My favorite graveyard.

            It feels almost wrong to have a laptop out in this setting. I’m sitting here beneath a large oak, which splits in such a way that it almost appears to be two trees. It is old, with massive branches for shading me. I feel the crumples of the earth beneath me, rocks, roots, broken sticks and fallen leaves. I like them pressing into my legs as I sit; it lets me know how free and far I am from the plastic I am so confined to in a normal day. Should I even continue to work on my blog? That’s the question that was running through my head for most of the afternoon. But as I walked to the place where I now sit, my favorite spot in the town where I go to school, the words kept forming and re-forming in my head in such a way that I could not stop myself from the expression had I tried.

The words spoke through my thoughts as I walked on the newly made path. They had mulched it, packed it tight, and though the walking was easier and the way more clear, I did miss the tickling and scratching of weeds at my legs as I made a path of my own. Newly painted brown signs were up to mark the way, saying “Trail.” They probably put such things up to stop people from doing exactly what I always do—dancing amid the gravestones, following no lines of convention as I plod along, treating this massive battlefield graveyard as more of an open field than I daresay the establishment would like me to. Here’s a thing about favorite places: they often have some special meaning to us, some story or memory behind them that always draws us back…and mine does, certainly. My favorite place here is a probably 100 acres of soft , green grass. The area is fenced in by a brick wall, which is worn, and upon which green mosses grow. Many trees are in this field, of all different types and constitutions. Honestly, I think each tree of the fifty or so that are planted here is unique in its species.  Amid these trees and amid this grass are many small, grey headstones. Thousands. They are in neat rows, unlike the trees. There is a large statue in the middle of the graveyard, black iron on tan marble. I don’t know who it is, honestly, but it’s a lovely statue. The oak where I sit is at the back, far from where people dare to venture. After all, a graveyard starts to look the same after the first few stones…to some people. This is my favorite side, not only because it is far away from the general population, but also because it is continually in shade. The forest just over that lovely brick wall blocks the sun from burning my tender skin.

Why a graveyard? People are continually perplexed by my adoration of this place. First I will tell you of my stumbling upon it, and then I will explain why it is indeed the perfect place to rest one’s mind. It was freshman year at college, two years ago. I had just gotten back my first calculus exam of the semester, and I had gotten a grade that was much less than acceptable to me. I was hurt and frustrated; I thought I knew the material very well, but it was not to be so. In an effort to clear my mind, I put on a t-shirt and shorts, pulled on my sneakers, and went for a run. Some people say it clears their head. Honestly, for me, it’s just very hard to think about anything except trying to get oxygen to my cells when I’m trucking along, and thus, I am unable to think- and unable to be hard on myself. I was running along the darling houses that I love so much, with nice, small gardens and stone-work around door frames. I ran past many homes and then saw a path that looked like an entrance to a park. I thought I’d take a walk down this path and see what it held. The road that I walked down was an extension of an old battle road, where civil war soldiers marched. Along this stoned pathway were signs with photos and information. As I looked into soldiers eyes on this pictures, looked into the faces of people who hurt and grit their teeth and left what they knew for the sake of something they believed in, I saw what life is. You grow, and you feel, and you seek to make some small or large impact that is carried on beyond you. These men had lived and breathed and walked this same path with cares on their heart. They knew not of me and of the footsteps I would eventually take. They were just breathing, living, and hoping to make their impact. They had wives, children, hobbies, pets. Maybe they went dancing on weekends or collected postage stamps. Maybe they sang or played an instrument or cooked well. Either way, I saw that the past can make fools of the present. My calculus grade became nothing. It was put a particle, an insignificant piece, in the fabric of life that is continually fraying and getting new threads added. I was a woven string that if you followed its connectors long enough, you might get just back to this moment, this place, and see a man walking that same road, scared with gun in hand.

