Happiness that can't budge.

I am absolutely walking on sunshine today. The morning didn't start out as wondefully, for two reasons. Number one, the baby rosybill duck from yesterday did not make it through the night. I was very upset at his loss. We did all we could, and I don't regret the care we gave, I just regret that it didn't pay off. As least his last night was spent comfortably snuggled to a teddy bear in a warm incubator. The other reason my morning wasn't stellar was that the dear curassow, Tiffany, left quarantine after ruefully pecking at my leg and plucking at my heartstrings. I was certainly happy for her, because she was going to get acclimated in preparation for meeting her man-to-be, Scud. I will miss cleaning her enclosure in the mornings as she curiously walked all around my legs, emiting soft whistles. But her attachment to me speaks of a greater need she has, one that will be fulfilled soon--and that is companionship, but not just of a silly human, companionship of another of her species is what she needs. I really hope her and Scud get along, and I'm eager to hear about their romance. It was just hard watching her leave the nest, so to speak.

This afternoon, I was the only person working in the clinic, and I happened to leave lunch early today to return to work. I had much to accomplish, and little time to do it, because today was my day to work in the petting pen. It was fortuitous that I did leave early, because I found a small sticky note on the door to the clinic. Written on the note were the words "Parakeet on counter not doing well. Found laying on side." Well, I popped into the clinic and went back to the counter where a carrier was placed. Inside of it was a little budgerigar (or common pet parakeet) who was pale yellow and green. He was laying on his side, not a good sign in a bird, and barely responded as I stuck my hand in the crate to retrieve him. He didn't even make a peep, and I could tell he was feeling quite rotten. Upon picking up his light body, I could feel the keel bone sticking out prominently; he was extremely thin. His eyes were half-closed and he lie limp in my arms. If you have ever tried to hold on to a healthy parakeet, you understand how pitiful this is. A healthy parakeet will squirm like crazy when you hold them, constantly trying to bite your fingers as they chirp incessantly. The mother hen side to my personality definitely came out, and my thoughts were suddenly consumed with how to help this bird--I took on a demeanor or urgency and gingerly, albiet quickly, walked the bird to ICU. I offered him some water from a syringe, but he could barely open his beak to swallow it down. I got him set up in an empty cage with a heating lamp, sitting up in a towel. Because I could feel no broken bones, and see no discharge from any of his orifices, I assumed the diagnosis was a fungus called Macrorhabdus ornithogaster. Basically, the fungus keeps the birds from being able to digest their food properly, and they become malnourished. Without treatment, it will slowly kill them. I could not get in touch with the technician on the phone, and was very concerned, as my time to go to petting pen was rapidly approaching. Thankfully, the veterinarian was to come out during her lunch hour. I left her a note detailing the situation, and left for the petting pen in a worried state.

My time in the petting pen was not terribly eventful. I spoke to several nice people who had enjoyed the zoo, and spent alot of time loving on a cute goat named Chocolate. In the back of my mind though, the parakeet was always there. After two hours, I briskly walked back to the clinic, and found a note at the entrance. It was from the vet. She had given the bird fluids and medications, diagnosed it with Macrorhabdus as I expected, and under prognosis had written "Poor." My first day alone when a sick animal was brought in, and the bird in my care wasn't going to make it. My face sunk with the sadness of the situation. Veterinarians commonly believe that 'Where there is life, there is hope,' and I was still clinging to that. I walked slowly into the ICU room, worried about what I would see. Crouching down in front of the cage, I saw a very surprising sight. The little budgerigar, whom I had begun to affectionately call "Verde," was standing, and even turned his head to look at me when I peered in. As I got up to get his medicine ready, and the other birds began their flying around and making a racket, the little guy let out a few chirps. I eagerly got some yellow water ready (the antifungal medicine in it made it this color), and got a towel to pick him up. He was still somewhat weak, but as I held him on his back, he took a few nibbles at my finger and flexed his wings in an attempt to get away. I dropped a bead of water from a syringe on the side of his beak, and he opened it up to draw it in. I gave him a few more drops, and he continued to try and leave my grasp, so I let him back into the cage. I prepared a little salad with extra nutrients in it, as well as some seed, and when I placed it in the cage with him, he even ate a few seeds on his own! I am smiling now as I remember Verde's resilliance. Certainly he is no where near healthy yet, but he was on the brink of death, limp and gasping, just two hours before I came back and found him active. He fluttered his wings, and my heart also gave a little flutter. Surely Verde would have died if he was not brought to me. I saved a life today. What glorious waves of happiness flow through me as I remember it. The whole reason I came here, and the whole reason I want to become a veterinarian, is to save sick animals. To see the hallows of death banished with care as new and perfect life takes hold again is the pinnacle of joy for me. Sometimes you try hard and life does just not take hold, as was the case with our little duck. But sometimes, when the conditions are right, another chance is given to a breathing and beautiful verde parakeet, and just as death was swallowed by life, so despair is swallowed by hope.

