Is it real?

This short video has been getting a lot of attention. Taken at face value, it's pretty funny--a cat is barking like a dog until he realizes that he's being watched, then he reverts to meowing like a "normal" cat.



One of the most frequent comments people make is to question whether the sound has been altered--whether the cat could really make such barking sounds. In my opinion, the pitch of the barks sounds correct, and the transition from barking to meowing is convincing, but I don't know for sure.

There are other YouTube videos of "barking cats", but they merely show cats making the short staccato noises cats make when they see birds (that's a subject for another time). This cat appears to be truly imitating a dog.

What do you think?

A Tale of Two Kitties

I just read a new (it's to be released this coming Tuesday) book in which some Ph.D. goes to great lengths to explain how human brains are the most superior of all and no animal can possibly think or react with the same sophistication that humans can.

Rather than bore you with that nonsense, I'm going to tell you one of my favorite stories about my cat, Spike.

This incident involves a laser pointer. The fascination most cats have with the little red dot of light is well known. Spike was no exception, at first. He was a big cat, and seeing his eyes get big, his whiskers point forward and his ears go erect was a joy, as he chased the dot around. Then, one time, and I'm not sure what diverted his attention (maybe it was my laugh), he looked over and saw me holding the laser, saw the red light at the end, and realized that I was controlling the dot. The look on his face changed to one of hurt and dismay, as if he felt tricked and betrayed by me. He stopped chasing the dot immediately, and went into the next room and laid down. From that time on, he never chased the dot of light again. In fact, he would leave the room when I started playing with the other cats with the laser pointer.

Another cat, Arnie, has also made the connection between me holding the laser device and the fascinating dot of light. In fact, since the pointer is attached to a key ring that makes a distinctive sound when moved, no matter how quietly I try to pick it up, Arnie hears the sound and comes running, ready to play. He knows I am in control, but he doesn't mind that, he enjoys the fun of the chase.

As I said, I don't know what triggered Spike's reaction--I probably laughed particularly loud, and Spike never liked being laughed at--but he was obviously hurt by what he perceived as deviousness on my part and he never got over it; he never went back to playing that game. Arnie, whom I know keeps a mental catalog of past wrongs (that's a story for another time), knows the facts of the game and loves it anyway.

Conclusion? They're all individuals with their own personalities.

Cats aren't really from hell, and he'll show you why.

The Animal Planet channel has hit a grand-slam home run with a series that has the unlikely title "My Cat From Hell", featuring an unlikely-looking guy with the unlikely name of Jackson Galaxy.

Jackson is called upon by various people who have serious problems with their cats. And this guy is really good at understanding cats and teaching people how to understand their cats. He stresses paying attention to cats' body language, and even teaches the slow blink, so essential to gaining a cat's trust and so very seldom mentioned by people talking about cats.

I've embedded a couple of short instructional videos by Jackson below. You can see his case studies on the Animal Planet channel now; they're currently running new episodes as well as repeating past episodes. You can also see some case study videos on their web site, http://animal.discovery.com/tv/my-cat-from-hell/

Cute furry animals for Easter!

This weekend cute bunnies and cute ducklings will be everywhere. So here's a video of foxes having fun. (Me? Go against the flow?)



And a bear enjoying some backyard relaxation...



Hammocks are not just for bears...



And what could be cuter than a lion on his birthday?



Alright, alright, here's a video of bunnies. At Christmas. Nyah! ;)

Fear of losing credibility

Found on the interwebs:

For years now I have lived in the deep wilderness with the grizzlies, wolves, elk, moose, eagles, etc. and many times I feel like I am the student and they are the teachers. I am always so awestruck by the intelligence I see in many different animal species. In one close encounter several years ago with a grizzly, we both stared into each others eyes with only 75 feet between us. Afterwards the grizzly and I went our respective ways in peace. Since then I have seriously doubted if we are even really the most intelligent species on this planet. When I looked into that grizzly's eyes, it was such a profound experience, beyond words that I can express, and I could sense such a deep and profound intelligence. I could go on and on about what I have observed with many different species, large or small. I am always just so awestruck in what I see and experience in living with the other lives we two-legged humans share this planet with. I have no doubt that different animal species can reason and think like we do, have emotions, etc. Lately I tend to keep my mouth shut on this topic for I think that many might not be able to handle such information.