I followed the road to the end and then climbed a steep, stone set of stairs. My thighs burned with the effort of the climb, but the top of the hill revealed what could not be seen from the road below. The fields. Ah, the green acres that stretched before me, the view of sky and hills, and so much peace where once there were cannons. These men hurt and grit their teeth and left what they knew, but these men finally got to rest at the end of it all and feel no more pain. They may have a picture left, a face on an information plaque. They may just have that grey stone with initials. They may not even have that. But they had my heart, and they taught me that life goes on. It’s a huge circle. And the ashes of their bodies became the nutrients that fed these unique and unruly, beautiful trees, that now give me shade as I sit and write on a computer, of all things. And I’ll do the same for someone else someday. This graveyard is a place where death meets life, but not in such a way that it hurts. Death is remembered for the sanctity of life, and as I will one day rest to fertilize the flowers before me, maybe I too will inspire some young child with words in their heart on some strange, advanced writing device I could never conceive.

The sun burns down from the clear, blue sky. The humidity is nearly unbearable here. The prickly things of the earth press into my legs and I sit beneath the shade of my favorite oak, looking on rolling green hills framed by brick. I need wide, open spaces, and I get them here. I’ve been back at school for two days now. My life is always changing, but I hope to say it’s always moving towards something. The grass and the earth beneath my toes are soft and supple. I feel an aching sadness approaching, because while this all feels new in some ways, in too many this school routine feels the same. I liked the freedom of my summer- a whole new existence that held all the world’s possibilities. I will make what I can of this. I will use the landscapes of new knew knowledge to paint my inner thoughts. I will seek fields and flowers and animals as often as I can, walk and run and read until I feel fulfilled. I will take these good places in my heart for always and use them to fill the places where the sun doesn’t shine so bright.

It would probably be of benefit to expound on my teachers, my classes, but not now. Now I need Dickens and sunshine. I need the grass beneath my feet. Thoreau said if he didn’t walk at least 4 hours a day, it was not a good day. How pleasant it would be to dedicate so much time to merely feeling my body carry me. For now, I will read amidst the graves, feel the sun and the grass, and write more when it so presses on my heart.

If ever there was a place made for healing...