Murray and baby duck.

First thing this morning, the baby duck was brought back to the clinic. Apparently, yesterday after his treatment, he was feeling better, but this morning he was not well. His whole demeanor spoke of weakness, as his little peanut-sized head lolled to the side, eyes dry and half open. He was gasping for air, had a cold body, and we were very worried about him. We got him set up on a heating pad, and my job was to hold a tube to his minute beak, allowing oxygen to flow, as the technician injected fluids and alternatively gave him doses of sugar and medicine. We got him set up in an incubator, propped up against a pink teddy bear. Throughout the day, he was given fluids and checked on. Though he did perk up some, he was still very lethargic by the time we left for the night. I'm hoping the tiny breathing body continues to cling to life.

Later in the morning, we had a gopher tortoise brought to us. His shell was about as big as a dinner plate, and his leathery dark brown head poked out of his shell. His thick legs were wrinkly and carried him at a glacial pace across the floor. He's an old fellow named "Murray," who had not been eating well for a day or two and has also had an issue with bladder stones. His overhanging lip was splattered with watermelon and squash and his curious eyes looked all around the new room he was placed in. As we prepared the xray machine, we just let him roam around the clinic. His slow curiousity and complete oblivion to those humans with clunking feet walking around him was endearing. He is generally kept in one of the education department buildings, and he often walks around free during the day while children visit him. These experiences have left him acting like a wizened old man, not worrying about what the day may bring, as long as he gets his dandelions and a place to relax. To check on his bladder stones, we took an xray of him. He laid perfectly still on the table as we shot his picture, and then happily roamed the floor once more as we developed the film. Learning to develop the film was quite an experience, considering it must be done completely in the dark. Clumsy as I am, I smacked around a few limbs before finally getting it all together. However, we got a picture of Murray's insides and his bladder stones were still there. For some relief, we allowed him to soak in warm water for an hour, and he seemed to enjoy his time. He is a very great tortoise, and I really enjoyed seeing him today.

I also prepared some elephant blood samples by centrifuging them. For those of you who don't know, a centrifuge is a circular machine with holes around the outside to fit tubes in. The centrigue spins at a set speed and causes the more dense material to settle to the bottom, so the tube has separated layers once removed. The red blood cells go to the bottom of the tube and the serum is on top. The serum was collected for a study on elephant behavior.

The rest of the day was spent in meetings and cleaning. It was a good day overall, and I am continuing to learn so much every day!

Hope springs eternal.

I spent this morning, as every morning, caring for the animals we have in quarantine. Tiffany the curassow gave me such a time today! She is such a curious thing, and I feel this real love for her, partly because I don't think she is quite all there. I am so excited for her an Scud to meet, because she waits at the door for me in the morning, and as soon as I open the door, cocks her head and lifts her little black mohawk. She follows me around her enclosure as I clean, making a study of me, in the very same way that Scud does when you pass by him. She is so interested in everything I do in her cage, always looking at me with big eyes and that slightly tilted head. The first thing I do in the morning, before I start hosing and raking is to replace her old dish with a new one filled with food. She is a spoiled little thing and will only eat on top of a log. I put her food there and she went to chowing down on the grapes (her favorite), as I hosed down the area, picking up tiny pieces of food, sweat pouring down my face due to the hot quarantine suit. I looked at my work--a very well cleaned area, and a very happy Tiffany. Oh wait, once piece of food, right on the side of her food log. I turned on my hose and jetted it at the piece, and I suppose some of the water happened to splash up on Tiffany, becuase she got really confused and started walking in her food dish. The big, clutzy feet she possesses flipped the dish and food bits went flying to every corner of my clean floor. As I started hosing once again, the wide-eyed little girl stood right beside my leg, looking up at me, not knowing what she had done.

