Warning: There may be some graphics and unpleasantness associated with this posting. Viewer discretion is advised.
Now, for those of you still with us, the lifestyle associated with volunteering presents some of the greatest highs and some very unpleasant lows. The notion of rescuing animals and returning them to their original habitat is a noble and laudable activity. To get them from whatever condition brought them to the Rescue Center to a renewed second chance at life inevitably involves a heartbreaking story. As previously mentioned, several of them were purchased as pets and kept in cages.
In Vietnam many of the bears we worked with had catheters inserted in their gall bladder to extract bile, a supposed sexual enhancement (which has subsequently been medically disproved beyond a shadow of a doubt), and were kept in cages barely larger than themselves. Other animals came in orphaned as their mothers had been hunted for fur, food, or feathers. Some had been injured or partially incapacitated having flown into power lines or telephone poles.
Our job here is to attempt to recreate conditions that harmonize with these species intended lifestyle. The daily work is not back braking but requires assiduous attention to detail, and hours of manual labour. Typically the vols are divided into four groups, each attending to a specific 'zone'. Our days commence at 6:30AM and end between 4:30PM and 6:00PM, depending on the day's work. Outside our tent/cabin stays a rooster:
This particular rooster is apparently on Atlantic time since it begins to crow incessantly around 4:00 in the morning. I have not felt this strong a desire to choke a chicken since adolescence.
Usually the morning work is completed by 11:00AM with a break for lunch and the afternoon update meeting. Back to work at 2:00PM. Several tasks involve night feedings which can occur at 5:00PM or 3:00AM. We work six days a week. Each week a day tour or two will be offered to enjoy taking in some of the sites the area has to offer, which can be joined and considered your day off. Otherwise one can opt to just hang out and chill at the center. The closest grocery store, or supermercado, is a twenty minute walk and offers beer, biscuits, beer, cleaning materials, beer, foodstuffs, beer, and beer.
Zone 1 requires feeding the five deer in their enclosure:
They eat a measured quantity of greens covered with raw vegetables and their drinking water is changed once a day. The onsite vets continuously monitor their health. One of them has a tumour in her stomach and was recently given an ultrasound to determine its nature. We are also required to scan the entire area for deer dung and sweep it into dust pans which is ultimately disposed. Their poo resembles coffee beans but probably does not roast nearly as well. There are two coatis, animals resembling racoons with longer snouts. They need to be lured into a miniature part of their cage, which is then secured in order to allow us in to remove whatever food not consumed the previous day, and replace it with newly cut pieces of corn, sweet potatoes, carrots, etc.
Prior to replacing the foods, we hose down the floors of the cage and sweep out the wet concoction of old food, dust, and liquified coati shit.
Makes for a brown, odorous melange, the texture of the gravy with which Grandma used to cover the Thanksgiving turkey.
The raccoons do not get lured, we work amongst them, cleaning, feeding, and trying not to sing The Ballad of Rocky Raccoon too often. They climb all over you
and on rare occasions try to enhance your look by suggesting an additional piercing or two.
Zone 2 is for the birds. Literally. Parakeets, parrots, and macaws, primarily. Many had been kept as pets, are injured, or were confiscated from those entrepreneurs who are black marketeers for endangered species. The birds are enclosed in different cages and many have limited flying ability. At dawn and dusk they squawk. Loudly. They are fed twice a day,
Beautiful Plumage
have their food removed, and their floors hosed down and scrubbed daily. It takes a while to stop turning around every time one hears Hola since it emanates from a few of the birds. One of the parakeets was obviously held as a pet by an opera buff since it sings arias prior to nightfall. The birds pair up and cuddle together to sleep. Very adorable.
There are other pens and cages for monkeys, peccaries (a nice word for pigs),
snapping turtles, an ocelot - Ronaldo, a coyote - Lily, and others. The coyote had a visitor when we arrived. A second one, El Chapo, was found roaming the runways at the San José airport. Rather than airport security killing him, they called the Wildlife Center who arrived, sedated and brought him back here. After receiving a clean bill of health following a thorough examination during his ten day stay here, he was released back into the wild yesterday.