     If ever there was a place made for healing, I'd say it would be right here. I thank God that there was ever such a beautiful place created as my home. I cried on both of the flights. I cried the whole morning of my departure. I cried as I hugged my best friends at the zoo. Leaving was terribly painful, but I'd been gone from home so long, I guess I'd forgotten what I was coming back to.
     They say scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, and while I believe that to be true, I think all my senses were alight with my homecoming. The view from where I sit is serene. I'm on my porch swing, lazily moving back and forth, wind blowing gently through my hair. My beautiful cat, who looks more like a cheetah in stature than a domestic cat, sleek grey, incredibly thin and long with bright green eyes, sits beside me. Well, I shouldn't say 'sits' when the little pest is continually trying to walk all over my keyboard and smack his paw lightly on the bright light of the screen. I've got him in a gentle chokehold as I try and keep his wiley self away from my typing. He's so soft and is purring incessantly. The breeze is gentle, but it almost chills me. I am not used to this weather, at a windy 75 degrees, overcast skies, I feel very much far from my new usual. I mean this in the most sincere of ways when I say, this is the most perfect weather in the whole world, and I would never trade it for the awful heat of my summer. I've always considered that I loved heat more than cool...and I suppose that is still true...but this- This is perfection. If I could bottle the atmosphere here, bottle the wind and bottle the skies...I would send it down south and I'm sure everyone would be convinced of the perfect happiness I feel in this moment. Other wonderful things adding to my happiness are the view, the smells, and the sounds. Have I mentioned that I'm run on emotions, and I feel things with a strength indescribable?
     Here's what I see before me. Hills. So many hills, rolling fields of hay, woods with trees in all shades of green ranging from pale lime to a deep forest. The shade of the cumulonimbus clouds seems to add a depth to the green, but where the sun is peeking out, shining on my barn, the field takes on a yellowed hue. There is so much land in all directions. An efervescent glow springs forth from the earth and calls to me to run free in its wildness. Inside that barn at the bottom of this hill are the most beautiful scents. The morning of my first day back, I lept from my bed and slipped on my boots. I ran with childish flailing through long grasses that cut my legs, threw myself on the soft ground, sifted my fingers through the dark, soft, wet soil. Ah the soil!!! I spread my arms wide and looked up at the big grey skey. I laughed and smiled in spite of myself. When I got into the barn, though, I felt most truly at home. They must be right about that sent-memory thing. Whoever they are. The hay, the sweet scent of hay, filled my nostrils and seemed to carry itself through my whole body to the point that I shivered in delight. The dust, the tractor grease, the burlap sacks and twine. It was all so poignant, and it was all so...mine. These scents had raised me. All that I am and all that I have grown to be are some product of scents such as these. I spun in circles amid them. I grabbed horse treats and skipped to the pasture gate. I climbed eagerly over its silver surface and jumped to the ground. I ran with wild laughter to my horses, and threw my arms around the neck of my sweet Devon. When I breathed in and smelled the special scent that he alone has (animals are just like humans in that way!), I began to cry. The tears just flowed, mixing with laughter, and I hugged and hugged him. He rubbed his face all over me, lips flapping giving me wet kisses as he searched for the treats he knew I possessed. I looked him over thoroughly, checking for any differences, injuries, anything. But he looked great. And Artex did, too. The strict diet I set them on has been implemented wonderfully, as they are both at a good body condition for their age. Their manes were groomed, their eyes were bright, their hooves were newly trimmed. My dad did a great job caring for them this summer, and I am so thankful! It always pains me so strongly to leave my darlings for a spell, but it makes it so much better when I know they are in good hands.
     All of this horse talk is getting me kind of desperate to run back down to the barn...which may not be the best of ideas considering the condition my muscles are in from riding the past few days. They were not used to such working!
   Another part of my body that aches sorely is my finger tips. It's unbelieveable to me how long I had truly been gone. I've always been a traveler, and I've been away to school, but I can't say I've ever NOT seen my home for more than about a month or two at a time. But I've been so far from what I've known, and so last night I sat down on my porch, relishing in the stars that I could see (finally!!!), and played my guitar for hours on end. It was wonderfully lovely, and I'm happy to have found that I did not lose all my talents these past three months...but I tell you what, my fingers are feeling it today! Not to mention that I played piano just after that for a long spell...so they've just gotten their work-outs for the week.
     One thing I haven't gotten to do much of yet that I am eagerly awaiting is painting! Ah, to get a brush to a blank canvas, to spread color where there is none, and make bright what is lacking...that is my calling. I relish in creating. Surely creations from these same fingertips will follow soon.
     There are beautiful sounds surrounding me now, as well. The crickets are constant, a songbird occassionally chirps, and behind me I hear horses neighing. No, these are not my horses, who are in front of me. These are the horses at the fairgrounds, whose property backs up to ours. At the back of the fairgrounds is the arena for horse events. They must be having a show today, as I can hear the announcer calling out names, and I can hear the horses calling out theirs in languages we cannot decipher. I hear the leaves rustle from the wind. I feel these sounds within me.
    Surely very few people find this to be interesting. I have merely sat and described to you my home. But I will say this. I may not end up here permanently. I may be gone for times much longer than 3 months one day...but I will take this beauty, this perfection, in my heart always. No matter where I go, I will have the wind and sky to remind me of how excellent they can be. The mountains may elude my eyes, but they will never elude my emotions. They will rise within me, being built up wherever there are none, coloring the canvas of my mind in the same way my paintbrush does. I love it here. I am pensive, at peace, I am home.

I wrote a poem about my summer and how I feel about it now. It's called "Like wine."

Good stories are like wine, I think
They have a certain flavor
They start out sour and awful
And are something not to savor

They tend to hurt upon your heart,
Bring tight sting to your throat;
They rip your soft, weak lungs apart
with cries that can't be wrote

But time will let them ferment so,
They'll grow so fine and sweet
That from your eyes tears will not flow
But upon lips a smile will greet

Now their full scent is not fully known
until you swirl the glass
Toss those notions to and fro
Or the layers of senses will pass

And do not drink from newly made wine
or you will surely regret it
Learn this lesson- learning takes time
And a story is just not as good

right after you've left it.

An overview of my favorite animals here.