The next thing on the agenda this morning was to check on a cheetah. The doctor drove out, and he and I headed up to the cheetah's yard. My job in this scenario is to follow the veterinarian around, and write down what he says about the animal for our records. About a month ago, one of our male cheetah's, Benji, was getting wobbly in his back legs. The staff took the time to do what we call a knock-down. A knock-down is when a dangerous animal is darted to be put to sleep, and can then be worked on under anesthesia. Benji had x-rays, bloodwork, and various other tests, but nothing could be found wrong with him. Eventually, his walking improved and he was back to normal. The curious thing is that other cheetahs in other zoos have been experiencing the same problem. No one has come up with a diagnosis yet. Well today, Benji was doing the wobbly legs again. Everything about him seemed well and normal, but when he walked, it was as if his back legs would not hold his weight. They would give at the knees upon each step, and we are still very unsure as to what might be the cause.

After we returned from checking on Benji, we got a call from the brooder house where the baby birds are raised. They had a baby duck that wasn't feeling very well, so we went to check it out. The yellow fluff was about as big as my palm and was having trouble sitting up. He was wet all over, because he had fallen in his water dish. He was a pathetic and adorable sight. We picked the little guy up in a paper towel and carried him to the vet wing. He was lighter than a feather and made up of only tufts of ones. We cleaned him off and injected him with fluids, then gave him a dose of medicine with a syringe placed in his tiny little beak. I placed him back with his other baby duck comrades, sitting nicely in a corner, and I hope his condition is much improved tomorrow. Waddle I do if he doesn't make it? Be very, very sad.

Another exciting adventure for the day was a koi necropsy. Koi are large and incredibly beautiful fish. They are huge and can be hued in orange, black, and white, or a combination of said colors. They are often seen in decorative ponds, and the one brought in today must have been about twenty pounds. A necropsy is an autopsy of a non-human animal. When an animal dies unexpectedly or of a cause undiagnosed in life, a veterinarian will dissect the animal and see if the cause of death can be determined. Sometimes, tissues are sent away in plastic twist-top jars of formalin (a preserving liquid) for a specialized lab to study and see what they can find. Today's necropsy was on a koi who had died of an unknown cause. The veterinarian and I went into the necropsy room, which contains a stainless steel table, which has a lip on it so that it can hold fluids on it up to about an inch in depth if the drain were to be plugged. The fish in question was in a big plastic trashcan filled a quarter of the way with water, and the vet and I planned to pour him out onto the necropsy table, where the water would flow down the drain. The water was going steadily on the table and we assumed we were nearing the fish's entrance onto the metal, when we decided to give it a big tip to get all of his heavy weight out of the can. Well, I've never seen a fish go surfing until I saw this--what water was left in the can went sloshing onto the table...and up and over the lip of the table. It made a lovely little wave of sorts, and on it was carried twenty pounds of slippery orange fish. Thankfully, the technician happened to be behind the table, and she managed to give a startled smack at the fish, which miraculously kept it on the table. I really got to get my hands dirty as I held the large koi; my latex gloves kept sliding and the fish kept sliding on the wet table, and until we got it cut open and I could get my hand inside, it was hard going. Upon being opened, we saw thousands and thousands of eggs covering every surface of the inside of the fish. Once the internal organs were removed, most of which had become unrecognizable in the mass of eggs, Doc determined that she died of peritonitis. Peritonitis is inflammation of the peritonium, and the peritonium is the thin tissue that covers many organs and lines the abdomen. We could not rightly tell how the peritonitis came about, but we sent off many tissue samples for further analysis. It is sad that this koi died, and I wish there was something that could have been done, but it is pretty difficult to diagnose an animal that lives in murky water and gives no real behavioral signs beyond swimming or not swimming. Hopefully, through this necropsy and its results, we can provide preventative measures that will help other koi in the pond stay healthy. In this manner, the koi's death will have been a tool to help save others of her kind.

Los elefantes, las jirafas, y los pavones

Lo siento para escribiendo el título en español. Pero, en este parte de los estados unidos, hay mucha gente española.

I figure I need to keep practicing my Spanish every once in a while, and it's quite easy when I'm so surrounded by it. I'm dedicating today's entry to some of los animales en el zoológico. I hope to describe some of them to you, so that in later entries you will have an idea of their names and personalities. I've been here just over a week, and some of them have already made a great impact on me. I have learned so much about them in just 9 days, and surely I will continue to learn.

