. And fifty bucks is
a lot to spend on a sixty year old leg.
It’s probably best for everyone if we
just have him put down.”
So, lavishly pampering my dogs is
my preemptive strike aimed at avoid-
ing my premature demise and, by that
means, ensure I live long enough to
become both a financial and a physical
burden to both of my children.
Still, getting back to the dog vs cat
thing, I must admit to having a special
place in my heart for cats, particularly
cats with attitude. Over the years
we’ve had, perhaps 20 different
cats of varying breeds, sizes, colors
and personalities.
One, Cinnamon, was so cantan-
kerous he was downright intimidating.
I recall an ill-advised moment when I
grabbed him quickly in order to scold
him for another in what was a long
Advertiser and Story Submission Deadline
for Next Issue – June 29th/07
PUBLISHER’S
NOTE
encouraging you to read, then write
Bob & Linda Fielder
line of misdemeanors. He spun
abruptly, while still in my ill-conceived
grip, and clamped a mitt full of claws
into each of my cheeks and froze
there, defiantly staring me in the eye.
I was wise enough to know what pain
would ensue were I to pull away or
drop him, and found myself startled at
how quickly I heard my admonishing
tone turn to one of conciliation and
appeasement. Slowly, and carefully, I
withdrew each individual claw, all the
while purring to this 20 lbs of feral
feline phrases like, “Good kitty!...
Who’s a pretty kitty... Who wuvs da
widdy biddy kiddy?!”
Perhaps my favorite cat was
Jaguar. He was big bruiser of a Grey
Tabby who, unlike Cinnamon, loved
people and would greet each new and
old acquaintance alike with a gentle
head-butt, a feline equivalent of a
hand-shake. He had a sort of flat face
with an unusually asymmetrical coun-
tenance that caused one of our good warn off the overly bold bird. This, of
friends to comment, after meeting course, left his tail exposed to the sec-
him for the first time, “That is the ond of the two birds, which abruptly
homeliest cat I’ve ever seen.” hopped over and bit the vulnerable
Unperturbed, Jaguar offered up a appendage before making a well advised
conciliatory head-butt. retreat, avoiding the ever more annoyed
However, his good nature didn’t cat which had quickly spun and leapt in
always stand him in good stead. One his direction. His tail, now left exposed
early morning as I was preparing to to the first of the two birds, was subse-
dig into my bowl of Wheaties, I quently judged to be fair game. Jaguar
noticed Jaguar sitting on the grass in leapt in torment as it too clamped down
front of the barn, basking in the warm on his tail before beating a hasty retreat.
rays of the morning sun. Perhaps fif- This scenario was repeated a half
teen to twenty feet either side of him dozen times, all with the same result,
sat a magpie, the pair working in tan- before that big bruiser of a cat, formulat-
dem with nothing more in mind appar- ed a defense strategy of his own. One,
ently, than mischief. two, three skips and he was atop a post
Slowly one of the birds hopped of the barb-wire fence which surrounds
ever closer to the cat. When he got to our property; finding himself left in
within five or so feet of his prey, peace as the pair of bullying birds sat
Jaguar turned and leapt in his general one-apiece on flanking pedestals, eight
direction, his intent, no doubt, only to feet either side of the cat and left with
no means to hop stealthily towards him.
I takes more than just dumb luck to
outsmart a magpie. And that’s just one
more reason this dog guy likes cats.
page5
wendy Limited Edition
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a r t i s t

s p e c i a l i z i n g i n a c r y l i c w i l d l i f e p a i n t i n g s

Some of the sculptures I have

completed include pheasants, frogs,
dogs, cats, historic buildings, roses,
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All of my pieces are created from the

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Harvey Dougan 403-934-3640

page6

paw prints and pen scratches
My name is Jon Izma, and I
have picked up and enjoyed your
magazine in previous months.
Last October, a friend of mine,
named Jackie Szalkai from
Tilsonbourg, Ontario passed away
from the results of a car accident.
Jackie was 27, a farm girl at heart
and a fantastic wildlife artist and
pet lover.
I picked up your magazine not
long after, and immediately realized
what a great tribute it would be to
her, to have one of her paintings
featured in your magazine or on
your cover.
Jon Izma
You have encouraged me to
keep writing and between working
full time and as you probably know,
family life, I will keep working on
my writing skills.
By the way, my sister-in-law
wrote “Little Things” in ‘The Final
Word,’ Apr/May issue. I love your
whole magazine.
Shirley Dickson.
creaturesall is wonderful! I
especially loved the story about the
cow giving birth - I could see myself
doing that too.
I am so glad to hear that every-
thing is coming, well...maybe not
easily, but you are making it all
work. I’m only now getting settled
in but I will definitely keep in mind
your generous offer to keep writing.
Judi Schofield
I have been thinking that it
would be so cool if there was a
budding writer’s workshop available
to reinforce the do’s and don’ts and
to encourage writer wannabes. I’d
certainly attend something like that
to learn more. Have you considered
offering a class with Continuing Ed
where you would have classes for
LETTERS
take a moment to send us a letter
two hours four Monday evenings for
instance?
On the weekend I was grocery
shopping in Strathmore and the
creaturesall magazines had not yet
arrived at Co-op or IGA so I hope
they will still stock them there as
they did before. I have friends and
relatives waiting for a copy. I also
have a friend who wants to
subscribe and is waiting for her
copy. Keep up the amazing work.
Cathy Woiwod
These visitors were on the front
deck at Windermere a couple of
weeks ago.
It is the first time we have seen
wild turkeys at our place. They had
a bit of trouble with this ‘squirrel-
proof feeder.’ They are HUGE!
Judi Pearce
I'm so glad we will be receiving
more creaturesall to enjoy. My
cheque covers a subscription for
myself as well as for a friend.
Ardith Wagner
I'm so glad you are back to pub-
lishing your wonderful magazine.
Please let me know ahead when
mine is about to run out so I don't
miss my issues.
Jane Langton
I really enjoy your magazine
and miss it when I am unlucky in
finding it. I am ordering a year's
subscription.
Lorraine Farran
page7
 &
Tim
t has often been said that a rescued dog is a grateful dog and

I therefore tends to bond more deeply with its rescuer. My

family didn’t rescue just one dog, we rescued three and we
were rewarded with their company for many years.
We had moved from an urban to a rural area; five
homes and two farms strung out along a mile of country
road. Not big enough to be classed as a village, this collection
of quintessential English homes was technically a hamlet. It
was quiet and remote and all the reasons I had ever given my
children for not having a dog came back to haunt me.
Now we had room for a dog. We were far enough away

Sue
from the neighbours that a dog couldn’t possibly bother
them. It would protect us and teach the kids responsibility.
They definitely know which buttons to push and which buzz
words to use, and the day I decided a dog might be okay was
the day they came home from school telling a tale of woe.
A dog resembling a little Red Fox, whose coat was falling
out and who was so pathetically thin that it might have to be
put down was apparently, free to a good home. It was an
adult dog, so it would not need house training. Anyway, it was
only little, so could we please have them? “When,” I asked,
“did ‘it’ become ‘them’, and just how many dogs were there?”