Okay, well I initially intended for this post to be an overview of my favorite animals here at the zoo. I'd first like to mention a sweet moment of today, because it is worth mentioning.

We have a sharpwing teal duck in the vet wing. These ducks are very small and brown, with lovely teal-green feathers under the underside of their wings. The little guy was brought to us a few days ago for shaking, inability to hold himself up or walk correctly. We thought it might be a west nile virus case, but after sending bloodwork, that came back negative. The issue is likely bacterial, so he's been started on antibiotics. For the first few days, he had to be fed with a tube down his throat, because he could not eat at all on his own. He would flip over on his back and be unable to right himself. His head would loll back in an unnatural and uncomfortable looking way, and he was just pitiful-looking. Over a few days he had begun to improve, and when I came in this morning, I found him looking so sweet. He was lying in a towel-doughnut , head and bill resting on the edge of the rolled fabric, eyes dry. Poor baby needed food, eye lube, and his meds stat. He's still so sick he has little fight in him. I picked up the light body, so unresponsive it seemed that he was almost a stuffed-animal. I made up a mix of warm LRS and hand-feeding formula and gently held him under my arm while I held his bill in the dish. He lapped slowly for a duck, taking little drinks of the stuff, but he ate well--a full 20 cc's. The fact that he was even eating on his own was great improvement. I opened the tightly closed bill, stuck a syringe down and gave him pain meds and antibiotics. I gently stroked the small head with my finger and put lube on the dried eyes. He blinked slowly and seemed to feel better. I wrapped him in his little towel-doughnut again and let him rest for a few hours. When it was time to feed again, I tested out a trick we had used on the pintail duckling we had in the ICU a while back (and one that the technician had tried with success yesterday). I filled up the sink with luke-warm water and placed him gently in. As he is still very un-coordinated and shakey, I had to hold up his tiny body as I floated him gently around. He took to the water very naturally, and it seemed to make more sense to him than trying to walk did, so I offered him handfuls of grain as he floated. He eagerly ate this offering and also got a bit of water while his bill flapped at a ridiculous speed, smacking to draw up the food. I held him and helped him for about half an hour, and he ate very well. He's still so weak that even though I put him in the doughnut, he tried to stand a few times and went slowly toppling onto his face, then over onto his back. When on his back, he was unable to get back over. Several time, I had to rush into the ICU and lift his tiny body, re-adjusting towels to better support him. I felt very endeared to the little guy, and though I doubt he will be fully recovered before my leaving, I hope to hear of his renewed health in due course.

NOW, as I have only one day of work left....is this really possible?! So, I am sitting down to make a mention of my favorite animals at the zoo. Some have touched my heart in such special ways, because of some experience I've had with them, or just because of their personality or beauty. So, here's my top list and a brief explanation as to why.

1. Logan, pygmy goat- Okay, it is one-hundred percent a no-brainer that Logan is my favorite little ball of fur at this zoo. He came to the vet wing at age 2 weeks, only a few pounds. He took patience to learn his favorite feeding habits. It took patience to go bottle feed him 5 times a day. It took no patience whatsoever to hold that sweet living creature in my arms, giving him life through the warmed milk, giving him love through my sweet scratching that made his tiny tail wag. He grunted eagerly as he sucked his bottle. He jumped off walls and logs and my own legs to show his tricks. He knew me better than anyone, because I was his primary feeder. I was mom to him. I still am. He's now up to 15 lbs and has been moved up to the petting pen with the other goats. I've stopped in the past two afternoons to say hi to him, and he has jumped eagerly into my lap, searching for the bottle he so associates with me. When he finds I have none, he settles for my happy scratching, playing while he jumps around, and cooing as I kiss his tiny face. He's getting along well with some of the older goats who have been mothers before, and when I found him today, he was lying so sweetly beneath a chair, making high pitched cries as I approached. He put hooves up on my legs and rubbed his face all over mine, relishing in my familiar scent. I am absolutely in love with this little guy, and I will miss him more than maybe anything at the whole zoo. Ironically, he's a goat- a common animal. But we've had a wonderful, special bond, and I feel so connected to him.



