A Post So Informative It Should Be Narrated by Marlin Perkins and Sponsored by Mutual of Omaha
Among the menagerie that Marty likes to keep in his bed while he sleeps is a beanie baby hedgehog that all of our children insist is a porcupine. I could understand this when we lived in Kentucky, because our zoo did not have a porcupine. However, now the kids have seen one in person several times, and still they will not admit that the hedgehog is not a porcupine. I know that I once saw a porcupine in person, during a trip to Maine – our great family vacation (which my sister Erin simultaneously missed and ruined as we like to frequently remind her). I guess it must have been a rather fleeting glimpse, because while I can picture the area where the porcupine was, I can’t for the life of me picture the porcupine. When I finally saw a porcupine this year at the Richmond zoo, I was quite shocked by its appearance, probably because I have spent the past 25 years looking at cartoon versions of porcupines, not photographs. I imagine that if the beanie baby was not equipped with a tag identifying it as a hedgehog, I would have agreed with the kids that it could be a porcupine.
Anyway, here is a porcupine. I decided that if I was going to cover porcupines in this post, I should find out a little more about them. Like many people, I can picture a cartoon porcupine rearing up and then snapping its backside in the air to send a shower of quills down on Yosemite Sam, but I wasn’t really sure if that was an accurate picture of reality. According to the Nature Works website, “The porcupine cannot shoot its quills. When a predator approaches, the porcupine will turn its back, raise the quills and lash out at the threat with its tail. If the porcupine hits an animal with its quills, the quills become embedded in the animal. Body heat makes the barbs expand and they become even more deeply embedded in the animal's skin.” Ouch. So now we all know. What I had no idea about was: “The common porcupine is a good swimmer, its hollow quills help keep it afloat. It is also an excellent tree-climber and spends much of its time in trees.” In the past when I have been in porcupine country, I assumed that they were hiding out in hollow logs with the other rodents and creepy crawlers. Little did I know they were looking down on me from above.
My porcupine investigation prompted me to try to remember all of the other wildlife encounters I’ve had. Since I am a girl who was raised in the city and who dislikes camping, I don’t have a huge array of stories to choose from (unless you count dead squirrels as wildlife). Of course I have seen squirrels and bunnies and chipmunks, but when it comes to animals that don’t regularly enter the garden/trash looking for food, I may as well have been raised in a concrete jungle. However, I can’t say that I wish I’d had more encounters. I like my animals caged up (I mean cared for by zoologists in a specially designed habitat that closely resembles the one the animals would enjoy in the wild).
In Kentucky I saw my first fox, and at first I couldn’t even identify it as a fox because I was so confused by how tall it was. I always figured that anything that was “as sly as a fox” would be close to the ground for better sneakiness. The fox I saw looked like a cat on stilts, and it was hanging around an empty warehouse area, which in cartoons is more of a cat haunt. The only fox I’ve seen on a regular basis lately is Swiper the Fox on Dora, and he is always on hind legs (and wearing a mask and gloves, so he is probably not a prime depiction of the species, although he is rather tall). According to Nature Works, “The red fox … is an omnivore and its diet includes fruits, berries and grasses … birds and small mammals like squirrels, rabbits and mice …invertebrates like crickets, caterpillars, grasshoppers, beetles and crayfish.” I guess one or more of those were probably in the abandoned warehouses, and I guess I should allow myself to stop worrying about foxes, because clearly I am too big for them to eat. Another interesting tidbit is that “The red fox will continue to hunt even when it is full. It stores extra food under leaves, snow or dirt.” Maybe this is why the Dora people made Swiper a fox, grabbing stuff that isn’t his and that he doesn’t need. (If foxes had a lobby, I’m sure they would have had Congress force Dora to make Swiper a more sympathetic animal. After all, it’s in his nature to hoard and they may be damaging his self esteem by depicting him as a bad guy.)
Several times when I was up late at night or early in the morning in Kentucky, I saw a skunk. Fortunately, I did not irritate the skunk, however, one weekend in New Jersey my in-law’s dog did while we were watching him. The skunk stink that you smell on the highway is an absolute delight compared to the skunk stink on a freshly sprayed dog. However, according to Nature Works (and Pepe Le Pew) skunks are really rather understanding: “When a skunk is threatened, it first tries to run away from the predator. If that doesn't work, it tries to frighten the predator by arching its back, raising its tail and turning its back on the predator. It may also stomp its feet. If this doesn't work, as a last resort, the skunk will spray the animal with a strong-smelling fluid.” I find it reassuring that a skunk will only spray you if you give it no other choice (and I suppose dogs really do give it no other choice), because since I am always willing to do what I can to get along maybe they won’t ever spray me.