Charlie
Gradually I was told the full story. At school that day an
R.S.P.C.A officer (the British counterpart of the Canadian
S.P.C.A.) gave a talk on general pet care and followed that
with a slide presentation of poor pet care. Amongst the latter
by Vicki Chatham
was the rescue case that had captured my childrens’
attention.
They followed through with the clarity of childhood logic. There were three of them and there were three little dogs.
The little was heavily stressed. They would be responsible (there’s that sneaky, impressing-a-parent buzzword again) for
one dog each, so they wouldn’t argue over whose turn it was to feed and walk a single dog. I would hardly know there
was a dog in the house unless we were robbed, in which case I would be truly grateful that we had them to protect us!
This was how we came to acquire our Heinz 57 pack of Sue (the tailless Red Fox), Tim (whose coat was falling out
from mange) and Charlie (the thin one). We decided that Sue was mostly a mixture of smooth coated Fox Terrier and
Jack Russell. Tim could have been a mix of almost anything, but his legs, feet and black and tan colouring hinted at smooth
coated Dachshund somewhere in his lineage. For all the character Sue and Tim exhibited, Charlie appeared to have none.
He was the most pathetic sight with a sparse, dirty coat through which you could see every bone in his body. He had
no muscle in his hindquarters, so his tail and hind legs seemed to be tucked under his rib cage and he hauled himself
around on his front legs. With advice from our R.S.P.C.A officer, Charlie was put on a puppy food diet and fed every four

page8
hours. He also needed physiotherapy
to get all four limbs mobile and begin
to build muscle. He so enjoyed this
process that he continued the
exercises at odd intervals throughout
his life, with or without human
assistance. After a few weeks he began
to fill out and, once he
‘Next time, missus, we’re going
could stand squarely,
it became evident that
to have to charge you’.
he was going to be the
biggest of the three.
He had a broad Border
Collie-type head, a
Labrador-type body
and legs, and a German Shepherd-
type coat of cream underneath black
that never stopped shedding. His tail
had, at some time, been broken and
not re-set, so had a permanent kink
in it.
Between three children and three
dogs, life was never dull. Sue was an
escape artist par excellence. Blink and
she was gone. Not yet knowing her
way home did not deter her. She was
one smart cookie and would simply sit
by someone’s, anyone’s, car until the
door was opened and in she would get.
On several occasions she had a police
escort home, until I got the warning
that ‘Next time, missus, we’re going to
have to charge you’.
She was also a thief where food
was concerned, a throw back no doubt
to her previous environment where
food for the dogs came as an after-
thought. One Sunday morning she
came home, before she was even
missed, bearing a complete roast
chicken. We wrestled it away from
her, but none of us had the nerve to go
knocking on neighbours’ doors to see
if anyone had missed their Sunday
lunch. The spoils supplemented the
dogs’ dinners for a whole week.
Tim’s peculiarity was that he was
epileptic and all three of our children
got to know the signs of an attack and
what to do when they noticed the
symptoms. After the first three or
four episodes we realized that this
heralded a change in the weather,
that within twenty-four hours of Tim
having an attack, we had a
thunderstorm. This continued until,
for entirely unrelated reasons and at
an age far older than normal, we had
him fixed and he never suffered an
attack again.
Being black, one would not have
expected to lose him in the snow, but
lose him we did. Three days after he
disappeared my postman asked if
we’d lost a dog, because there was
one a lot like ours at the local pound.
Retrieving him was an exercise in
patience. The pound manager
checked our ID. We were taken
through one gate, which was locked
page9
behind us before we could continue
through a second gate. By this time we
could hear Tim in full voice. The man-
ager asked us to wait by the gate while
he opened Tim’s pen. Tim practically
tore his claws out while the gate was
being opened and took off like a rocket,
leaping at me from ten
feet away. His little
body hit mine at chest
height and knocked all
the breath out of me.
“No doubt whose
dog this is,” said the
manager.
My children grew up and spent
less and less time at home. I spent
more and more time with the dogs. I
found it totally rewarding and end-
lessly comforting. They helped me in
the garden, roamed the fields and
hedgerows with me while I gathered
whatever was in season. They
welcomed friends and family with
high-pitched yelps and whines and
bayed at strangers unremittingly.
At sixteen it was time for Sue to
leave us. Charlie and Tim followed at
eighteen and twenty respectively, all
their ages pinpointed by the good
neighbors who had originally reported
their neglect. Rudyard Kipling wrote,
“Never give your heart to a dog to
tear.” Good advice, but too late. My
heart was torn with the loss of each
one but the memory of them and their
loving, grateful souls lingers on.
And, I’m proud to say, we were
never, ever robbed. ca
 by Helen Willy

e are regularly reminded in various publications asked them what they thought they were doing, they

W what or what not to do when we find ourselves

face to face with a Grizzly or Black Bear.
However, I cannot recall reading anywhere what to do
when in a similar situation with moose. I recently found
myself in the position where I had to think fast and figure
it out for myself.
This summer we
were thrilled when the
stopped chewing for a moment to look at me and then
continued on with their business. It was only after I
loudly banged a cook pot that they slowly moved on.
Not, however, before Mamoose gave me the “Oh, for
Pete’s sake” look.
They ambled slowly away down our drive-
way and disappeared from view. It was nearly
dark by now and I decided I should fill the bird

CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE

female moose and her bath with water. The deer would be by during
recently born calf first the night and they liked to drink from it as
appeared on our yard. well. I puttered in the garage for a while, tidy-
While the female was ing up from the day of gardening, then went
dark brown with tawny out the side garage door with the filled green
coloured legs, the calf watering container. I walked straight over and
was totally light brown started filling the bird bath with water.
and its fur still appeared Unexpectedly, there was a sudden and loud
fuzzy. The mother crashing to my right, causing me to notice
seemed calm and moved Mamoose looming over me only about 20 ft.
around our lot with a away. She must have circled back and had
confident purpose; that been laying down in the tall grass back at the
being to eat as much of salt lick. As I had previously seen them leave,
our delicious vegetation I hadn’t even thought to scan the yard. She
as possible before we was likely deep into her salt-licking-euphoria
expressed our annoyance. The calf, on the other hand, was and had not heard me approaching. Nervously,
a little more skittish and trailed closely behind its mother. I looked over to my left and saw Caboose only
Seeing them when they visited regularly, we were amazed about 20 ft. away, standing very still and star-
how quickly the baby grew into what appeared to be a tall ing at me. I was in between mother and calf!
gangly teenager with the same colouring as its mother. We A thousand thoughts flashed through my
named them Mamoose and Caboose. mind in a few seconds. It was now nearly dark.
On this particular day they arrived at dusk to partake I was about 60 ft. from the house. My husband
of the goodies available in our yard and spent a fair was in the lower level watching T.V., and I was
amount of time enjoying the salt lick that the deer also between a mother moose eight times my size
savour. Mamoose had lain down to lick while Caboose and her calf.
kneeled. We had been Only minutes before I had annoyed them
surprised when we first with my pot banging. Should I run? Should I
saw this behaviour on climb the Spruce tree beside me? Should I
previous moose visits. pretend nothing was wrong? I chose the latter.
However we soon With my heart pounding, I tried to appear
realised that because of calm as I continued to fill the bird bath. I
their short necks and slowly turned and walked back to the house.
long legs they have a Had I heard even a slight noise I would have
hard time reaching broken into the fastest sprint I was capable of.
anything on the ground. However, I heard nothing, even though I
While deer are grazers, sensed four eyes intently scrutinizing me. When
moose eat extensively I got to the safety of the house I turned around
from trees and shrub- and saw them still standing there watching me. I
bery. Subsequently, they went inside to observe from the window but they
proceeded to their usual had moved off into the darkness of the trees.
munching of our Laurel Once again I was humbled by the awesome
Leaf Willows, Aspens, wonder of our wildlife. And I was reminded to
and Cotoneasters. be cautious in my surroundings; to be respect-
The fact that we had fenced our willows to protect ful of the other creatures that we share our existence with.
them from the deer didn’t deter these two. Because of Mamoose and Caboose continue to drop by unannounced
their sheer size, they merely stuck their heads into the and we are pleased to have them as neighbours. ca
fenced areas from above. While I stood on the deck and