2. Baby Ruth, pygmy goat- Well, I had to go with another goat. But, Baby Ruth is honestly one of the loves of the whole zoo. She's 17 years old...over 100 if that were converted to human years. At first I thought the slow, old thing was sweet, but she didn't particularly like me. I just didn't know her sweet spot. I had kept trying to pet her on the face, and she would just calmly walk away to munch on alfalfa or lie quietly in the corner, spindly long legs sticking out. Well, as soon as I found out Baby Ruth's two favorite things, I was golden. Ruthie, as she is commonly called, loves being scratched on her butt, and she loves gatorade. When you scratch her near her tail, she gets so into it, she lifts two of her legs off the ground and leans her weight so into it, eyes closed, that you think she is about to fall over. She will happily turn her rump around to you any time you are near, as soon as she knows you will provide the loved scratching. After I gave her her weekly pain medication shots in the hip, I scratched her at length so she would forget the painful stick. Secondly, I offered her little sips of my gatorade that I poured in my hand for her. She licked crazily at my hand whenever I had the sugary drink on them, and it was very sweet. She's just like this tiny old, wise lady who is so unassuming. She walks incredibly slow, is the boss and protector of the other goats, and gets to lie on her own in the shade eating hay during the day. I love her.

3. Nyela, giraffe- If you know me at all, you know I have a thing for weird stuff. I'm generally attracted to obscure things, and Nyela is an obscure little giraffe. She's a juvenile, and as I've mentioned before, she has an odd habit. She places her head under the pea streams of other giraffes. She does not drink the liquid, she just somehow likes the pee on her head. Her dark face is always crusty and dirty from the urine all over it. That sounds sick...but it's goofy, something not to be forgotten. She stands out, and I like her. She has been the first to come for treats each of the two times I have fed the giraffes, and I just like her overall.

4. Possum, giraffe- Possum is another one of the female juvenile giraffes. Up until today, I had always thought she was cute, but we had no real interactions except for a short feeding episode on the day I fed giraffes first. Well, today, I took my final tour of the zoo with the other two interns left, and we fed giraffes again. Possum was positively adorable, and I couldn't help but love her. She is the most curious of the three, and she will eat anything she can get her tongue on. At several points in the afternoon, she had my keys in her mouth, my watch in her teeth, my shirt in her mouth, my fingers wrapped in her strong tongue, trying to be eaten, my sunglasses...she was going for everything. I hugged her head about ten times while she covered my face and arms and hands in her slobber. She reminded me of my horse, Devon, in the way she was acting, searching me all over for any kind of food she could find...just like I described in my very first blog entry about him. Wow, how time has flown. How things are so different, and yet, so the same.

5. Tambo, cheetah- Let's just say, something else I got to do today was awesome! Remember Tambo, the cheetah that we anesthetized a few days ago? Well, it turns out he is pretty much the most friendly cheetah ever. He was hand-raised and enjoys being petted. Today, I got to do just that. PET A DANG CHEETAH. I know I've had my moments of awe at petting certain animals at the zoo. But since the time I was a little girl, I've been fascinated by cheetahs. They were always my animal of choice for school reports, they graced the walls of my bedroom, symbols of grace and speed and beauty. They've always been one of my favorite animals ever. And I actually stuck my hands through a fence today, and rubbed my fingers along the face of a cheetah. Who knows how long cheetahs will even be in existence any more? It's so sad to say, but there are so few cheetahs left. And Tambo is one of them. He's getting better from his sickness (bacteria was isolated in the lab from cultures we sent), and he's been on antibiotics, which he likes to take in cheese. He was a bit sneezy today, and coughed twice when I was with him, but he is looking alot better, and it made me very happy to see that. But oh my goodness, petting him was the best thing of my life, maybe. If you get to scratching at just the right place under his chin, his back leg will get to shaking. He purred as he rubbed his face against my fingers. I touched his ears, his shoulder, his chin. He was so soft and so sweet. This is a hard thing to talk about. I don't want people to get the impression that wild animals are all friendly and great to have relationships with. Some people will go as far as to say relationships like the one described above are wrong at all costs. My opinion is that the relationship between man and animal is a magical and beautiful thing. If both species are benefiting from the interaction--such as this one, in which Tambo gets love, food, healthcare, territory, shelter, and he obviously loves being scratched; and the people get the absolute joy of petting a cheetah, one of natures most marvelous miracles of living creation...well then I say we relish in this beautiful relationship, and kept under the proper supervision and with sense, it can be a life-changing experience. I know it was for me. I pet a cheetah today. Can anyone say they've done anything cooler than that? I daresay there is nothing that is better in the world. I will have a picture of this to follow, when it gets uploaded by the friend who's camera it is on!

