Carl Linnaeus was a Swedish botanist, physician, and zoologist who is considered the father of modern taxonomy. In my younger years I wondered why anyone would bother to give things Latin names at all; it seemed that scientists often felt the need to make things more complicated than they had to be. Why not call a squirrel a squirrel and leave it at that? Why should I call it a Tamiasciurus hudsonicus? I cannot even pronounce it!



Well, for most people the term “squirrel” is more than adequate (some people don’t care to even be that specific or accurate), but with about 280 species of squirrel worldwide, a scientist or anyone with an vested interest in the particulars of a specific species would want to be at least that specific and possibly more so. True, you could just call a Tamiasciurus hudsonicus by its common name, American red squirrel, and save your self from a tongue cramp, but what if you were discussing the animal to a person from another country?



To illustrate this point I will use the Opiliones. They are an order of arachnids commonly known as harvestmen, but when I was growing up in Wasilla, Alaska, we knew them as daddy longlegs. Bug observation and collection was a huge part of my childhood and I could often be found gathering specimens for temporary display in mason jars. Daddy longlegs were common catches, and if I had decided on a whim to call someone from the UK to share the particulars of my discovery, I would have experienced a terminology barrier (and a spanking from my dad for calling another country). A daddy longlegs to a Brit is a crane fly which I only knew as a mosquito-eater. It would have been a bloody confusing conversation that may have ended with the British listener given a peculiar and erroneous portrayal of Alaskan Arthropoda. Furthermore, with over 6,400 species of known harvestmen, a scientist would be lost without Latin names when attempting to discuss the subject with peers.



Now that I have communicated the importance of Linnaean taxonomy I feel compelled to quickly enlighten you on a few little known facts about harvestmen.

1) They are called harvestmen because they are usually most active during the fall.
2) An urban legend claims that the harvestman is the most venomous animal in the world, but possesses fangs too short or a mouth too round and small to bite a human and therefore is not dangerous (the same myth applies to Pholcus phalangioides and the cranefly, which are both also called a 'daddy longlegs'). This is untrue on several counts. None of the known species of harvestmen has venom glands; their chelicerae are not hollowed fangs but grasping claws that are typically very small and definitely not strong enough to break human skin.
3) Harvestmen are not spiders; they are a separate order of arachnid.
4) Some species of harvestmen are indistinguishable from other species unless they are dissected to see which direction the hairs on their internal genitals face.

Anyway, because scientists and zoo keepers often work together or are one and the same, it is important that I understand taxonomy a great deal better than I currently do. To this end I have been researching family names.

Surely there is an online resource for this sort of study but I have yet to find it. I have been forced to learn about my animal families from an old book called Zoo & Wild Animal Medicine (second edition) edited by Murray E. Fowler. According to Dr. Fish, this book is an old standard for people in her line of work and should be enlightening and instructive. The problem with book learning is that the information that I am particularly interested in is hidden throughout the text in such a way that compels me to read the entire tome. Internet learning is much more to the point if you can find a page that focuses on the subject in which you are interested.



One third of the way through the book has taught me that memorizing all the families in the animal kingdom will be next to impossible; I don’t know how many families there are in total, but I just found out that there are about 200 families in the class, Aves (birds). I think that I am going to back up a step and memorize the Latin names for the different classes and decide were to go from there.

Okay, here are the classes:

1) Mammalia: of which there are 26 orders, 137 families, 1142 genera, and 4785 species.
2) Aves: of which there are 29 orders, 194 families, 2161 genera, and 9721 species.
3) Fish (which aren’t actually a class. Fowler’s book doesn’t cover fish but the internet resources that I have found have varied considerably in their itemization of the fish classes: it appears that there are either 3 or 12 classes of fish): of which there are 62 orders, 504 families, and 25777 species.
4) Reptilia: of which there are 4 orders, 60 families, 1012 genera, and 8163 species.
5) Amphibia: of which there are 3 orders, 44 families, 434 genera, and 5400 species.
6) Invertebrates (once again- not a class, nor is it a group that I will spend much time examining right now): of which there are 370 orders, and roughly 1.3 million species.



So for my purposes, excluding the fish and invertebrates, I now have 62 orders to memorize. This will not be an easy task but if I learn the orders from one class at a time, I should do fine. I will start with the 29 orders of Aves because it will be the hardest and will have the most immediate benefit since I am currently working in an aviary.

I will not continue to bore you with this list of 29 bird orders for the present but instead I will introduce you to a few more birds with which I am working.



Gracie is an old Swainson’s toucan that lives in a cage in the veterinary hospital office. She is the sweetest toucan that you could hope to meet. I am led to understand that most toucans are happy to crush your fingers if given the chance, but if Gracie was the only toucan you had ever met you might be hard pressed to believe such tales. She suffers from asper (a fungal respiratory disease), iron storage disease (an incurable disease that toucans are susceptible to in which iron accumulates in the tissues), and depression. For the asper we periodically shut her into a little glass-doored closet called a nebulizer. Humans use the little portable nebulizers for asthma control, but birds have difficulty using such devices. For her iron storage disease we give her only foods that are low in iron and black tea steeped in distilled water as her only beverage. Her depression is occasioned by the lack of toucan friends but we try to enrich her life as much as we can by giving her toys that she enjoys like a rubber snake or a ball. I try to find time in the day to give her neck a good scratching but if I forget she will remind me with a plaintive squawk. When I begin to scratch her neck she will lean into it and emit a low grumbling purr while I sing Ben Folds' song "Gracie" to her.