page10
 WAGGING TALES
stories from a veterinarian’s clinic
by Dr. Richard Weger, B.Sc., DVM

nd it came to pass that a The next to vocalize his thoughts was “Iggy the

A messenger was sent out to

all that knew “Irwin the
Hedgehog”. And the messenger
Green Iguana”, one of Irwin’s closest friends and
roommate. No one spoke aloud of the fact that it had
taken “Iggy” what seemed like four hours to get to the
found them one by one and gave them its message, each podium from his seat. With a soft spoken yet confident
to each. They all gathered, both human and animal alike, manner, Iggy spoke his piece. “Irwin and I had many
on the front steps of the “All Creatures Great and Small” madcap adventures together. Many a night we would
funeral home, united in one common purpose; to say their stay up discussing philosophy over a mutual mealworm
goodbyes to a friend and colleague. A multitude of beings snack. In all my travels I can say this, his soul was
slowly made their way through the stone doorway, each brighter than any star that I have encountered.
weighed down by the Godspeed my friend. Let
sadness that one of their us all bow our heads in
own had passed on. your honor.”
Finally, all the guests had After a moment of
found a place to reside and silence, the assemblage in
the ceremonies solemnly turn, one by one, related
commenced. their own personal
The first chosen to stories until at last only
speak was “Dr. Weger”, one remained. Irwin’s
a human veterinarian who human caretaker elected
had presided over Irwin’s to conclude the cere-
medical care and was monies with her fond
among the few to be with farewell. Standing at the
him in his last moments. podium it was obvious to
Coming to the podium all that this was a difficult
Dr. Weger addressed the moment for her as she
assembled mourners. struggled to fight back
“As many of you know, the tears. “Irwin was a
Irwin had been suffering very special little guy. He
from a rapidly progress- came to me as a rescue
ive degenerative malady animal and obviously had
known as “Wobbly lived a hard life. One of
Hedgehog Disease”. Over his many positive attrib-
the last few months Irwin’s condition worsened and his utes was his sense of humor. Often he would shed a quill
ability to walk had become more and more difficult. Even or two around my apartment in strategic places where
in the face of his chronic illness, Irwin never lost his feisty he could be sure I would invariably step on it, causing
attitude and spunk. him to huff in laughter and delight. I loved his fun loving
One of my most memorable encounters with Irwin spirit and his strong will. His time with me was short,
involved what has been deemed, “The Bench incident”. I but I will never forget him.”
had been sitting on a bench with him outside my exam Unable to bear the sadness, she returned to her
room talking to his owner when he decided that I needed seat. The attending guests took turns comforting her and
to be taken down a peg or two. With but a moment’s gave their heartfelt condolences. When all mourners had
notice he charged from one end of the bench to the other departed, she alone remained, pondering the day’s
and with bull like fury, stabbed my buttocks with his events. Suddenly she felt a poking sensation in her
forehead quills. Feeling a sharp pain in my rear I bolted pocket. Reaching in, she grasped a pin like object.
up and peered down to observe a huffing puffing Examining it closely she noticed that it was not a pin but
hedgehog gloating over my defeat. Never before or since a hedgehog quill! Filled with grief but with a hint of
have I observed such bravery. Irwin my friend you will be laughter she smirked and shook her head. It would
missed.” Wiping a tear from his eye, Dr.Weger returned not surprise her if he was head bunting angels in heaven
to sit amongst his animal brethren. as we speak! ca

page11
CHERYL PEDDIE / EMERGE CREATIVE • WATERCOLOUR • OIL • GRAPHIC DESIGN • 270-9755 • EMERGECREATIVE.CA

Heaven Can Wait

Animal Rescue Foundation

(403) 601-2520
www.heavencanwait.ca

page12

nvironmental enrichment helps
E provide stimulating surround-
ings for the animals living at the
Calgary Zoo, encouraging species-typi-
cal behaviour. These enhancements
allow the animals to exercise control
over their environment and help to
intensify their sense of well-being.
They may include any combination of
designing a stimulating and natural
enclosure, housing compatible social
groups together, or the introduction of
objects, sounds, smells or other
stimuli in the animal’s environment.
Habitats incorporating a variety
of ground cover, levels and complexi-
ties, along with taped sounds or
vocalizations found in the animal’s
natural habitat provide an enriched
environment. Often, keepers present
food in a variety of ways — in a simple
puzzle feeder, hidden or scattered
throughout the enclosure, or buried
in the soil. To get food, the animal
must use natural foraging behaviours
and/or mentally solve a puzzle.
At Halloween last year, the gorillas
were given pumpkins decorated with
celery, garlic, potatoes,
grapes, cauliflower, broccoli
and beets for facial features,
as well as cardboard tubes
with almond butter and
craisins inside. Although
interested in the pumpkin
accessories, the gorillas were
not very interested in the
pumpkins themselves. They
also had a wonderful time
poking their fingers into the
cardboard tubes and scoop-
ing out the almond butter and
craisins. Some mornings the
keepers will smear peanut butter on
the windows of the gorilla habitat. It
doesn’t take long before the gorillas
find it and using their fingers which
they keep on licking, clean the
windows of the peanut butter.
CREATURE FEATURE
staying happy & healthy at the zoo
On one enrichment day last year,
keepers and volunteers made an
imitation deer from boxes, burlap,
pieces of wood and branches. They
filled it with feline diet (minced
meat) and hung it from a tree branch
in the tiger habitat. The tigers saw it
the instant they came into the area
and immediately began to stalk it.
Automatically they split into two
groups, one group attacking the
head, and the other group attacking
the rear. The imitation deer did not
last very long and each tiger ended
up running off with a small part of it.
The keepers walk the elephants
two or three times per day, putting
out objects that the elephants must
walk around. They will also stuff bar-
rels full of hay and hoist them on
chains fairly
high so that
the elephants
need to find a
way to reach
the barrel and
eat the hay.
They will also
photo courtesy: Calgary Zoo
photo courtesy: Kathleen Hewitt
use large plastic pipes, which they
stuff with hay, bananas, apples,
chunks of sweet potato, onions and
more hay. Barrels that are bored
with small holes and filled with
peanuts are hung on chains, plus
page13
by Kathleen Hewitt
potatoes and onions are buried in the
sand of the elephant outside habitat.
The elephants have a wonderful
time figuring out how to get the
peanuts out of the small holes in the
barrel and the fruit and hay out of
the pipes. They must use their
superior sense of smell to find and
dig up the vegetables from the
ground. These are natural habits that
elephants use in the wild, each and
every day, to forage and find food to
feed themselves.
It is great fun to watch Spike,
our male elephant, balance a barrel
of peanuts on the back of his neck
and rock back and forth. The barrel
also rocks causing peanuts to fall out
of the holes. Spike then gathers them
up and eats them, thus solving, “the
peanuts in the
barrel puzzle”;
and he is one
very smart
elephant.
So next
time you are
at the Zoo and
see a window
smeared with
the remnants
of peanut but-
ter; or burlap
sacks, card-
board boxes, pieces of cloth, pipes or
t-shirts in an animal habitat; rest
assured it is not a dirty, uncared for
habitat, but one that the keepers have
made enriching and enjoyable for
the animals.
Of course, every day new ideas
are needed so that the animals don’t
get bored! Do you have a good idea
for animal enrichment? If you do why
not send your idea to me, Kathleen
Hewitt, at the Calgary Zoo? You
never know, one day you may come
to the Zoo and see your idea being
used. How exciting is that? ca
 Proud to support
creaturesall
in sharing enriching
stories with
Alberta readers,
young and old!
Mr. Len Webber , MLA Proudly representing the Calgary communities of:
Member of the Legislative Assembly Citadel • Edgemont • Hamptons
Calgary-Foothills Constituency Hidden Valley • Kincora • Sherwood
403•288•4453 in the Alberta Legislature

