Sheri Amsel's Blog

Posted by Sheri Amsel

In 1987 I finished my thesis at Colorado State University on llama anatomy and moved cross-country to the Adirondacks in upstate New York. I brought with me a llama left over from the study.

My husband was dubious about this. I explained that he was a pet, like the dog. He mumbled that the dog at least gave the illusion of protecting the house. What did the llama do? He didn’t do much, just grazed the lawn and watched everything we did in the yard. They are territorial animals and I had no doubt he saw us as part of his herd. For five years we wondered why we had this llama, though as a pet, he was rather a pleasant fellow. Then one day we found out his true worth.

I was watching my three-year old from the kitchen window while I did the dishes. He was in the sandbox across the yard and I could see him, but not the llama or field beyond. Then all of a sudden the llama let out a series of booming alarm calls that sounded like a cross between a turkey goggle and a bellow. I ran outside and found the llama, ears back, bellowing the alarm at something out in the field. It was the largest coyote I had ever seen. He was less than 100 feet from the yard. I took it all in an instant. That coyote was watching my small son in the sandbox with what could only be described as predator’s intent. I ran at him like a flailing maniac and he ran away. Then I stood staring at the llama, who had gone back to peacefully grazing on the lawn. We never doubted again what good that llama was doing us in our backyard.

Posted by Sheri Amsel

While visiting my favorite veterinarian at the zoo where he was working, I discovered that a blue duiker had just given birth a couple of days before. I have always been fascinated with this tiny mammal. How could anyone not be charmed by a little antelope, the size of your cat? (Actually, my cat is probably fatter than most blue duikers, but that’s another story.)

I had pictured the nursery to be like many of the zoo enclosures with cement stalls, hay and barred doors. So I was startled to see how clean, open and brightly lit the nursery was. It made sense really as these are expensive exotic animals and get excellent around the clock care. This was no cow barn. In a little stall, with a thick bed of fresh, sweet-smelling hay was a tiny duiker with golden fur.

The veterinarian said I could pet her so I got on my knees and stroked her little arched back. She gazed at me with huge, dark liquid eyes. Her little pointed snout nosed my hand. Her fur was softer than velvet. The vet was doing some chores and talking on the phone so I crept in closer and touched her tiny hooves. She didn’t respond to it like a domestic animal might, but she didn’t shy away either. So I pet her and murmured silly things to her and we both relaxed.

When the vet came back to check on us I was embarrassed to realize I was laying right down in the hay with her. He asked me if I wanted a ration of grain like the rest of the animals. I got up reluctantly. Even as a full grown adult she would not top 20 pounds, but as a baby she was one of the more adorable mammals of the rainforest.

Posted by Sheri Amsel

My brother, a zoo veterinarian, was traveling in Brazil and stopped in to visit a veterinary hospital outside of Belem. There he discovered a six-month-old three-toed sloth sitting despondently in a small cage. The sloth had been brought in by a local man who had accidentally shot its mother, thinking that she was a monkey. The locals eat monkeys but apparently find sloths unpalatable. He brought the little orphan to the veterinary hospital and dropped it off.

The young sloth could, in theory, live independently from its mother by six months, though in the wild would still be clinging to her much of the time. It was weaned and could eat leaves, but alone in the hospital was refusing them. Slowly it was wasting away in its little enclosure.

My brother, speaking in really lousy Portuguese, tried to talk to the workers at the hospital about the sloth. He suggested that they carry the baby sloth around the way its mother had. He had a theory that the baby was in shock from losing its mother so abruptly and that’s why it was not eating. Sloths also have a low body temperature and metabolic rate so need to be kept very warm to be comfortable. It would not survive long unless they could get it to eat.

Finally, a worker agreed to hold the sloth and it immediately curled its arms and legs around her. Her body heat and perhaps the comfort of her presence eventually made the sloth more comfortable. Within a few hours it was eating small amounts of cecropia leaves. The staff at the hospital took turns carrying the baby around. This seemed to restore the young sloth’s appetite. Once they got it past this critical phase, they were hopeful that soon it could be released into the forest and make it on its own in the wild.

To read more about sloths: http://mammals.suite101.com/article.cfm/the_sloth