Zoo School, part 2

Carrie, what did you do at zoo school this week?

Oh, nothing much. Just hung out in a barn with a bunch of giant anteaters.



One of the perks of becoming a zoo docent is occasionally getting behind the scenes, and this past Saturday was a stunning example. The director of onsite interpretation (ie our fearless leader) arranged for our class to have a backstage tour of the zoo's Giant Anteater breeding facility, located in a huge barn tucked behind the zoo.

It was pouring rain, and most of us had hydroplaned our way to class through the flooding streets of South Nashville. As we stood shivering and sharing umbrellas outside of the metal barn, we were not sure what to expect. The first thing that hit us was the cacophony of the downpour ricocheting off the aluminum roof. Then we were hit by the smell, a strong odor of musk and dung and barnyard.

And then the noses.



The front of the anteaters' pens are made up a metal bars to withstand their incredibly strong and razor-sharp claws. However, each bar is rounded and spaced just far enough apart to permit the access of a slender proboscis. The anteaters were endlessly curious about us and the hallway was full of questioning little noses, each thrust out in a way that brought to mind prisoners angling a mirror to peek down the cellblock.

Over the course of our visit I could not take my eyes off these incredible animals. They defy classification into our normal heirarchy of wildlife - there is nothing feline, or canid, or ursine about these beasts. Their drooping walk is not that of a pig, or cow, or deer. They shuffle on ape-like knuckles, dragging their tails and lifting a nearly blind head that moves from nose to neck in a single line unmarred by brow or chin. They trigger some kind of ancient reflex, a reaction from before Linneaus mapped the tree of life, an acknowledgement without name. Instead we stand there, two beasts sniffing each other, with blank minds.

The illusion broke when the keeper strolled up and demonstrated their unearthly tongues by having them lick yogurt and fruit out of a plastic yarder. Hey, these anteaters know how to party!



In conclusion, I love Zoo School. The end.