page14

ou never know how a tiny thing
Y will have a huge impact.
Basking on the windowsill, she
rocks rhythmically back and forth,
mimicking – both in appearance and
in motion – the swaying
of a gnarled tree limb. At
one and a half to two
hour intervals, she is sub-
jected to gentle restraint
as a volunteer forces her
mouth open and places
food at the back of her
throat. That is followed
by a swish of water drops
to stimulate swallowing
and then she is replaced
on the sill, where she
resumes her rocking or
simply sits inconspicuous-
ly in the lee of a Coleus
plant.
Such is the fate of a
remarkable little bird
rescued in late October.
She is a Whippoorwill,
fragile yet resilient, quiet
yet nervous, a mysterious
creature who should not be in Alberta
at all.
We’ll never know her story. Not
truly. Found in downtown Calgary, her
discovery was an anomaly to say the
least. Whippoorwills are an eastern
bird; their distribution stretches only
as far west as a narrow finger crossing
the border between Manitoba and
Saskatchewan. Was she transported
unknowingly in a Christmas tree?
Trapped inside a cargo vehicle? Or did
she fly here on her own, blown off
course by a strong prairie wind?
Regardless of her origin, she is
the first ever confirmed Whippoorwill
in Alberta and, as such, has generated
considerable interest. Though a few
people have claimed to have seen one
here, no official report has ever been
TAKING DOWN THE FENCES
documented. When news of her
presence reached the public, AIWC
began receiving inquiries from all over
the province. Are you sure it’s a
Whippoorwill? Can we come and see
her? Take pictures of her?
Bedraggled and weak, she
weighed just thirty-nine grams on
admission. Weeks of tender care
brought her weight up to a healthy
seventy-six grams but many of her
feathers remained battered and
broken. Over the winter, she has
perched quietly on a flat ledge
watching the world outside. At night,
she perks up and flies about a little.
Normally a nocturnal species,
Whippoorwills are related to
Nighthawks, robin-sized songbirds
that perform amazing aerial acrobatics
in pursuit of insects. Huge black eyes
help them navigate at night and an
enormous gaping mouth traps flying
morsels such as mosquitoes and
moths. Stiff, wiry whiskers sprout
from the sides of their mouth to help
page15
once in a lifetime
by Dianne Wittner
them detect their quarry. Those
whiskers are actually specialized
feathers, completely unlike the downy
feathers that cover the rest of their
body. Perfectly camouflaged to blend
in with surrounding tree bark, they sit
quietly during the day on a
wide bough, waiting for dusk
to fall.
All of these habits make
them an elusive species to
locate. In fact, the best way
to detect a Whippoorwill is
by its call, a melodious song
that is the stuff of legend.
This particular Whippoorwill,
however, has been
mournfully silent in captivity.
So quiet and gentle is her
demeanor, we might forget
her altogether were it not for
the ticking of the clock that
reminds us it is time to feed
her again.
Exercising this little bird
is a challenge since she is
only inclined to fly at night
but, after months of relative
inactivity, it is essential we
help her prepare for her return to the
night sky.
New feathers and renewed fitness
indicate it is finally time to send her
home, to appropriate habitat near the
Saskatchewan-Manitoba border where
migrating Whippoorwills have
returned to raise their young. To get
her there, she will require her own
unique ‘passport’ as it is illegal to
transport wildlife across provincial
borders without a permit.
She is the first, and possibly the
last, Whippoorwill to grace the wildlife
center with her placid presence. You
never know how a tiny thing can touch
your heart. The compelling nature of
her mysterious plight is matched only
by the prospect of her return
to her home in the wild. ca
 Sil ly
G oo se!!
by
When our vet called to tell us that a stock handler
was seeking large white Embden Geese for
a movie, we brought our “widowed” goose
Guinevere in for some special pam-
pering in our bathtub. Her mate
Arthur had passed away the year
before, so we looked for ways to
brighten Guinevere’s days. A warm
bath and swim in the middle of win-
ter proved to be a special treat.
On the appointed day in
November, we drove to the set of
page16
Elisabeth Dowson
“Goose on the Loose” (aka “The Great Goose
Caper”) in lower Mount Royal, Calgary. There
was little snow, but the temperature hovered at
-25 C. After filming wrapped for the day, we
brought Guinevere to the front yard of the
house used in the film. She was the largest and
cleanest goose there, but an unexpected rush
to complete filming before we could get vet cer-
tification and insurance prevented her from
appearing in the movie.
Three weeks later, we agreed to take
Randall, one of five geese who played “Randall”
in the film, as a companion for
Guinevere. She had resorted to having
conversations with her reflection in
our basement windows, or with her
honking echo across the coulee, so we
hoped young Randall would bring
some much-needed companionship
into her life. They enjoyed two years
together before Guinevere passed
away at the age of eight, leaving
Randall a lonely gander without a
cause.
Randall had become very
protective as Guinevere aged, but he
became utterly hostile after she died.
Wiser from wounds to fingers, shins,
thighs and other vulnerable body parts
that are within reach when one bends
over, I learned to hold Randall by his
bill at arm’s length while I poured
water and feed with the other hand. If
he got a purchase on flesh, his serrated
bill – meant for sifting nutrients from
silt in water – could tear skin. His grip
left deep bruises and, given the oppor-
tunity, he could bring his powerful
wings together in front of him with
enough force to break bones.
Randall’s pen intersected
with two sheep pens, and the
sheep were inclined to rest in
those corners for their group
cud-chewing sessions. We
frequently saw Randall lying
beside them in his pen and
thought he was simply basking
in their sublime company. One
day, I happened to see him
gently tugging bits of hay and
wood shavings from their
fleeces. The sheep changed
positions occasionally so
Randall could groom their other sides.
They eventually pressed their faces
against the fence so Randall could
preen their woolly foreheads.
When we had to separate our ram
Potter from the ewes in preparation
for spring lambing, we thought Randall
might enjoy being right in the ram pen
with Potter. He chased Randall for a
while until he realised he was alienat-
ing his resident groom. By the end of
day one, the two fellows had bonded.
Randall loved the lamb rations and hay
as much as the sheep did. When a
larger pen became available, we
moved Randall in with the Rouen
ducks.
In his new habitat, Randall
seemed to believe he was meant to
shepherd these domesticated Mallard
cousins, now an endangered heritage
waterfowl breed. About a week later, I
noticed that two female Rouens were
brooding eggs in nests they had built
side by side and lined with thistle
down and feathers. I had little expecta-
tion for a live hatch in late summer,
but allowed the girls their privacy. The
two nests were well hidden beneath
tall grass and thistles. The rest of the
flock was happy, and Randall was
more content than we had ever seen
him. We lost track of the passing days.
On the evening of August 21st as I
picked up the hose in the Rouen pen to
change the ducks’ water, I saw Randall
escorting one duck with unusual
urgency, looking back over his
shoulder at me. Then I saw the six
dark little balls of fluff scampering
ahead of the gander and duck as fast
as their tiny new legs could take them.
“DUCKLINGS!” I shouted to my
husband. “We have ducklings!”
While my husband restrained
Randall, I gathered the ducklings and
their mother and transferred them to
our nursing pen for the little ones’
protection. Intelligent, intimidating
ravens and crows were always waiting
to snatch an unguarded egg, and they
would have no reservations about
taking a live breakfast. Randall
frantically paced the fence trying to
join his beloved babies in the next
page17
yard, but they were separated by a tall
hedge of caragana and another mesh
fence. When I had finished bedding
down the ducklings, I went back to the
Rouen pen and filled the large bathing
tubs so Randall could distract himself
with a bath.
The next morning, I took photos
of the ducklings and noticed one had a
wry neck. It seemed otherwise
healthy, so I left it with the flock. On
the following day, I awoke to the
sounds of a mother duck in distress. I
ran to the nursing pen. The mesh door
had been pushed aside and one of the
six ducklings was missing. From the
Rouen pen on the other side of the
hedge and fence, I could hear Randall
cooing in soft peeps. Closing the door,
I hurried to the other pen.
There was Randall, the “Rambo”
of ganders, towering over his tiny
charge and gently herding the escaped
duckling into the shadows of grass and
weeds. When I picked her up, I
realised it was the duckling with the
wry neck. She seemed otherwise
unharmed. We’ll never know whether
the mother reject-
ed the duckling due
to its malformation
and chased it
through the fence,
or whether the
duckling had bond-
ed to her great
white “Uncle
Randall” instead of
her mother, but for
now she is safe
indoors. Our vet
c o n f i r m e d
Congenital (present at birth) Muscular
Torticollis. It is a condition that occurs
in other creatures, including humans.
The vigorous little duckling is
healthy and growing so fast she was
three times her hatch size after just
ten days. She cannot comprehend the
long and complex series of events that
have unfolded over the past three
years to ensure that Randall was wait-
ing to protect her on the morning she
became separated from her family.
Her unlikely hero has earned a special
place in our hearts. ca
 vb
Virginia Boulay
fine artist and illustrator