6. Meerkats- We have ten of these cuties here at the zoo, and I've always been partial to these curious little scampering guys. I once played a character in a musical named Mrs. Meers, and me and my friend always joked about me being queen of the meerkats or something...well I feel that way when I get to help a fellow intern with her project in training meerkats. I get to sit amidst piles of barking little bodies, throwing out mealworms, or setting them close to my body, so the meerkats will come close by. Among the ten of them, we've (the intern and I) begun to see a difference in each of them, personality and looks-wise. Even their faces each have distinct paterning, shapes, sizes of foreheads, noses...everything. It's wonderful! I've grown very fond of their curious yet skittish personalities. The way they lay in piles when they are frightened or resting is pretty much the sweetest thing ever.

7. Tanga, zebra- Tanga is one of my favorites because I feel very sorry for him. I studied him at length and frequently for my project here. He tried so hard to breed the female who wanted basically nothing to do with him. He weaves back and forth and rubs his head on the fence when he gets stressed. And I just got to know his behaviors in detail over my study. Though he is not particularly sweet in demeanor, and is very skittish indeed...I am very close to him because I have watched him so closely. I will include a link to my paper on him in a following post.

8. Meka and Willie King, white tigers- These guys get added to the list simply because they are the most beautiful animals in the whole zoo. White tigers are obviously not desirable in the wild and don't survive well out there, so it's great we can give them a home in zoos. I am continually mesmerized by their size and grace and just absolute beauty. I can't describe it, so I shall not even try. I'll suffice it to say I am in awe of them.

9. Binti, elephant- I don't have a ton to say about Binti, because I've mentioned her quite a bit in other posts. She's just the least of the elephant lady trio in rank, and when she comes into the elephant barn and the other ladies are in there, as a display of submission, she walks into the barn backwards. It is very interesting! She's the tallest and skinniest around the middle of the three, and she has no tusks (even though she should, as an African elephant), because she just never grew any. She's really pretty, and I just feel affection for her. I've fed her, and it was a very sweet experience.

10. Scud, Wattled Curassow- Well, as it has been made quite apparent, I am a mammal girl. I love the furry ones more than any other...but Scud is just awesome. He's a beautiful black curassow who makes a whistle like a missile, and who would always run along the side of the fence, racing us when we used to run in the zoo at night. He always comes when I call his name and whistle to him. He's so curious about zoogoers passing by. He observes everyone with a cocked head, almost a tick, and I am enamored by his goofiness.

So, that's my list! I'm going to miss each and every one of these guys dearly...as well as so many others. Baby Squirt the deer...Vance the leopard...the lions...so many! But I have no time for sentiment now, I am beyond exhausted. More tomorrow, last day of work...wow!

Anesthetizing a cheetah

Today was pretty neat. I won't lie, I didn't particularly expect it to be. I walked into to work, running on about one hour of sleep. I looked to my co-worker and she shared the same haggard expression. We exchanged the general pleasantries of 'can you shoot me now,' 'how will we make it through this day,' and 'let's just take a nap and pretend today isn't happening.' So, as it would turn out, though I often am eager and smiling, bounding into work with flowers in my heart, ready to care for animals, I am also human. And today I wasn't feeling it.