That contrasts starkly with other things I've been finding on the 'net, namely a string of reviews of the recent movie The Last Lions, and these reviews all have one thing in common. Here are some examples:

...There is a certain amount of anthropomorphizing going on here, a determination to give human characteristics to animals who may or may not have them....

...The one genuine problem with The Last Lions is its blatant anthropomorphism, which occasionally gets a little over the top. Nearly all of the movie is like this, presenting lions as capable of character development. ...

...“The Last Lions’’ tips into an anthropomorphism as unnecessary as it is absurd....

...But the lioness' biggest war is against the filmmakers, who consistently demean the proceedings with laughably anthropomorphic tropes like giggle-worthy narration lines regarding the lioness' mental state....

Now, I'm going to generalize and assume that those movie reviewers have not had the privilege of a close encounter with a grizzly, shared a snooze with a lioness, or any such experience. And yet they feel compelled to point out and decry "anthropomorphism" in the film--even though the filmmakers themselves said:

We’ve been as careful as we always are, through the rigorous fact-checking process at National Geographic, to avoid anthropomorphisms in the script.

I think this illustrates a real cultural problem. Dereck & Beverly Joubert have produced a powerful, emotional movie about the life of a lioness. These two people have lived with and photographed wildlife for decades, and they say they have produced a movie that tells a realistic story. They should know what they are talking about.

But people who do not have experience with animals feel they need to decry "anthropomorphism" in the film, as if their credibility depends on them doing so.

And the top quote, from an "amateur", yet seemingly very experienced with wildlife, reveals someone who feels caught in the middle--she knows of the intelligence and emotional lives of animals, but feels that such information is not acceptable to most people.

It is true that our society values what we believe to be "scientific" over what individuals have experienced. Truth is not served by this. And ultimately animals suffer for it.

The Last Lions is a powerful movie--almost too powerful. But I say that if you can look at the lioness as she has to leave her wounded cub and you don't see and feel the pain in her face, then you are much too worried about your "credibility" and you're not really living.

Escaped cobra didn't really escape

This cartoon is by Bill Bramhall and was published in today's New York Daily News:

The story of the cobra that didn't get far is also on the New York Daily News site.

One of the Pride

"From the moment Christian sat on my feet and licked my hand on my second day at Kora, I was hooked for life. I soon discovered that
if you treat lions with respect, understanding, and love,
they respond with their trust and affection.
Once they've given you that,
they don't take it back
and neither should you."

--Tony Fitzjohn
in his new book, Born Wild

I think that applies to all animals.

Satire... Or Too Real?

The Onion is probably the top source of cultural satire in America today. It is said that satire has its origins in anger, and that may be why a recent article on The Onion's site cuts so deep. Following is a condensation of that article (full article can be found here), which I feel compelled to post since Easter is approaching.

Darien, CT -- In a familiar sign that spring is just around the corner, animal shelters across the nation announced this week that they have put down the last batch of dogs that were given as Christmas gifts in 2008.

"It's that time of year again," said animal control specialist Erica Tierney, throwing the carcass of yet another 2-year-old Labradoodle into an incinerator. As soon as the weather starts to warm up, we find ourselves administering pentobarbital injections to those final few puppies who were once a welcome Christmas gift, but who gradually became less adorable until they were no longer able to elicit the sympathy of their owners.

"Two years ago we bought Lisa a puppy for Christmas," said Jason Hutton of San Diego, who quietly abandoned his daughter's Lhasa apso by the side of a road when he grew weary of family arguments over whose turn it was to feed it. "And there came a point where it just wasn't a puppy anymore, you know?"

According to animal control officials, the breeds of the dogs they are most commonly obliged by mercy to kill vary as fads and fashions change from year to year. "There must have been a movie with chihuahuas in it a couple years back because half of these little guys are chihuahuas," said veterinary anesthesiologist Leonard Noonan, strapping a gas mask to the muzzle of his 11th small, round- headed dog of the day.

While animal shelter employees said they were relieved that dog-euthanasia season is over, many reported they were already preparing for the massive influx of Easter rabbits that will signal the transition from spring to summer.