(403) 242-4628 www.vboulayart.com

page18
 by Cyril Brass

W ith the start of each day,

the sun rise brings activity
to the tropical rainforests.
I listen closely for the
sounds of motion. My eyes
scan the thick lush vegeta-
tion as I walk the trails
deep in the Manuel
Antonio National Park of
Costa Rica.
In the distance I could hear the rustling of branches
and chatter of monkeys. But which species? The cute tiny
Squirrel Monkeys, I was hoping.
There are three species of monkey in this small
protected area; Howler, White-faced Capuchin and
Squirrel Monkeys. This is one of two locations in Costa
Rica where it is possible to see the endangered Squirrel
Monkey. The Grey Crowned subspecies is endemic to the
Manuel Antonio region situated in the lush Pacific
Coastal forests.
The inquisitive traveller is more likely to hear them
before seeing them. They are highly vocal and social ani-
mals communicating with their group spread out on
trees and vegetation. With a keen eye catching the
movement amongst the foliage, you can spot these
protected creatures.
I focus on the sounds in the distance and
anticipate their direction of movement in
order for me to take the correct trail
to get the best view of these active
primates. From dawn to dusk,
the Squirrel Monkeys’ day is
full of movement through-
out their natural habitat.
After a short hike
along the groomed trail, I
spotted one leaping from
one branch to another, which
seemed to be too great a distance
for this tiny animal. Then another
one sitting quietly perched on a broad
leaf branch, grasping tightly with its
nimble toes, munches on a sweet juicy flower.
Traveling with speed and agility, they scamper
across vines, branches, tree to tree constantly
searching and foraging for food. I could see more
movement in the lush vegetation
cautious, he watches the activity below. A sudden scream
from one warns the rest of the group of potential danger
close by. Changing his attention, his eyes and body
position become alert and ready, reacting to his travel
mates’ warning call. A sharp shriek and off he went, soon
to be hidden in the dense foliage.
As the Squirrel Monkeys are territorial, part of
their natural habitat which they move throughout
frequently is within the park boundaries and
part is outside the protected region. So it is
possible to see these precious creatures
in the trees and vegetation along the
beach or near the hotels and
restaurants.
While traveling to the
Central Pacific region of
Costa Rica, on each trip
I have made a point of
photographing these
special animals in the
Manuel Antonio National Park
and surrounding area.
However the territory of these
critically endangered animals continues
to shrink due to deforestation and loss of
natural habitat. This particular subspecies of
the Squirrel Monkey is the most threatened
monkey in Costa Rica and there is no where else in
the world to see and enjoy them. As foreign travelers
we must do our part so that

C AU T I O N
further off the trail. The endangered wildlife do not
Squirrel Monkeys travel in become extinct. ca
mid-size groups, so when you
see one or two, you are sure to Cyril Brass is a Wildlife and

SQUIRREL MONKEY
see more near by. Sports Photographer
Then I hear some rustling living in Calgary.

E N DA N G E R E D
in the trees above. Looking up, www.cyrilbrass.com
I see a pair of dark eyes staring cyril@brassphotography.com
back at me. Curious yet 403-999-1908
 WHERE TO Spring and Summer Conservation Education Programs
for adults and families at:
FIND US The Ann and Sandy Cross Conservation Area

Program Topics Include:

Climate Change • Renewable Energy
Grassland Birds • Pond Critters • Wildflowers • Invasive Species
Advanced registration is required.
For more information visit: www.crossconservation.org or call: 403.931-2042
Available for FREE pick-up
at select
grocery outlets
Edmonton l Red Deer
Airdrie l Calgary
Strathmore l Okotoks
High River l Cochrane l
Canmore l Lethbridge
or subscribe
www.creaturesall.com

page20
 SPACES and SPECIES
the prairie phantom
by Tara Worobetz, Conservation Coordinator

urious by nature, Swift Fox (Vulpes velox) are Swift Foxes could be found all across the grassland

C delightful little canines that have made a remark-

able comeback from the brink of extinction in
recent years.
regions of North America, from the North Saskatchewan
River to Texas, and from the eastern foothills of the Rocky
Mountains into Manitoba and Illinois several hundred years
Able to run at speeds of over 60 kilometers an hour, ago. But, as people started settling here, a lot of the fox’s
they have earned their nickname, “the Prairie Phantom”. native short and mixed-grass prairie habitat was converted
The Swift Fox is the smallest species of fox in Canada for agriculture. This loss of habitat, combined with severe
— only about the size of a house cat. weather and other factors, contributed to a devastating
During the summer season, they have a reddish-grey population decline. The last sighting of a Swift Fox in
coat that turns buffy grey and white during winter, sporting Alberta was in 1938 near Manyberries.
a black tip on their tails and a black spot on either side of Swift Foxes are opportunistic predators — they will eat
their nose. They prefer flat whatever they can find and catch, which usually
or gently rolling land includes mice, ground squirrels, insects, rabbits, birds,
with short, sparse amphibians. In the summer, up to half of their diet may
vegetation, allowing consist of grasshoppers! They are nocturnal, which
them to see their means they are active at night hunting for their food!
surroundings and Swift Foxes are very social creatures, and usually
move around live in pairs or with their families. They mate between
more easily. January and March and their young, called kits, are
Unlike born in late April or early May. Usually, a litter
other fox consists of between three and five kits. The kits stay
species, with their parents over the summer and by late sum-
Swif t mer or early autumn, they head out on their own.
Foxe s In the wild, Swift Foxes may only live six to
eight years, as they have many hardships to
contend with, especially predators like coyotes,
golden eagles, badgers, owls, hawks and bobcats.
A private breeding program was initiated in
the 1970s. By 1983, the first captive-bred Swift
Foxes were released in the Alberta-Saskatchewan
border area, and in the Milk River Ridge area of
southern Alberta in 1987. Since the first release, 955
Swift Foxes have been released into southern Alberta
and Saskatchewan. Initially, they suffered low survival
rates, but by 1991 approximately 250 Swift Foxes were
alive and well in these areas.
Despite the successful reintroduction, the population
of Swift Fox is very small, and conservationists are still
concerned about the future of the Swift Fox on the
Canadian prairies. Efforts to conserve suitable habitat for
this species will aid in ensuring its continued survival in the
grasslands of Canada. ca
photo courtesy: Karol Dabbs
The Nature Conservancy of Canada (NCC) is dedicated to
move around to different dens, sometimes using one for conserving habitat for wildlife species like the Swift Fox. It is
giving birth and others for protection from predators and our hope that one day, the Swift Fox and other fascinating
extreme weather. Sometimes, Swift Foxes use old ground species will no longer be at risk. Contact us at 1-877-262-1253
squirrel or badger holes as dens, or they may dig their own. or Alberta@natureconservancy.ca to help conserve habitat for
They rarely come out of their dens when it is very windy. wildlife. Contact NCC for article references.