Another animal I saw for the first time in Kentucky was a coyote. When my whole family was in town for Lauren’s baptism, my sisters’ and I were driving back on post through an open area when my sister Carroll said that she thought she saw a wolf standing on a hill near one of the gates to the post. We turned around and went back, and sure enough there was a mangy doglike beast standing up there. When we got home we were roundly mocked for mistaking a dog for a wolf, until my dad finally conceded that it was probably a coyote, and that the one he had encountered in person was also mangy and doglike. The second time I saw one was not quite so amusing, since I was alone on a deserted part of post on a Saturday. I had gone out for a walk and as I rounded a corner in the most remote part of my route, I looked to the side and saw a coyote at the bottom of a short hill, staring up at me. The worst part of this story is that as I approached the spot where I saw the coyote, an older Army man (probably a colonel of some sort since I was in their neighborhood) made a strange turn and started running in my direction. He ran right by me and said nothing, letting me find the coyote for myself. What an officer and a gentleman.
So did I have anything to fear from the coyote? Let’s ask Nature Works. The coyote is carnivorous and “Most of its diet is made up of mammals, but it also will eat birds and snakes. It prefers to eat fresh kill, but it will eat carrion. In the fall and winter, the coyote often eats fruits, vegetables and berries.” That is somewhat reassuring since I think it was still technically winter when I walked by it. However, then I read that “When hunting larger prey like deer, coyotes hunt in packs. One or more coyote will chase the deer while the others wait, then the next group will pick up the chase. Working in teams like this, the coyote can tire the deer out, making it easier to kill,” which makes me even more uneasy, since it’s possible I was in the presence of many coyotes ready to have me for lunch. Another bad sign is that “The coyote does most of its hunting alone and at night.” Why would a night time hunter hunt during the day? Because it has rabies. My goodness, I am lucky I made it out of there alive.
During one of my childhood outings to Gettysburg, we drove around hoping to catch sight of a deer. I am so old that this was back when deer were hard to spot, not grazing in everyone’s yard like some sort of urban cows. Just as we were about to give up and head home, I managed to spot one in the woods and we stopped the car so we could all get a look at nature. I don’t know if it sticks in my mind because I was so proud of myself for spotting it, or because it would be so ludicrous to try to find one now. Plant a flower and stand around for an hour or two, and you’ll soon be able to observe all the deer you want. Although Army posts are full of hunters, somehow the deer manage to outnumber them by greater margins every year. Whole families graze on people’s yards at dusk (and spread tics.
My favorite type of nature watching is from my chair while relaxing on the beach. One afternoon my sister and I saw what looked like a dog swimming along parallel to shore. It turned out to be a seal. According to the Coastal Research and Education Society of Long Island web page, the scientific name of a harbor seal “loosely means ‘sea calf’ or ‘sea dog.’ This latter nickname is well suited as these seals closely resemble a dog when their head is viewed at the surface of the water.” So see everybody, it wasn’t the Bud Light, it was a seal and it did look like a dog. We’ve also seen dolphins and/or porpoises swimming and pelicans flying, and hopefully one day we’ll spot a whale.
I know whales are not really commonly seen along the coast of Delaware, although apparently they once were: “Right whales are no longer seen in certain inshore areas (where they once were common) such as Delaware Bay, Long Island, and in the Strait of Belle Isle between Newfoundland and Labrador.” When we were on our trip to Maine (the one that Erin missed and ruined) my dad took my brother and sister and I on a hike across a rocky beach to see the lighthouse on Campobello Island. My little brother was very upset that he had to stay behind, but while they were waiting for us to come back, he and my mom saw a whale. I believe their story, but when the HP and I were on Campobello on our honeymoon, every time we walked near the shoreline, all over the island, we were informed by people that we had just missed a whale. We began to think it was some sort of tourist racket, where they station people all over the island and pay them to say that the whale was just there so that tourists will stick around a little longer and spend a little more money.