I spent my day off yesterday, as I have on other days off, touring the zoo. In my part of the job, I don't have much interaction with the healthy animals (and with about 3000 at the zoo, there's no way I'd be seeing them all in the vet wing!) So, my times spent roaming amidst these lovely creatures have been vital to my happiness with this experience, and to my increase in knowledge of the world's different species.

I love the elephants we have here. There are three young ladies--Rolinda, Tonya, and Binti. Rolinda is the matriarch, and she can be distinguished by her wrinkly forehead. Tonya is best friends with Rolinda, and she is quite the character. Every time I am at the elephant yard, she feels the need to show off for me. She picks up hay with her long trunk and flings it around, luxuriously slings water on herself, or turns in a circle to my amusement. The other elephant here, Binti, is at the bottom of the totem pole. Sometimes I think she feels irrelephant. While the other two ladies are well trained and perform for the public daily, she doesn't quite fit in. It's not to say they are mean to her; she's just a bit different. In fact, she lacks tusks, an uncommon thing for a female African elephant (in African elephants, males and females have tusks, in contrast with Asian elephants, where only males do). I've always had a bit of an underdog complex, and seeing her eating at the edge while the other ladies perform, makes me love her all the more. The impressive skills that the others have acquired include saluting (sticking one foot out and trunk high), turning around, sitting, laying, showing ears wide, opening their mouth, blowing on a harmonica (very adorable!), and bowing. They are quite amazing, and when they are finished showing off, they get a canteloupe, which they happily roll in their trunk and carry to their mouths. The elephants here also enjoy painting as enrichment. Their artwork is for sale in the gift shop, and I am very interested in aquiring such awesome abstract sweeps of color made by an appendage so foreign to me. Here are some pictures of the girls.

Rolinda

Tonya

                                       Binti and a drawing of her

I never really realized how much you can learn about something's anatomy
by drawing them. Another characteristic than helps to distinuish an African elephant is the ear shape--theirs look like Africa! Ears are very important to elephants--they have many blood vessels running through, and when you see an elephant flapping their ears, they are doing so to cool their blood, and thus cool themselves. Another interesting fact about elephants is that they are pachyderms--Παχύς and δέρμα coming from Greek mean 'thick skin.'

Another group of animals that I am very fond of here are the giraffes. There are five giraffes, two adults and three juveniles. The adults, a big male named Ramses, and a female named Ralphie are fairly docile. They spend their time under the shaded hay racks, munching on the forage and keeping a wary eye on the kids. The three little ones are darling. Their names are Cricket, Possum and Nyela. One day, the warthogs were in the enclosure with them and Cricket was not having the warthog near her. Each time the little guy would strut closer, in dignified fashion, hair on his back flowing in the breeze as warthogs do, Cricket would look down at him, front legs sprawled, as if to say, "What are you creature?" Then giving a gentle nudge of her soft nose, the warthog would scamper off, and leave her at peace to continue eating. She was busy flicking her long bluish tongue repeatedly on her face, attempting to get a piece of hay that had made its way into her nostril, when the warthog came back again. This slow game of chase away, sneak back continued for the whole time I watched. Despite the giraffe's long neck, they cannot reach the ground without spreading the front legs, and their gangliness is quite an adorable site. Here are some pictures of these guys:

Ralphie in the back, Nyela with the dark face, and Possum in front

Curious Cricket

Mr. Strutting warthog

This is one of the stalls where the giraffes spend the night--on the back wall, you can see how they measure these guys height!

Lastly for today, I will describe to you our wattled curassows. I would gladly write for the rest of the day on all of the animals at the zoo, but this is getting pretty long, and I'll just save that for next time! A curassow is a type of South american bird. It is called wattled because of the red flap that hangs beneath its beak, known as a wattle. Many other species of birds have wattles, and they can be a testimony to male health, attracting many females with their size. You even see wattles on goats, from the necks or ears, though they don't seem to have much significance among the goats. Out on exhibit, with other South American birds, is our very friendly curassow named Scud. He has a tendency to follow visitors along the length of his fence, and will sometimes give a low whistle at you. He spends much of his time at the edge of the fence, in what appears to be study of the curious creatures on the other side. To him, we are an exhibit that is ever changing and continuously interesting. Well, Scud is in for a treat. In quarantine, we have been keeping a very crazy albeit curious female curassow named Tiffany. When you clean her enclosure, she follows you around, and she will only eat her mix of veggies and softened pellets if she is up on the log where we put them. In a few days, Scud and Tiffany will be introduced, and we are likely to hear increase in Scud's whistling. They will be introduced at first in separate enclosures, where they can see and hear one another, but can't touch--a very Romeo and Juliet story. After a while, they will be allowed to be in the same space, and they will hopefully breed. Having interacted with both of these very curious and lovely birds, I am excited for their romance to finally take flight.