page21
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page22

n January, I began my journey
I working at the Ann and Sandy
Cross Conservation Area. I loved
the idea of working on a beautiful
piece of land just outside of the city
limits that would never become a
McDonalds or an unsightly strip mall.
Fresh air, rolling hills and an awe
inspiring view were just a few of the
perks I looked forward to.
For the first few months, a thick
blanket of snow covered this 4800
acres of foothills. I wondered how any-
thing could survive the bitter wind that
whistled through the bare trees and
over the open fields. With exception of
the brave chickadees and a few other
well adapted winter creatures, the
Conservation Area appeared to be
abandoned of all life… and then some-
thing happened.
Like the flick of a switch, the cold
seemed to dissipate. The sun found its
place high in the sky, and the idea of a
walk outside became tolerable. Our
program topics for school groups
switched from snow as an insulator to
a study of life in its various forms. As
if on cue, plants and animals took their
place on stage for the grand opening of
spring.
During our first highly anticipated
search for life, my colleagues and I
came across a funny sight. A few steps
ahead of us on the path we spotted
dirt flying out of a hole in the ground.
On closer inspection, it became clear
that this enthusiastic little creature
was a Richardson Ground Squirrel,
commonly known as a gopher. With
spring comes a great deal of work for
these little mammals, building new
tunnels and fixing old ones that may
have collapsed over the winter
months.
The distinct whistle of these skit-
tish critters in combination with all the
new birds made for a very cheerful
song, although the screech signalling
the return of the Red-tailed Hawk is
enough to silence even the most vocal
of Ground Squirrels. With the Area
having the highest concentration of
these hawks in North America, I was
assured there was no risk of being
overrun by rodents.
Our first pond study also proved to
be a very active one. On the descent
down the hill to our teaching pond, we
were serenaded by a chorus of croaks
and ribbits that could only mean one
thing….frogs! Boreal Chorus Frogs and
Wood Frogs to be exact. How can some-
thing be so loud, yet so hard to find?
A bucket full of pond water also
presented exciting evidence of spring.
The seemingly still water was teaming
with life! Water Boatmen, Mayfly
Nymphs, and Water Mites were all
sharing the same environment. Even
at such an early stage of their life
cycle, these and other insects have
such an important role in the food
chain. Not only do they feed the frogs,
but other insects such as bees, help to
pollinate so very many plants. The
creepy crawlers definitely deserve a
bit more respect.
A large ripple on the surface of
the pond stirred me from my deep
contemplation about the wonderful
world of bugs. Well, if it wasn’t a little
page23
CROSS PATHS
encounters with spring
by Catriona Laird
muskrat! How did he get here I had to
ask myself. After all, our pond was
just a dugout that captured all the
winter run off. There was no fresh
water source to our pond, nor was
there any history of muskrats living in
it! This wet little creature sat on the
bank, completely unfazed by our
presence. After a quick nibble on
some grass, I watched the mystery
muskrat disappear into the tall grass
at the far end of the pond. What an
ideal home, I thought.
From insects to birds and small
mammals, my amazement continued.
But there was nothing more inspiring
than watching a large herd of Mule
Deer happily bound across the open
landscape or seeing the one solitary
moose carry its ridiculously long legs
gracefully through the tall grass. These
animals are not at risk of getting hit by
a car on the highway. Their habitat
won’t be depleted due to construction
or oil and gas development. This is
their home. I am just a visitor here. It
couldn’t be clearer to me.
Nature has its own agenda, and
this Area allows it to unfold. I will
continue to be an observer, protector
and educator! ca
The Ann and Sandy Cross Conservation
Area is a 4800 acre day-use nature
preserve located on 160 St SW off
Highway 22X south of Calgary. It is
home to over 565 species of wildlife and
offers quality conservation education
programs for adults, families and
children.
Call 403) 931-2042 for details.
www.crossconservation.org
 A Tale of Two
ave you ever solicited the services of a first-class they’d done many times before. The car was nothing special,

H guard goat? Well then, my friend...you’ve never lived.

Okay, on second thought, perhaps it’s not for
everyone. You can stick to your German Shepherds and
just an old Honda Dad bought for fifty bucks. So what made
this goats’ caper different from the rest?
They caught Dad on the wrong day that’s all.
Rottweilers for property protection if you like, but I promise When he came around the corner and saw
you, there are few things as entertaining as a goat who thinks those tiny-hoofed demons dancing on
she’s your personal body guard. top of his car again, something in
Our family had such a goat. Her name was Betty. She him snapped. Grabbing a fistful
would become my mother’s nemesis. of rocks, Dad hurled with all
It’s not that Betty the goat wasn’t a good little ruminate. his might.
On the contrary, she was a fine specimen. Big, brown and Miraculously, not
bright-eyed, sporting floppy ears and a robust udder, I’m sure a single goat was
Betty was the envy of the rest of the herd. But her crowning injured in this
feature, literally, was her horns. Betty’s horns were as
long as my arm, arching proudly to a point almost
halfway down her bony back, and she knew how
to use them.
Unfortunately, Betty had something against
my mom. Perhaps the problem was that Betty
thought she was my mom. As such, she consid-
ered it her duty to look out for both my father
and me. Mom became the wicked ‘other woman’.
Whenever she tried to hold Dad’s hand, or give
me a hug, that goat would indignantly push Mom
out of the way, with a look on her face that said:
‘This woman just can’t take a hint, can she?’
This animosity, although strongest toward my
mother, also extended to strangers.
Anyone unfamiliar entering our yard contended with a
stubborn, sharp-horned Betty before they could reach us.
This made it somewhat difficult to operate the family-
owned Gulf gas station in front of the house.
Located on our acreage, down a lonely gravel
road, the only cars that went by our station
seemed to be Shell company trucks on their
way to work. They didn’t need gas,
especially from a competitor.
Even if we had been a thriving petrol
purveyor, Betty and her merry flock of goats
could’ve dissuaded an armoured tank rolling in on fumes. Any
motorist brazen enough to park in our yard got a complimen- incident. In fact, I was pleased
tary tap dance. The goats were absolutely fascinated with the to see, none of them were
sport of car climbing. It was like watching Riverdance even hit by the stones.
performed on top of automobiles. The Honda, however,
Why didn’t we just pen them in, you ask? Well, we did, did not fare as well. Dad
but goats are nature’s answer to Houdini. Just think about it. broke three of its windows.
They’re engineered to climb sheer walls of rock. Do you hon- Eventually, he forgave Betty and put his energy into
estly think a fence will keep them in if they want out? building a better goat pen for her.
Betty and crew’s crowning glory came to pass the day And Betty continued to ‘guard’ our property for many,
they decided to tap dance on my dad’s car. It was something many years. ca

