The dogs were very puzzled, for the animal they had been following had apparently disappeared into thin air. They wandered round and round, sniffing here and there, wearing mystified expressions, while we lay on the ground to recover our breath. As I was lying there, gazing up into the treetops above, I saw what I thought was a very curiously shaped ants’ nest attached to one of the branches about thirty feet above us. The dogs were still sniffing about, and it seemed fairly obvious they were not going to find the scent again, and I was just about to suggest we made for camp, when I saw that the curious ants’ nest was now looking even more curious, for it had grown a tail. I looked at it in amazement, and as I watched I saw it move. Well, I had never seen an ants’ nest that could move, so I stood up to get a better look, and there on the branch was a tamandua, sitting quietly and watching the dogs. It was no wonder that the dogs were puzzled, for having tracked the
Tamandua
tamandua so far on the ground they did not expect him suddenly to take to the trees. I pointed the animal out to my hunters, and one of them quickly shinned up the tree, hoping to catch the tamandua unawares. However, he made too much noise, and the tamandua looked over his shoulder and saw the Indian climbing up towards him. He uttered a hiss of annoyance and started to climb higher into the tree. The Indian swarmed up rapidly after him, and the tamandua, finding himself being overtaken, got in a panic, and instead of continuing up the tree he rushed out to the end of a long thin branch. This was the stupidest thing he could have done, for when the Indian reached the branch, he squatted in the fork of the tree and drew out his machete—the long broad-bladed knife which all the Indians always carry with them in the forests. A few quick slashes with the sharp blade and he had cut off the branch, with the tamandua hanging on the end of it, hissing indignantly at having been fooled like this. Then we held out a net beneath the tree, and the Indian dropped the tamandua, branch and all, into it. In a minute or so we had the furious creature safely in a bag, and we set off jubilantly for camp.
Other animals that belong to the same group as the anteaters are the armadillos, of which there are many different kinds. The one we have is called Henrietta, and she is a hairy armadillo which 1 caught down in Patagonia, at the southern end of South America. The countryside is very flat in Patagonia, and is covered with prickly thorn scrub and giant thistles, which can grow to a height of nine feet. The armadillos live in burrows that they dig in this prickly undergrowth, and only come out at night to hunt around for their food. So, the best way of catching armadillos is to hunt them at night, with the aid of a dog. You also carry with you a powerful flashlight and a spade, for if you do not catch up with the armadillo in time, and he bolts into his burrow, the only way of getting him is to dig him out.
We set off this particular moonlit evening, and we had walked a considerable distance across the plain, when we came to a great patch of giant thistles. Here our dog got very excited and started to run to and fro, sniffing at the ground and growling to himself. We waited to see what would happen. Presently the dog picked up the scent and rushed off' into the thick tangle of thistles, and we followed as fast as we could, pushing our way through the thick stems, and getting well pricked in the process. The thistles were so tall we could not see where we were going, and all we could do was to follow the
Hairy Armadillo
crackling noise of the dog and his faint barks ahead of us. Suddenly we came out in a clearing in the center of the thistle patch, a big area of grass surrounded by a thick hedge of thistles. We were just in time to see our dog racing across the grass, hotly pursuing an armadillo, which was scuttling along at full speed, looking like some strange clockwork toy in the moonlight. We could see that the armadillo was heading for a hole, and we rushed forward to try to catch it before it disappeared into the earth, but we were just too late, for as we arrived at the hole the armadillo disappeared down it.
But then, to our surprise, it suddenly shot out again, and it was closely followed by a very indignant skunk. The skunk put up his tail and squirted his evil-smelling scent at us—and all of us, including the armadillo and the dog, ran away as fast as we could. The only one who did not escape without getting sprayed was the dog, and in a minute he was rolling and whining in the grass as he tried to rub the foul smell from his body. Luckily, the armadillo, out of breath by this time, did not run far but took refuge in a clump of thistles, where we managed to surround and catch her. But then we had to call off the hunt, for the poor dog, reeking to high heaven, had decided that getting mixed up with skunks was not his idea of a good hunt, and had gone off home. And we ail (still smelling a bit) followed him back to the ranch, carrying in triumph Henrietta the hairy armadillo.
Quokka
Australia is a country that probably has more peculiar animals living in it than any other part of the world. One of the curious things about most Australian animals is that they carry their young in a sort of pocket or pouch, as, for example, the kangaroo does. The creatures we have in the zoo to represent the great group of these pouched animals are the tiny and charming quokkas, or shorttailed paddymelons. They are really like a pigmy kangaroo, about the size of a large rabbit. The babies are born very tiny and helpless, but nevertheless manage to find their way up into the mother's pouch, in which they live for about four months. By this time they are almost half the size of their mother, and her pouch bulges with the fat baby inside, and frequently you can see his little head poking out as the mother hops about. Quokkas are found in Western Australia, but, unfortunately, are getting very rare in the wild state and the Australian Government, very wisely, has allowed a certain number to be caught and sent to zoos in different parts of the world so that they can be bred in captivity. In this way, even if the quokka disappeared in the wild state, it would not be lost forever. We are very proud of our quokkas, and even prouder of the fact that they have had two babies since they have been with us.
Crested Porcupine
The rodents or gnawing animals are a huge family whose members are found in nearly every type of climate and country in the world. Some of them, like the house mouse and the brown rat, are among man’s worst enemies, for not only do they destroy vast amounts of food each year, but they can also carry diseases. One of the largest of the rodents, and one that is quite harmless to man, is the crested porcupine. They are large and rather handsome beasts, with their long black and white quills that—when they are alarmed or excited—stand out like the war bonnet of an Indian. The one we have we call Delilah, and she is a great character. When you go into the cage with her, she gets very indignant, and rushes round and round in circles, snorting loudly, growling like a lion, rattling her quills like castanets, and generally tries to persuade you that she is a very fearsome creature. Actually, she is not nearly as bad as she likes to make out, but we have to be careful, because her two-foot long quills could do you a lot of damage if you got a legful of them. Porcupines do not throw their quills, as a lot of people believe.