Smiley is a white-tailed trogan that reminds me of a mix between a Skeksis from the Dark Crystal and an American Robin (Turdus migratorius). He is slow moving, shy, and sweet. He obviously enjoys visitors but he doesn’t want to be a bother so he just quietly waits for them (unlike Gracie or Hermie). When I do find the time to spend a moment with Smiley, he puffs his feathers out in delight and cocks his head toward me as if interested in what I have to say. I cannot scratch Smiley because he suffers from liver disease, poor feather and skin condition, and feather cysts. In fact, only technicians are allowed to touch him and when it is time to clean his cage, we have to get a tech to move him to another specially prepared cage before we begin. Vet techs are so busy that sometimes Smiley gets left in his small temporary cage for a long time and I have to gently but continually pester them to not forget the little guy. It is easy to forget the fellow because he just sits there not wanting to be an inconvenience to anyone.



Heidi is a runner duck that probably lives the most pampered life that almost any duck has ever known. True, she doesn’t get to run free like many ducks but that is for her own protection. You see, Heidi has only one wing. Just a month before I came to the aviary Heidi had her wing amputated when Dr. Fish decided that it was the only way to save her life from the cancerous tumor that had taken over her left wing. Every day I give Heidi a warm water bath with worms to dunk for. Her drinking water requires changing every two hours and her food needs freshening up nearly as often. Every day she gets a bin full of dried leaves sprinkled with worms to hunt after and a heat pad under a nest of towels. All day I do load after load of laundry, and Heidi is a major contributor to these loads. As much of a pain she is we all love Heidi a great deal, even if she is just a regular old duck.

I have now been interning at The National Aviary for three full weeks. There is so much to learn here at the aviary and I feel that during my time here I have just barely scratched the surface.

As you may already know, I am interning in the aviary hospital, caring for the sick, injured, invalid, and geriatric birds. In the main hospital building we currently have eighteen birds for whom we are responsible. My main purpose from 7am to 4pm is to make these birds’ lives as clean, comfortable, and interesting as I can.



To ensure a sanitary environment for these birds, I am required change my latex gloves and wash my hands countless times throughout the day. Not only do we not want to spread infections from one bird to another, but the fish eating birds have a bacteria in their digestive system that a fruit eating bird cannot handle. I have not counted how many gloves I burn through in a day, but I would wager that the number would shock you.

Each bird has its own unique needs. Some require vitamin supplements added to their food that would poison another bird, so it is important to be durn sure that you know who gets what. Why don’t I introduce you to a couple of our infirmary friends?



Stevie is a very old boat-billed heron that requires hand feeding due to his blindness. Cleaning his cage is an adventure because he will snap viciously at anything within striking distance. Getting mauled by a savage heron is a bit distressing at first but soon becomes tolerable when you learn that it doesn’t hurt and become adept at avoiding his blind strikes.



We have a little stilt named Skippy that is now in his mid-twenties. An ordinary wild stilt would count itself lucky to reach the ripe old age of twelve, but through the wonders of modern veterinary medicine Skippy has reached an extraordinary age in excellent health. Skippy came to live in the hospital a number of years ago after his wife of many years died of age-related complications. Skippy was utterly distraught with his loss. Becoming inconsolable and refusing to eat, his concerned keeper brought Skippy to the hospital for evaluation. A battery of tests were performed with inconclusive results; it appeared that poor Skippy was suffering from a broken heart. The hospital staff decided that Skippy should stay in sickbay rather than waste away in the public area and made him a more permanent and comfortable enclosure against one of the walls with a short gate to fence him in. Against that particular wall was a recently painted mural illustrating a number of lifelike birds, including a depiction of Skippy’s late wife. When Skippy saw the likeness of his beloved, he squeaked with joy and hastened to her side. Skippy spent the rest of the day strutting around the painting of his wife with obvious happiness. Immediately he began eating again and was brought back to health within a few days. Soon afterward the staff decided that his full recovery warranted a return to the general population. This however triggered a relapse into his depression and he was returned to the hospital and the image of his wife - this time for good.



Perhaps the most lively member of our gimpy menagerie is a blackbird hybrid named Hermie. There is nothing wrong with Hermie in the veterinary sense. He was the accidental spawn of forbidden interspecies love and grew up in the general population as a half-breed. Life was tough for Hermie with neither species accepting him as family. Routine brutalization led to his being removed from the exhibit and into the hospital where he made new friends, one of which is me. Being a young crow-like animal provides Hermie with enough curiosity to kill countless cats and because of this he requires plenty of enrichment. Today I threaded a paper towel through a Chinese finger-trap and secured one end through the bars of his cage with a zip-tie. I was pleased to see that Hermie found this simple contrivance the source of hours of puzzlement and activity. In the morning we usually let Hermie out of his cage to fly about and peer out the windows though he often gets stuffed back into his cage by noon because he is inclined to hide important articles and raid Skippy’s food dish (Skippy doesn’t hesitate to tattle shrilly when this happens).



To introduce every bird in the hospital in one blog would be a daunting undertaking so in subsequent writings I will continue to acquaint you with birds that I have come to know.

The supervising veterinarian at the aviary is a distinguished zoo vet named Dr. Pilar Fish. After a series of conversations designed to discover my interests and goals, Dr. Fish gave me several reading assignments and charged me with memorizing the animal families. This is something that I have meant to do for a long time but lacked the motivation that Pilar now gave me by lending me her expensive and rare zoo books to study. I will report more on this subject in the future.



As I continue this internship I am constantly reminded that I have much to learn in the coming years as a zoo keeper. One of the things that I love about working with wild animals is that you cannot learn all there is to know about them in a lifetime of learning. It has been, and will continue to be, a rewarding journey.