page24
Critters
nce a year, every September long week-
O end, our family gets together with the
Cairns family to blow stuff up. No, we’re
not terrorists, although we have been known
to transport substantial amounts of dan-
gerous explosives to the Cairns farm.
We’ve crammed more Roman
Candles, Bottle Rockets and
Screaming Spinning Wheels
into a single car trunk
than anybody’s got a
business doing. We’re
just a bunch of people
who love fireworks.
Trust me, you’ve never seen
fireworks until you’ve lived to see
Lamb/Cairns fireworks. There may be
bigger shows out there, but we offer an
exhilarating brand of
what we like
to call ‘crowd
interactive’ fireworks.
For the uninitiated: you are guaranteed that at some
point you are going to have to leave your folding lawn
chair at a brisk sprint in an evasive manoeuvre to avoid
said fireworks.
page25
by Shelly Campbell
Don’t get me wrong. We don’t start out with fiendish
plans to strafe our closest friends and family with red and
green flares. Somehow, it just always seems to end up that
way.
Case in point: Lucky, Auntie Celeste’s Golden Lab.
Most dogs hate fireworks, right? Lucky, I think, felt it her
duty to balance the scales and subsequently, loved
fireworks to an unnatural degree. Sure, she was among
some pretty big pyrotechnic fans, but Lucky took
enthusiasm to a whole new level.
We literally had to hold her back when the show
started. That dog was determined, as soon as the matches
were struck, that she was going to catch herself a Roman
Candle. It took two people, and a fairly hefty leash to keep
Lucky contained when the fireworks began. In between
echoing blasts of colourful explosions, we were serenaded
by the high-pitched howl of a dog scorned.
It was only a matter of time before
Lucky bested her captors. One fate-
ful September long
weekend, it
happened.
With the
pyrotechnics in
full swing, and the
Golden Lab at full
vocalization, she
somehow wriggled
out of her collar,
and headed
directly for the nearest
Roman Candle.
(Here comes the crowd interactive part)
The next thing we knew, Lucky had a live one
firmly grasped in her mouth, shooting into the
crowd with bright blasts of green and red carnage. Lawn
chairs and drinks toppled everywhere. Innocent specta-
tors dove for cover as fiery flares bounced across the lawn,
ricocheted off the sides of parked cars and landed direct-
ly in Auntie Phyllis’s prized rose bush.
Thankfully, as the Roman Candle got shorter, Lucky
began to feel the heat and dropped her weapon. When the
barrage stopped, we ventured warily out of the trenches to
survey the damage. There were a few scuffmarks on door
panels of cars, a couple scraped knees, and like something
out of the Bible ... The Burning Bush. Luckily, we were
able to extinguish it quickly, and no one else was seriously
harmed, including the dog.
You should come and see the show next year, you
really should. ca

Tabitha
The Calgary Zoo is deeply sad-
dened with the passing of Tabitha, a
member of our Western Lowland
Gorilla family, born November 6, 1980.
At about 8 months of age, Tabitha
was diagnosed with an abscess on the
right side of her brain, and had to have
surgery to resolve the infection.
Throughout the rest of her life, Tabitha
experienced a few seizures a year, but would always
recover well from them within a day. Over the years the
veterinary staff consulted with human neurologists to
determine the best course for dealing with these episodes.
Recently, Tabitha experienced another episode and
was being monitored closely by her keepers and the
veterinarians. She was given medications for pain control
and to decrease possible inflammation, as well as
medication to manage any potential dizziness or nausea
and seemed to be making small but positive improvements.
Sadly however, she started to seizure again. Despite
tremendous efforts to resuscitate her, the veterinary and
keeper staff were unable to bring her back. An exam
revealed that she had pronounced swelling and fluid
pooling of the right side of her brain.
Tabitha arrived at the Calgary Zoo on August 26, 1984
and throughout her years has inspired countless thousands
of visitors to learn more of the plight of her species. She
gave birth first to Mbundi on January 12, 1993 and then to
Zwalani on January 14, 2000, leaving behind an invaluable
contribution to the SSP (Species Survival Program) genetic
pool. Tabitha was an excellent mother and the most
confident female in the group. The maternal skills she
modeled for the younger females in the troop will benefit
generations yet to come.
The remaining members of the Calgary troupe,
Kakinga, Julia, Donge, Zuri and Barika are doing well,
however it is expected that they will go through their own
grieving period. “Tabby” will be greatly missed by the staff
who worked closely with her for so many years.
The loss of even one gorilla is significant as they are
one of the world’s most critically endangered great apes.
While in zoos, gorillas may occasionally live to 50, but that
is extremely unusual and the average life expectancy is
perhaps, 40. In the wild, gorillas live on average between
20 and 35 years and their life is very fragile. Infant
mortality is high and many baby gorillas die within the first
year of life. Nearly half will die before they become adults,
due to disease, accident, poaching or other factors. With
mankind’s encroachment upon their habitat, their life
page26
IN PASSING
celebrating the lives of animal friends
expectancy is significantly reduced. Economic
development has led to the destruction of the gorilla’s
habitat, while commercial bushmeat hunters and the wider
effects of civil war in central Africa are still responsible for
the slaughter of nearly 3,000 gorillas each year.
Throughout her life, Tabitha played a critical
ambassadorship role in raising awareness of these issues
for countless thousands of Zoo visitors.
Passed Away on: 4/14/07
Irwin
I’ll never forget the day I brought
that cute little hedgehog home from the
SPCA. You were so sweet and
inquisitive. You ran all around your new
house and pushed your toys around
with your nose. When you spotted your
wheel, you were so excited! You
jumped on and ran for hours without
stopping. You were always so funny.
One of my favourite moments with you was the time
you were running around in the living room, and got away
from me – just for a second! – and managed to turn the
container of mealworms over on the carpet. You ate
almost all of those worms in the split second it took me to
get over there and pick them up. I always loved how you
would huff and pop at me, but then peek out from under
your quills, as if to see if I was impressed by how fierce you
were being. I called you my little hufflebutt because of your
grumpy façade, but I know you were really, through and
through, a big sweetie-pie.
When you started showing signs of illness just three
months after I brought you home, I was devastated. I did
everything in my power to help you get well, but there is
no cure for what you had. After just six short months
together, I had to do the right thing and let you go. I will
always feel so blessed that on your last day, you somehow
found the strength to stand up in your house and let me
know that you needed my help. I held you in my hands and
looked in your eyes, and you let me know that it was time
for you to go. I held you until the end.
My heart broke when you left me, Irwin. Even though
we were together for only a short time, I love you enough
to last forever. Goodbye, sweet angel.
Passed Away on: 4/9/07
Send your tributes to publisher@creaturesall.ca All material
is subject to editing. Include ‘Passed Away on: date’ and a 300
dpi photo in jpg or tif.