We, the family, shout our anger

From one of the great men of our world, Gareth Patterson:

Golden Lost Souls

We the lions of the past,
Today's ghosts,
Roamed endless plain and wide mountain range
Before man became man, before
Man stood upright, peering with curious eyes--
Fuelled by a mind that in time destroyed much. Man
Today, it seems destined, will destroy that
Very same one with curious eyes and mind
Who rose upright from the plains.

Us, ghosts today, the lions of the past
Lived throughout much of this ancient continent, Africa
And beyond.
From harsh mountain range north at night caressed by winds
From where the blue meets the blue,
The forests' dark depths
And eastern plains dotted with our abundant prey,
Decorating the land like a moving mosaic of flowers.

We, the children of the lions of olden times
On these same eastern plains
Were born within grassy gulleys
And within bushy banks of streams.
Secret nursery places chosen with care
By our mothers.

Life in the beginning for us children of the lions
Was an unclear place of shapes.
Some dark, some light, as we peered
With barely opened eyes.
Our golden mother's tongue, again and again
Would clean our spotted backs
And we,
The children of the lions, would
Clamber about on unsteady legs.
Our golden mother would protect us as best she could--
But some of us died,
Killed by leopard, hyaena or by fierce other golden fathers,
Having chased away our own.

We would grow, taste meat for the first time
And tumble, tumble, tumble
Upon grassy endless plains.
Our childhood is long, a learning time,
Learning from our golden mothers, aunts and benign golden
Fathers.
Always togetherness in our golden lion families,
Making us lions.

We would, as children of lions, learn
to hunt with the family.
In time be the one who seized those
Of stripes, those with horns, those we must kill
To in turn enable us to live.
Our urge to kill is not fuelled by a malevolence, or hate
But by a spirit to live, a spirit of life.

Feast, then days of fast,
The pendulum constantly alternating
With the rhythm of the seasons
and migrations.
We, with seasons passing, we the children
of the lion
Feel the change within us, no longer children,
Then copulate for days--then stop.
One day we would enter that grassy gully
Or that bushy bank by the stream
In which we too had been born,
To give birth to children of the lion of our own.
We would do as our golden mother did,
Caring, protecting,
Raising beloved children of the lion under
An African sun and staring moon.

With these children grown, with now
Our own mothers, old golden mothers,
Again we would give birth, to care, to teach and hunt
With more beloved children of the lion,
until
We too became old golden mothers.

In that time the children of the lions
are the ones we are dependent upon,
Dependent upon their hunts,
Their care.
We, with teeth now worn, weary eyes, loose bellies
and creaking backs,
Walk within the family with new golden fathers,
New tumbling children of the lions on endless plains.

Like a great setting golden sun
We too reached our own farthest horizon
and
Life slips away
Leaving golden forms to be consumed,
To give life to others of the African plain,
and those of the sky blue--and exchange of life.
Simple.
We, the old golden ones, would leave behind
Our living, tumbling, hunting, caring, copulating,
Fighting, feasting legacy.
We would be content golden ghosts of endless plains
Remembered by our ancestors in heaven.

Today the pads of our feet no longer walk
Forever endless plains, mountain range wide.
We live in pockets of land, no longer free spirits.
Like many of the old wilds, we now live in twilight times.
We are born in the twilight of the life of lions--
Our life is much altered.

Some of we children of the lion
Die before we are born into that twilight.
A bullet may crash into golden mother's head,
Then another into where we lie within her--unborn.
Men then appear, gloat and stand above golden mother's
body,
Us, within her, dying unborn,
And with sweaty faces, the men smile.

We die as wire traps encircle our necks.
The wire tightens, we fight.
The wire eats into our golden fur
Then into red flesh, choking us.
The light turns to red, blood red,
Then before our eyes there is only
Black.

Man will again appear as our
Spirits watch from secret shadows,
Us watching our dead, crumpled, gold
Forms.
Man then strips our gold from our bodies
And then we are left,
Our spirits watching the grotesque red
Forms, us.
The bloated eyes, protruding, but unseeing. Us.

Children of the lion tumble on restricted plains
When golden mother falls dead after the crash,
Another bullet, another death.
Children of the lion run terrified to nowhere,
Then wait for their mother's return
Only she never returns.