Many folks become vegetarian after a visit to a slaughterhouse. There are those who eschew chewing meat but eat poultry. Compared to the chicken farms, cattle slaughterhouses are Hiltons. Packed jowl to jaw, shot up with chemicals and covered in their own dung, it's not a great job. But do you ever wonder what happens to the baby chicks that don't make it? They are collected, frozen, and sold by the kilo in plastic bags.
They are received here and fed to the coyote, ocelots, and snapping turtles after having been thawed out in the sun. I recall a different method for thawing out chicks. It used to involve the buying of a couple of cosmopolitans or lychee martinis and then pretending to listen intently about how they were mistreated by their ex-boyfriends.
The infirmary is attended by several vets who perform incredible acts of valour. Surgery, biopsies, limb repair and unfortunately euthanasia from time to time. Castration is another service offered to animals needing to be calmed down. I stay far away from the clinic on those days, never knowing exactly what stories Lori may have told them. Today the team castrated all of the male pacas. It appears that the #MeToo movement has managed to begin transcending the species.
I do not recall seeing a more dedicated medical team, human or animal, anywhere, ever.
Sloths are the big draw here
Jessie, the Sloth Mother
Mostly found in areas where their mother had been captured or killed. Or they have been rescued from pet owners who believe that keeping a wild animal in captivity is a wonderful thing. They are caged, weighed daily and fed a balanced diet of carefully cooked, cleaned, and julienned vegetables.
There are 'babysitting sessions' whereby we remove them from their cages and give them twenty minutes of tree climbing exercises, readying them for an eventual return to the wild. Some adapt better and quicker than others. You can see that each sloth, be it, Cacao, Blue, Texas, Zane, Coffee, Rafaela, or any of the other young ones are very attached to their pillow or stuffed animals.
These inanimate objects serve as a replacement for their mothers. The sloths develop a strong maternal bond and are eventually weaned off the replacement. Learning how to handle them requires confidence and strength. The creatures have extremely strong limbs each ending in toes with inch and a half long claws. The species here are of the two toed variety as opposed to the three toed models that we are all more familiar with. And they move FAST! Probably not at the speed of Usain Bolt but a whole lot quicker than one would think. I call this perceptual shift The Mona Lisa Factor.
After having been told for years how small the famous painting was, when I finally saw it live at the Louvre, it was the size of a regular portrait and was much larger than I anticipated. Being told that sloths move at the speed of molasses moving uphill in January, I was surprised at their pace.
So between their unanticipated speed and sharp claws, the take away- never turn your back on a sloth.
Now for the fun stuff. There is a continuous turnover of volunteers. At any given time there will be between ten and thirty at the Center. They come mostly from Europe, there are four Montrealers at the moment, a few Americans, Mexicans, and Brazilians. It is a pleasure sharing stories and experiences at meal times or during our work shifts. But the most fun are the evenings. Whether we spend time toasting marshmallows over an open fire,
singing karaoke, playing beer bong,
touring the local sites on our day off,
or heading out to the local watering hole, the camaraderie and interaction amongst us is great fun and a great relief from a long day.
The vast majority of the vols are young but there are those in their forties and fifties. As has been the case over the past dozen or so missions that we have worked on, Lori and I are welcomed, considered part of the gang and participate in all activities, both day and night with equal vim and vigour. The only unusual comments directed our way are compliments (mostly to Lori) for having stayed married for forty years along with as good a shout out that we can receive. The common comments are either that they wished their parents were more like us or that they hope to be able to act and travel similarly to us when they get to our stage of life. We thank them profusely and feel that in addition to the incredibly rewarding volunteer work that we do, hearing kudos and getting respect from this generation adds an additional layer of satisfaction to what is already one of the most rewarding aspects of our lives.
The town, three kilometres away, would have been fun to hang out in either forty years ago or if we were forty years younger. Mucho Bob Marley, campgrounds, tents on beaches, el cheapo restos, limited toilets, cold water showers, etc. Not to complain, we have managed quite well in similar facilities over our volunteer years but I guess when one wants to treat oneself for our altruistic activities, air conditioning is desirous. I know, I know, Lori and I are getting soft. Next thing you know we will be seeking refuge in the nearest Hilton.