hen my brother and I were
W children we would spend
our summer holidays
hunting frogs. Our road had ditches
lining each side enabling us to spend
hours in the muck (rubber boots
optional, much to my mother’s
dismay) with our nets and buckets
catching the tadpoles, babies and
adults of the Leopard Frog. One
particularly parched summer the
ditches were very dry and the tadpoles
were dying in the muck. I spent hours
with the hose filling up the ditch out
front to ensure their survival into
adulthood.
The canal-sized ditch on the other
side of the road was the home of
monster-sized bullfrogs. When feeling
the need for a challenge and when
mom wasn’t watching we would put
into action ‘Operation Bullfrog’.
American Bull Frogs are quite wily,
posing a real challenge for our smallish
hands, nets and buckets which were
not nearly up to the task. If we were
successful, which wasn’t very often, we
would proudly bring our catch to
Mom, looking and smelling like two
creatures from the Black Lagoon! My
mother, not being a frog-lover, would
typically shriek and demand the frog
be removed from the premises.
Unfortunately, the ditches are now
gone having been replaced by sewers.
At the time I worried about where the
frogs would live? Well, the frogs
predictably disappeared and I have
seen few frogs since we moved to our
small farm.
Each spring the members of
the Frog Operatic Company
come together treating our
neighbourhood to a festival
of frog singing. The sound
is much like running your
finger down the tines of
a comb. At peak sere-
nade, often in the wee
hours of the night,
THE GARDENING BUG
the volume rivals any teenager’s
stereo. Neighbours who live adjacent
to a large pond plan an annual spring
vacation finding it impossible to sleep
through the noise created by the frog
virtuosos.
The first time I saw one of these
operatic divas was in the garden
where a small movement caught my
eye. It was a very tiny brown frog. It is
truly amazing how such a small frog
can have such a big voice! Since that
first encounter we keep a close
lookout for our little amphibious
friends starting around late June.
These little frogs are known as the
Boreal Chorus Frog (Pseudacris
triseriata) or as we call them,
‘Peepers’. They are Alberta’s smallest
and most widespread frog, living from
the Northwest Territories across all of
Alberta, except alpine areas, and into
Saskatchewan and Manitoba. As soon
as the snow melts males congregate
around permanent ponds and potholes
to form amphibian choirs. The females
are drawn by the heartfelt renderings
of the males and so begins courtship
amphibian-style.
The 150 to 1500 resulting eggs are
encased in a gelatinous goo and can be
found at the pond edges attached to
branches, reeds and grass
blades. They hatch in
10-14 days and
develop
i n t o
page27
swamp serenade
by Elaine Rude
tiny 7-12 mm frogs over the next two
months. They then leave the pond and
venture into the great unknown. This
is when we start to find them usually
in the lawn. My two boys also enjoy
engaging in the age-old tradition of
frog hunting. In wet years we find lots.
In fact, we have to be watchful of
where we walk to avoid stepping on
them. When the boys show me their
catches we place the frog in an old
aquarium with some dirt, grass and a
small container of water. We watch
them for a while but always release
them into the garden at the end of the
day. My hope is they will help decrease
the ever growing population of slugs,
cutworms and other nasties found
there. Happily this little frogs’ popula-
tion is healthy but only in areas where
there is no pesticide use. Frogs
breathe through their skins and so are
very sensitive to chemicals and pollu-
tion. Because of this sensitivity many
of Alberta’s frogs are in trouble.
For me the arrival of Spring is
heralded with the return of Canada
Geese, Robins, Prairie Crocus
and the first loud raucous
love songs of the Boreal
Chorus Frog. ca
 YOUTH SAID IT
Crickett, the extraordinary cat
have a cat named Crickett. She by Spencer W.

I is a brown and black, medium

sized Calico. She is an extraor-
dinary and unique cat.
Crickett is extraordi- Crickett is unique because she can
nary because she rec- talk. She tells me that she wants her
ognizes the sound of my wheelchair. favorite brother, that’s me, to give her a
When I come home, she hears my treat. She thanks me for the treat by cud-
wheelchair and comes to the dling me. Crickett also talks to my dad. In
door to greet me. She also the morning when my dad is shaving, she
loves the head rest on my jumps onto his side of the counter and talks
wheelchair. Crickett will to him. My dad must understand what she
often jump onto the head is saying because he talks back to her.
rest and then bug me to Sometimes Crickett even talks to my sister.
give her a ride. She paws While Kate is typing an email, Crickett
at my back until I move. will tell her she wants to come up onto
When I zoom around the her lap. Crickett must be very clever
corners and go down the because I think she is trying to learn
hall, she loses her balance how to type.
and her hind legs fall off My cat Crickett is special
the head rest. But, Crickett because of her extraordinary and
still holds on with her front legs, unique talents.
like a stunt cat, and never falls off. I love her. ca

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page28
 e shade
it m a de in th
ve
dogs ha p retty s
well
v e it have
a b eagle they ha o st all dogs
I we r e ow m
I wish v er fat didja kn e nse of
smell
n ie l o o u n d zin g s
or a sp
a f wolfh an ama
so m e kind o pers
may b e
ou n d s of th a t
e t c h t heir slip
he s to f
I like t I’d have ek a bit
w a s f ull p ro b ably re
ou th they ’d cushion
g w h en my m m ig h t be a
belch in
n the r
ug my be d ad sit
o u n d o a lo u d o p le ’s bums h
‘r & snore e
I’d lay
& yawn where p
c h u g
I’d st r e t nd sn a bath
t h e r e sound a I ’d n ot had
e n
and lay and wh n more
nt h s or eve
u p for 6 m o afting
a n t to wake w o u ld rise aw
I’d only
w leep a stenc
h pore
c o u ld go to s a c h a n d every
le y e
so that
I d snuff from m
a n d g rowl an street
I’d snor
t
h e a p u ld cr oss the
a o eir nose
there in goats w hold th
and lay pigs & w o u ld
es all dad
‘b out a b
ath creatur o l’ mom &
w or r y de a r
I’d only year forcing hose
c e o r twice a e s e m e with a
n h h
‘bout o tching
itc to bat
p ra c tice scra y r e a r of it
I’d r m to think
b u m and nea co m e did
on my now I t h e words I
ning tho I s
po k e a dog
r o u n d all mor I w an t to be
a ink
I’d lay the floo
r don’t th a kid
and d r o o l on
il lu nc htim e
r a t h e r stay
st ‘t I’d
would la
my nap

H
re

S
en m o

I
days ev

W
on some

I
g
omethin
anted s

I WAS
if I w m y dish
and u p f rom
star e eyes
I’d just ro w n puppy

©
b
my big
and let wish

A DOG
u r e I got my
make s
ross
e ll a little g
ight s m
lunch m it is
a d e o f what o outsid
e
bein’ m ve to g
leif
o h a bor Red
a nt t by Tre
don’t w to whiz
e o t h e r dogs
lik
super
w ou ld be just
still lif e
’er all
e ig n su preme o
I’d r om
e kingd
my entir V and the
wall
h e T
‘twixt t

page29
 THE FINAL WORD
porcupine alley
by Gordon Otto

We have a path to the lake.

A few steps wide, and straight for the most part, it is a world of its own through the trees.
Not as wide as a seismic line, it affords a view from our “lakefront” property the quarter of a mile to the water.
And all along it, every step, is life of some kind.
Busy dragonflies... majestic deer... seldom seen porcupine.
They all live along this forest avenue.

Imagine a narrow street, with apartment blocks on both sides, stretching a long city block to a freeway.
Now imagine the pavement is a speargrass carpet,
the apartments are spruce and poplar, and the freeway is a big, blue lake.

And just as people cross back and forth along that avenue, butterflies and crows cross our Porcupine Alley.
Just as clotheslines flutter from those apartments, the leaves and branches wave in the breeze along our path.

The dragonflies buzz constantly. Dashing here and there. Little rest for a dragonfly.

The deer pass elegantly. Slowly. Content simply to be. Mother and fawn.
At home in the neighbourhood.

The porcupine emerges. Momentarily. Big as a small bear. You gasp... and gulp... and smile.
The moment passes. The porcupine goes back “inside”.

Your eyes are drawn the length of Porcupine Alley.

A squirrel nearby. Crows partway. A solitary crane in the glistening water at the end.
Your ears hear that squirrel chatting. Those crows cawing. The leaves rustling.
You feel the sun warm on your face. The breeze through your hair... through your fingers.
You smell the freshness. You taste the season.

Come gaze with us down Porcupine Alley.

And watch the day go by.
 Why, oh why,
didn’t I get him
creaturesall
for his
birthday?

h i s happ en t
t t o yo u !
N EVER le
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