The children of the lion no longer tumble but lie
forlorn,
Now less their golden mothers,
And wait and wait till we, the bone jutting, tawny
Children of the lion
die,
Here, there, almost everywhere
Where lions can still walk upon pockets of plain,
Forest depths, mountain range.

We lions die living, die eating.
We kill a cow, the cow kills us.
Its flesh will be anointed by man with poison.
We feast, our stomachs writhe like snakes in pits of coals.
We vomit, we defecate, retching, shitting,
Then die with our excrement around us, on us.
Others come to eat--the chain of life
needs to continue.
But
The links are eroded by the poison.

The jackal moves away from the circles of excrement
Around us,
and
Vomits and shits.
The vulture rises into the sky to feel the thermals,
Then sinks, madly flapping, flapping in its madness
Before hitting the ground.
It shits, vomits
and dies.

The hyeana by night lopes forward,
Biting and swallowing what he finds,
Then slinks away to rest.
The raging thirst begins, then the raging madness
Of pain.
He dies alone on the plain.

Children of the lion are today in
Some places bred by man,
And man delionises the children, humiliates
The children to make them perform feats in
Front of crowds and crowds of watching,
Laughing, squealing, shouting people.

After the tricks, the children are prodded
into small cages to await the next time.
What misery, what despair as the children of the
Lion stare with unblinking amber eyes
Out into a changed world,
Head resting on paw, cramped within a cage.
Now sad, a sad, sad facsimile of his proud ancesters
of endless plains, forest depths, mountain range.

Man has taken our land.
He has destroyed what we are dependent upon--
The other old ones, the denizens of a shrinking,
Ancient world,
Those of stripes, those with horns, those we must kill
To enable ourselves to live.

Man will kill us with mad malevolence
Lusting particularly to kill the golden fathers
with their fine heads.
We, the family, shout our anger
After man shoots the golden father dead.
As droplets of his rich blood drip onto sand, leaf or stone,
We flee.
Without our golden father, the security he gave,
We flee.

Domestication: Real, Myth, or Syndrome?

There is an utterly ridiculous article in the current National Geographic magazine. In short, the article says that any "wild" animal can be made into a "domesticated" animal by selective breeding; that "domestication" is determined by genes.

The writer goes so far as to use Biblical terminology to describe man's creation of domesticated species. And we are told that there is a domestication gene in humans that makes us so special.

The whole article is so ridiculous that I have a hard time keeping myself from accusing National Geographic of deliberate misinformation.

I will promise you this: If you have anything to do with animals and you don't want to be hurt or killed, you need to forget the myths of "wild" and "domestic" and think in terms of "socialized" and "non-socialized".

The article deals with animals in terms of stereotypes, apparently ignorant of real life. In real life, more people are killed by horses (a "domestic" animal) than by pet tigers, a stereotypically "wild" animal--and that's on a per-animal basis (you can't just use raw numbers since there are so many more horses). Cows, stereotypically not merely "domesticated" but downright docile, also kill large numbers of people. I can point out any number of dogs you wouldn't want to go near.

On the other side of the coin are the many so-called "wild" animals that people have as pets, that they have properly socialized and live happily with. Even foxes, the central example of the magazine article.

A key flaw in the "domestication is all in the genes" argument is actually pointed out during the course of the article: In comparing wolf and dog genomes, there appeared to be a link to a gene called WBSCR17, which in humans causes Williams-Beuren syndrome, characterized by "elfin features" (ties in with the author's statement that "domestic animals are cuter than wild animals") and "exceptional gregariousness—its sufferers are often overly friendly and trusting of strangers."

Note that humans with this syndrome are called "sufferers" while at the same time we are told this is something we can breed for in animals.

Anyone with any animal experience knows of the chronic medical problems that some breeds have because of selective breeding for various traits. Now they are going to go after other animals and alter their mental states.

If you want a good relationship with an animal, you have to work to establish that relationship. You don't go about it by warping its brain.

The NatGeo article centers around a breeding program that has produced foxes that cry for companionship. Is that domestication or a personality disorder? It sounds to me like something humans would get psychotropic medications to treat. Here's a story of a family that took in a baby fox and get along with her very well, even though she was "wild".