Scud

Well, crap.

If you're ever asked to go retrieve a smelly glove that has something squishy inside, be skeptical, because you're probably about to get into what I did today. I carried my gotten item from the fridge to the lab, and carefully untied the latex knot. Pungent odors wafted to my nostrils and sent my stomach churning. I was informed that I was working with zebra poop. Despite its unfortunate beginnings, running a fecal sample is actually a quite exciting adventure. After agitating the excrement and adding float solution, you place a slide atop the liquid and wait for what is containing possible parasites to cling to the glass. The zebra slide was not too interesting--all I saw was pieces of forage and air bubbles.

However, upon peering through the lenses of the microscope at a toad's sample, I saw a slide teeming with little grainy brown circles. These circles are parasites called Strongyles and they use the toad as a nice vacation lodge, where they can hang out and get all the food they need to survive and reproduce. The toad in question had not been feeling well, and was not responding to the treatment he has been on for two weeks, and the parasites could be a contributing factor to that. He was wormed later in the day, and we hope to see improvement in his condition soon.

In my afternoon, we did a walk through of the zoo, to view and do a quick check of each of the animals. I also spent much time in a ninety degree room, sweat pouring down my face as I scrubbed bird poop off of branches using a toothbrush. When an animal first moves to a zoo, before they see the public, they are kept in what is called quarantine. The vet staff will attend to the animal, providing its daily care and monitoring it's blood, feces, and behavior regularly. When we go into a quarantined area, we must don protective suits made of a white plastic that traps all heat within and clings to sweaty skin, as well as gloves and rubber boots. These keep our outside germs from entering the quarantined area. The amount of time that animals are kept in quarantine varies depending on species and if they will be handled by the public or not. The birds that left today had been with us for 60 days, because they were being moved to the aviary, where people can feed them from seed sticks. They were three lovely cockatiels with happy little songs and happy little yellow mohawks. Thoroughly cleaning and bleaching and toothbrush scrubbing the area where they had been housed with us for two months was not so difficult when I remembered their new home in the aviary. They will now fly with many other birds of blues and yellows and whites and greens, all eager to eat of seeds on sticks held by eager little hands framed by smiling little faces.

Kegs on legs.

Today was a mildly interesting day. In the afternoon, I learned of the joy of working the petting pen. We have about 15 pygmy goats--all old, fat nannies. While you sit among these ladies, they rub their little noses all over you. When there were no people around, I tried to read a book, but they would not have it! At one point, I had ten furry kegs on legs surrounding me, all begging for a head scratch. (Pygmys have big round bellies, and kids commonly believe that they are pregnant because of this appearance). I spoke with many endearing children and was happy that they could experience these animals at so close a range. However, I am continually shocked at the places children will poke their fingers out of curiousity--I'll let you figure out where I mean. I guess they've gotta learn somehow where all the holes go.

Hot hair.

 Second day of work. After some general feeding duties, the veterinarian, technician and I got some supplies and hopped in our large,white clunker of a van. We drove through back gates of the zoo, appearing on the opposite side of what the public sees. We had arrived at the foxes enclosure. Our fox is an old fellow, fifteen years old to be sure, and he had cloudy, cataraced eyes, and a slow gait. Over the winter, he got quite furry, something which is not conducive to the incredible heat here. It was time for intervention. Without removal of this excess fur, the old guy would get very overheated. So he got groomed this morning.

Later today, we checked on a meerkat with a hurting leg. How interesting it must be to be a zoo veterinarian. I've only been exposed to practice in a way that you can feel and examine your animals. In the zoo, diagnoses are made from afar. It is only under what appears to be a serious condition that an animal would be anesthetized to be examined. The veterinarian had to look into an enclosure with about 20 meerkats scampering, their dark eyes looking curiously around, and he somehow watched and determined that there was no swelling in the animal's hurt leg.