And that’s it. I’ve never seen anything as big as a bear, I’ve never come across a raccoon or possum that wasn’t splattered on a roadway. Every so often I read a story about one wild animal or another making their way into a neighborhood, but those stories never end well for the animal, so I can’t wish for that sort of situation. I suppose if global warming was not a left wing tree hugger conspiracy, I could expect more reports of strange animal behavior in my lifetime, which would increase the likelihood that I would encounter one. After all, most wild animals are covered with fur, and when it gets hot enough, one or two of them will likely be smart enough to seek out some air conditioning.
Anyway, here is a porcupine. I decided that if I was going to cover porcupines in this post, I should find out a little more about them. Like many people, I can picture a cartoon porcupine rearing up and then snapping its backside in the air to send a shower of quills down on Yosemite Sam, but I wasn’t really sure if that was an accurate picture of reality. According to the Nature Works website, “The porcupine cannot shoot its quills. When a predator approaches, the porcupine will turn its back, raise the quills and lash out at the threat with its tail. If the porcupine hits an animal with its quills, the quills become embedded in the animal. Body heat makes the barbs expand and they become even more deeply embedded in the animal's skin.” Ouch. So now we all know. What I had no idea about was: “The common porcupine is a good swimmer, its hollow quills help keep it afloat. It is also an excellent tree-climber and spends much of its time in trees.” In the past when I have been in porcupine country, I assumed that they were hiding out in hollow logs with the other rodents and creepy crawlers. Little did I know they were looking down on me from above.
My porcupine investigation prompted me to try to remember all of the other wildlife encounters I’ve had. Since I am a girl who was raised in the city and who dislikes camping, I don’t have a huge array of stories to choose from (unless you count dead squirrels as wildlife). Of course I have seen squirrels and bunnies and chipmunks, but when it comes to animals that don’t regularly enter the garden/trash looking for food, I may as well have been raised in a concrete jungle. However, I can’t say that I wish I’d had more encounters. I like my animals caged up (I mean cared for by zoologists in a specially designed habitat that closely resembles the one the animals would enjoy in the wild).
In Kentucky I saw my first fox, and at first I couldn’t even identify it as a fox because I was so confused by how tall it was. I always figured that anything that was “as sly as a fox” would be close to the ground for better sneakiness. The fox I saw looked like a cat on stilts, and it was hanging around an empty warehouse area, which in cartoons is more of a cat haunt. The only fox I’ve seen on a regular basis lately is Swiper the Fox on Dora, and he is always on hind legs (and wearing a mask and gloves, so he is probably not a prime depiction of the species, although he is rather tall). According to Nature Works, “The red fox … is an omnivore and its diet includes fruits, berries and grasses … birds and small mammals like squirrels, rabbits and mice …invertebrates like crickets, caterpillars, grasshoppers, beetles and crayfish.” I guess one or more of those were probably in the abandoned warehouses, and I guess I should allow myself to stop worrying about foxes, because clearly I am too big for them to eat. Another interesting tidbit is that “The red fox will continue to hunt even when it is full. It stores extra food under leaves, snow or dirt.” Maybe this is why the Dora people made Swiper a fox, grabbing stuff that isn’t his and that he doesn’t need. (If foxes had a lobby, I’m sure they would have had Congress force Dora to make Swiper a more sympathetic animal. After all, it’s in his nature to hoard and they may be damaging his self esteem by depicting him as a bad guy.)
Several times when I was up late at night or early in the morning in Kentucky, I saw a skunk. Fortunately, I did not irritate the skunk, however, one weekend in New Jersey my in-law’s dog did while we were watching him. The skunk stink that you smell on the highway is an absolute delight compared to the skunk stink on a freshly sprayed dog. However, according to Nature Works (and Pepe Le Pew) skunks are really rather understanding: “When a skunk is threatened, it first tries to run away from the predator. If that doesn't work, it tries to frighten the predator by arching its back, raising its tail and turning its back on the predator. It may also stomp its feet. If this doesn't work, as a last resort, the skunk will spray the animal with a strong-smelling fluid.” I find it reassuring that a skunk will only spray you if you give it no other choice (and I suppose dogs really do give it no other choice), because since I am always willing to do what I can to get along maybe they won’t ever spray me.