I trudged up to the commissary to pick up my goat's milk, my regular routine. The bottle was cold and burned the tips of my fingers. I carried it down to his stall, letting it warm in a bucket of water. He was over-eager as usual--hoofs up on the wall, jumping around like a nut, bawling to the nines. 'Crazy,' I said softly as I shook my head at him. But I couldn't help but smile despite my tiredness. As I got in the stall with him and sat on the hay, my eyes drooping heavily, he jumped at me with all force, making his customary grunt of excitement as he grabbed the bottle. Today was to be my last day with him at the vet wing, and today was also my last Tuesday ever working here. Well, that just got me going and the tears started to flow all over me and that stupid little goat. My hope was that he would curl up on my lap and comfort me, but of course it was not to be so. He's insane-remember? So, he just kept trying to find a milk-source and bit my bands, my nose, my ear. He has sharp teeth now and a strong jaw which causes a lot more pain when rasping on my skin. Little snot. I say all these things with the utmost affection. He's in his terrible twos of goat years, I say. He's a nut, yes. But he's my little nut. And so I cried for his growing up, and I cried for my growing up, and I cried because I'm leaving him soon.

On to other news. We anticipated having a busy day today. Well, we were certainly right, just not in the way we expected. The vet got to the zoo and got a report that a sick cheetah named Tambo, with sinus infection-like symptoms and an unwillingness to eat, was doing no better after 4 days. Antibiotics had been tried, but he was resistant to consuming the pills. Doc decided that it was time to anesthetize him and take a culture of his infectious mucous, as well as get some x-rays. Event unplanned. All of our other busy morning activities were pushed aside and we started to prepare the vet wing for the appearence of a large cat in a short time frame. We got the x-ray film processor running, heating pads and towels on the procedure table, IV lines set up, all sorts of tools prepared, paperwork ready to be meticulously filled out during procedure...etc. Then we went to go get the cheetah. The cool thing about this particular cheetah is that he was hand-raised. He's very docile, sweet, and allows keepers to pet him in his squeeze cage. The keepers gave him a sedative while he kindly presented his shoulder, and within minutes, he was getting very sleepy, indeed. Mr. Tambo lay down, eyes closing. He was given additional medication to put him to sleep and when he was thoroughly unresponsive, he was carried into a crate. He was driven to the vet wing and lifted up onto our prepared table. A cheetah, lying right before my eyes. How wonderful my life is. Unpleasantly, my first job was to get a thermometer in his butt and get a temp. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Anyway, once we got a catheter in him and an IV drip of fluids going, we got him intubated. Having oxygen supplied to him through a trachaea tube, he began to be examined. His eyes were highly red and irritated, his nose crusty from snot. He had an audible heart murmur on the right side. His toenails were a little long so they were cut. His teeth could use a cleaning, but we decided not to do it, as it was not the plan for today's procedure. Generally if we've got an animal on the table, we try to do as much routine care as possible, but he was already going to be under anesthesia for a while, so that part was declined today. His eyes were peered into, cleaned, his nose was swabbed and was to be sent for bacterial culture. Blood was drawn, urine drawn, a fecal sample collected in the same invasive way the temperature was taken. After these examinations, the keepers picked up all 83 beautiful pounds of cat and moved him into the x-ray room. We took around 10 radiographs of his chest and head. During this time I was popping in and out of the dark room, developing films as we went, because we have only 4 large casettes. After the photos were taken and the proper amount of fluid had been intravenously given and everyone felt satifsfied that we had accomplished all we had set out to accomplish, it was time to take Tambo back to wake up. He was carried back up to his stall, laid down inside, and given an antagonist drug to wake him up. He began to rouse, still quite sleepy, and we left him to come to in his own space. How cool my job is. I got to hold and move and experience the soft coat of a cheetah today. I got to feel the flattened tail like a rutter, the long thin legs, the big powerful lungs built for running.  Sadly, x-rays showed that his lungs were highly filled with mucous, and when we removed the endotrachaeal tube, it was covered in yellow, thick liquid.We sent off several samples for testing and once we know exactly what bacteria is causing his infection, we can treat it accordingly with a long-acting antibiotic. I hope to report of his healing very soon.

Another addition today was a shakey sharpwing teal duck. They are very small and beautiful, and as of now, we don't know what's wrong. I'm hopeful that he too will be healed and happy soon.

Tomorrow will likely be another busy day, because we have lots to catch up on that we didn't get accopmlished today. More to follow!