We also checked on a tomato frog with an ulcerated eye. Apparently, it is a condition that many tomato frogs get. It was cloudy and streaked and the stitch had to be removed. We decided to continue treatment.

There were a few other minor cases and more cleaning and preparation to be done through the day, but those were the main events. I wasn't very instrumental in any procedures, other than taking notes and cleaning. However, I learned much and enjoyed the day. 

Positively tickled

Sunday morning, sun is shining. I've watched a lovely bluejay flitting in the backyard, but when a cardinal flew by, I felt a small pang in my heart. The cardinal is the state bird of Virginia, a place that I am miles and miles away from.

Friday morning was a bit scary for me. I woke up in a strange hotel at 3:00 am, darkness and disbelief clouding my vision. It was the day to begin my trip. My mother and I traveled to the airport quite early and got checked in. She stood in the security line with me for as long as she could, and then hugged me goodbye. Thankfully, I was not frisked as I went through the large glass dome containing the detector that tells everyone if you are smuggling things or merely forgot to take your belt off. I passed through this examination and then looked back to wave a sad goodbye to the lady who raised me to love and to be friendly and to say things like "Hidey" when you meet someone, instead of just "Hi." I walked through the airport, ready to take on the challenges set before me. Stopping quickly at the bathroom on the way, I looked in the mirror to see my mother's lipstick stain left on my cheek.  I reached up to wipe it away with a sad countenance, and I felt that it was symbolic in more ways than one.

The flights went by fairly quickly. I was airsick on the first, and getting through the big transfer airport was a little tricky with all these monorails to glide you between gates. The plane that took me to my destination was a very tiny one. The engine roared and the whole little place, containing about ten of us, was shaking as we crawled through the sky. Of course, we weren't going that slow, but it felt to take lifetimes. I dozed in and out of sleep, and was happy to have survived the rigorous landing when I stepped from the aircraft. Upon retreiving my suitcase, I guess I rolled it too agressively, because I ran it straight into a woman. Embarrassed, I whipped it away from her and my suitcase took a flipping tumble. The plastic legs on the bottom were broken off, and so I hastily grabbed the broken pieces and went to baggage claim. When I met one of my bosses for the first time, the first thing out of my mouth was, "Hi. I broke my suitcase." That's pretty typical of me to say something like that. However, she was kind and helpful and took me to the place I am now calling home for the summer.

I can describe to you the ins and outs of my new place, the hours I spent waiting to meet my fellow interns and roomate, but they are probably frivolous details in the scheme of this all. It will suffice to say that the house is great. I've got a room to myself, all the ammenities that I need, and the living space is large. My fellow interns are great, kind people, and I am very pleased with everyone I have met so far. How nice it is to be in a place where people share my interests!

We went to the zoo yesterday. It was positively lovely. I have no idea what my expectations were, but it surpassed them. It is quite large, and the landscaping is superb. All throughout, there is bamboo that lines walkways, giving you an 'in nature' sort of feel. A zoo truly is an art project. My favorite exhibit was by far the African exhibit. You stand on a bridge and what you see is a vast field, where there are lions and an ostrich, warthogs, kudu, elephants and three young giraffes all roaming together. You feel as if you are truly on the plains of Africa. Here's the crazy thing. Upon walking around the enclosure, you see that there are different layers to it. The lions are kept separate by a moat that drops off, the kudu by a fence that looks like fallen trees, and the elephants by a moat, as well. What an incredible design, and how aesthetic, to incorporate naturalistic barriers in such a way that the whole group of enclosures seems as one. I was very impressed. In another room where vast tanks of fish swam, birds flew free before the observers. In another part of the zoo, macaws sat on perches, fully free to hop off and meet you if they so desired. Many enclosures had waterfalls, plenty of real vegetation, and ample room. I was very pleased with the whole set-up. As one intern said, it is a bit of a 'bird-zoo,' which will be interesting for me, a mammal-girl. However, as I walked through the whole thing I felt positively tickled. Apparently 'tickled' is not a phrase people from outside of my area have heard, but I was feeling just that way. I smiled the whole time, knowing that this is going to be a great experience.