Another animal I saw for the first time in Kentucky was a coyote. When my whole family was in town for Lauren’s baptism, my sisters’ and I were driving back on post through an open area when my sister Carroll said that she thought she saw a wolf standing on a hill near one of the gates to the post. We turned around and went back, and sure enough there was a mangy doglike beast standing up there. When we got home we were roundly mocked for mistaking a dog for a wolf, until my dad finally conceded that it was probably a coyote, and that the one he had encountered in person was also mangy and doglike. The second time I saw one was not quite so amusing, since I was alone on a deserted part of post on a Saturday. I had gone out for a walk and as I rounded a corner in the most remote part of my route, I looked to the side and saw a coyote at the bottom of a short hill, staring up at me. The worst part of this story is that as I approached the spot where I saw the coyote, an older Army man (probably a colonel of some sort since I was in their neighborhood) made a strange turn and started running in my direction. He ran right by me and said nothing, letting me find the coyote for myself. What an officer and a gentleman.
So did I have anything to fear from the coyote? Let’s ask Nature Works. The coyote is carnivorous and “Most of its diet is made up of mammals, but it also will eat birds and snakes. It prefers to eat fresh kill, but it will eat carrion. In the fall and winter, the coyote often eats fruits, vegetables and berries.” That is somewhat reassuring since I think it was still technically winter when I walked by it. However, then I read that “When hunting larger prey like deer, coyotes hunt in packs. One or more coyote will chase the deer while the others wait, then the next group will pick up the chase. Working in teams like this, the coyote can tire the deer out, making it easier to kill,” which makes me even more uneasy, since it’s possible I was in the presence of many coyotes ready to have me for lunch. Another bad sign is that “The coyote does most of its hunting alone and at night.” Why would a night time hunter hunt during the day? Because it has rabies. My goodness, I am lucky I made it out of there alive.
During one of my childhood outings to Gettysburg, we drove around hoping to catch sight of a deer. I am so old that this was back when deer were hard to spot, not grazing in everyone’s yard like some sort of urban cows. Just as we were about to give up and head home, I managed to spot one in the woods and we stopped the car so we could all get a look at nature. I don’t know if it sticks in my mind because I was so proud of myself for spotting it, or because it would be so ludicrous to try to find one now. Plant a flower and stand around for an hour or two, and you’ll soon be able to observe all the deer you want. Although Army posts are full of hunters, somehow the deer manage to outnumber them by greater margins every year. Whole families graze on people’s yards at dusk (and spread tics.
My favorite type of nature watching is from my chair while relaxing on the beach. One afternoon my sister and I saw what looked like a dog swimming along parallel to shore. It turned out to be a seal. According to the Coastal Research and Education Society of Long Island web page, the scientific name of a harbor seal “loosely means ‘sea calf’ or ‘sea dog.’ This latter nickname is well suited as these seals closely resemble a dog when their head is viewed at the surface of the water.” So see everybody, it wasn’t the Bud Light, it was a seal and it did look like a dog. We’ve also seen dolphins and/or porpoises swimming and pelicans flying, and hopefully one day we’ll spot a whale.
I know whales are not really commonly seen along the coast of Delaware, although apparently they once were: “Right whales are no longer seen in certain inshore areas (where they once were common) such as Delaware Bay, Long Island, and in the Strait of Belle Isle between Newfoundland and Labrador.” When we were on our trip to Maine (the one that Erin missed and ruined) my dad took my brother and sister and I on a hike across a rocky beach to see the lighthouse on Campobello Island. My little brother was very upset that he had to stay behind, but while they were waiting for us to come back, he and my mom saw a whale. I believe their story, but when the HP and I were on Campobello on our honeymoon, every time we walked near the shoreline, all over the island, we were informed by people that we had just missed a whale. We began to think it was some sort of tourist racket, where they station people all over the island and pay them to say that the whale was just there so that tourists will stick around a little longer and spend a little more money.
And that’s it. I’ve never seen anything as big as a bear, I’ve never come across a raccoon or possum that wasn’t splattered on a roadway. Every so often I read a story about one wild animal or another making their way into a neighborhood, but those stories never end well for the animal, so I can’t wish for that sort of situation. I suppose if global warming was not a left wing tree hugger conspiracy, I could expect more reports of strange animal behavior in my lifetime, which would increase the likelihood that I would encounter one. After all, most wild animals are covered with fur, and when it gets hot enough, one or two of them will likely be smart enough to seek out some air conditioning.
posted by Shannon at 9:56 PM
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