The rest of the day was passed lazily, and today will be much the same, but we are traveling back to the zoo, where I am eager to spend more time. Work starts one day next week, and I positively can't wait to begin.

Devon and Artex

It is hardly surprising that I am sitting in the middle of a pasture. The air smells of freshly cut hay, and I occasionally catch a waft of horsey smell on the tepid breeze. I look up to see the soft gaze of my old, white horse, Devon. He's several yards away, but it was only moments ago that he knocked me over so that I landed on damp earth as he searched for treats. Bananas (skins still on) are his favorite thing, but he accepts carrots, mints, apples, sugar cubes, and once, an accidental find-a twinkie. He's come back over now, looking over my shoulder as if maybe he'll be able to find sweets in my notebook.

Today I spent the afternoon doing one of my favorite summer activities--old journal reading. Devon was in it often, as was my other horse, Artex. Artex is far off now, chomping grass as fast as his big, brown lips will let him. He's walking slowly because of continual leg problems. These problems originate from his complete and utter obsession with food. Horses are notoriously picky eaters, but not Artex. All manners of greenery (and clothing and saddles) find their way not only to a curious nose, as is the case with Devon, but to his ever-protruding stomach. I've tried many a diet, but it seems that if he can't have his grass, he'll eat even the saw chips that line his stall. And so he carries himself slowly on achey legs, much in contrast to Devon's restless canter which would suggest that he may be 23, but feels as if he is only 3.

Yes, my darling boys were in my journals often, but so much more filled those pages. Tales of mountains and rivers, paintings and piano, foreign seas, statues and pyramids, lost lovers and lost pets, newly-found literature or the song of a bird in the morning that somehow changed my life's perspective were all woven into the pages. Some of the journals were small, with artistic pages, others were large, cheap notebooks, spiral bound, with lines that had bled from contact with my soggy tears, but they all were a little bit the same. The ink on paper from the past fifteen years of my life (as I have kept a constant journal since age 5) all told of a girl desperately passionate about the earth and the wonderful creatures in it. How could it be that I have written for all these years with that underlying theme, and it not be my purpose in life to preserve and protect la vida del mundo?

I never knew it until recently, but it seems every big moment was truly working towards this goal.

Devon has come galloping down the hill to bowl me over once again with that long Arabian nose. I've still no treats, but he is content to graze by my legs, ever so often rubbing his cheek lightly on my back as I lie in the field, watching flitting mockingbirds, smelling that sweet hay, and knowing that it all speaks, "Coexistence is possible."

I must leave Devon and Artex in two days for new pastures, though not greener, because in all green there is life and good. I'm setting out on a journey, to work as a veterinary intern in a zoo--my dream job that I began to write about in sixth grade. My horses have prepared me for this journey, taught me about companionship, mutualisms that we don't scientifically acknowledge as such because we choose to engage in them, how to get dirty, how to communicate without words, and I know if they could understand that I must go for some time in order to help educate people, so that other animals can share in the respect and coexistence that they as horses have achieved, well then I know they'd gladly send me off with whinnies of approval. As for my personifying my horses, I will divulge on this topic at a later date. As for now, I am at peace, anxiously awaiting my zoological adventures, thankful that though my location may change, the breeze, sky, sunshine, and the heart within me do not.

To become thankful.

Is it ever clear where one should start a story that seems to have no true beginning and end? Well, maybe it begins with my birth. But even that event is not a solitary event…moments built on moments that built on love that built me. Here’s a fact: I say too much when you give me a pen. Words flow easily, and I have a hard time cutting a single phrase from this pool, because it seems to be my only form of expression that rings whole and true—a place where I refuse to please anyone’s tastes but my own. Here’s another fact: I’m run on emotions. There are some things that you fuddle around in your mind for years, never knowing how to define them, and then one day someone says something to you that puts all those clouded thoughts into one sentence. Such a thing happened to me last summer, and it explains so much: I’m run on emotions. That phrase is the simplest truth I can give you about myself, and it will hopefully help you understand where I come from, why I think the way I do, and why my stories play out the way they do.

I’ll be really honest now and say that I think I’ve lived a pretty cool life. There have been so many big and incredible moments, and I’ve never seemed to take the time to sit down and explain them all.  I think this would be the perfect place. After all, I’m making an amazing journey in less than one week, and it is about time for me to become thankful for what has gotten me here.