finding Duma

This morning I was able to go out on a trip to find Duma in the Life Line Project area. She's one of the cheetahs who wears a radio collar and goes out in this huge but fenced area to live a life as free as possible (along with the cheetah Pride). Pride is out full time now, but Duma is on "soft release" which means she goes out for a couple of days and we check on her to make sure she's eating (that is, making kills) and then she comes in for a few days.

She'd been out for about 2 days, so it was time to check on her. Six of us went. I stood in the back of a truck with three others and we held a big antenna attached to a receiver, moving it back and forth across the road as we drove, waiting for the "beep beep" that would indicate she's close.

We had to drive around on dirt roads for an hour (the Life Line is very big--around 8000 hectares) until we heard the first beep. Then it took another 30 minutes of going slower and Herman standing out on the road with the antenna, trying to narrow down our search so we could find her.

Finally we located her lying under a big shady tree in a meadow by a place called the Dam House. It has a water hole and lots of game (we saw wildebeest, springboks, and warthogs). And best of all, she had her lunch with her under the tree--a recently killed small wildebeest. So her hunting had been successful!

We got out of the truck and walked over to her. She looked up at us and walked over to her kill and started munching--as if to let us know that it was hers. Then, she did the coolest thing: she looked up at us and purred--as if to say, "Yup, this is what I've done, and I'm mighty proud of myself."

We all stood at an appropriate distance and told her how proud we all were of her, what a good girl she was, and how amazing she is. (After all, Duma was hand raised. She had no mother to show her how to hunt, no other cheetah to watch as a role model. She figured it out all on her own, and that is a great achievement--to go from a tame, hand-raised cheetah to a full-on hunter.)

Then we got back in the truck and went home. With both Duma and Pride (who was also hand-raised) able to fend for themselves in the wild, Harnas takes a big step toward the release of many animals that it was believed couldn't be released again. This is only the beginning!

cheetah therapy

Some people go to therapists. Some spill their guts to their friends. But for the record, I'd rather spend 30 minutes with a cheetah. It helps me clear my head the way nothing else does.



At least once a day I try to go in the enclosure where the Five Cheetahs live--Nikita, Leuki, Shingela, Afram, and (I can't remember the name of the last one). It doesn't matter because everyone just calls them the "Five Cheetahs."

Four of the five are very tame, and the fifth lets you know he wants nothing to do with you because when you move toward him, he'll hiss (it's a BIG hiss). I usually find them (unless feeding time is near) in the back of the enclosure under a big tree like in the picture above. I call out "Cheetahs! Cheetahs!" so they know I'm coming, and then I flop down in the shade with them and let them come to me. Sometimes, like in this picture, I'll be petting three at once, and I'll be wishing for a third hand.




Lots of big cats don't purr, but cheetahs are world-class purrers. I find it so soothing. I sat down with Nikita yesterday and just started to pet her face, neck and chest. She closed her eyes and let that purr go, and I felt renewed. Some of them get enough after 10 minutes and move away from me, but Nikita for some reason will let me pet her until I get tired. She just keeps purring and it's so strong that you can even see her neck vibrating from it.


It's hard to explain, but after just a few minutes of the petting and purring, I start to feel different--like I'm in the middle of a good massage or something. At first my mind goes everywhere--what I ate for lunch, what I'm going to do next, chores that await me back in America--but soon my mind clears, the way they say it works when you meditate (which I've never been able to do since I always see myself sitting there, and my mind won't stop making lists and planning the day).

Eventually, all I feel is the purr and all my mind does is float. After awhile, I feel so much better, I say my goodbyes and go back to the real world of Harnas (which is different from the Real World wherever you are).

And Nikita charges so much less than a psychologist!

Letting Go

One animal I haven't talked about yet is very close to my heart, Fighter, the semi-wild cheetah youngster. When I got here two months ago, I was told that she had been the only survivor of a group including a mother cheetah and her three cubs. Thus, the name--she's a survivor. She stays in the enclosure closest to the lapa, the one you have to walk through to get to the very tame cheetahs Pride, Cleo, Duma, and Goeters.

But because she's kind of wild and hisses rather than purrs at pretty much everyone, most people choose just to walk through the enclosure, keeping far away from her.

But I took her on as a project. She was only 8 months at that time, still had her extra tufts of hair on her neck and back. It took two weeks for her to stop hissing at me--and occasionally swiping her claws at me. I would go in virtually every day and sit as close to her as possible. When she'd settle down and look uninterested in me, I'd move a little closer. More hissing. I'd wait. When she's settle down again, I'd move a few inches closer. Repeat again and again.

After two weeks I was sitting by her, petting her gently, and talking to her. And although she tolerated me and my stroking, she basically refused to purr. Three times, though, she forgot herself and began a soft purring, but then she seemed to realize she was letting me get too close to her, and she'd stop.

Finally, just 10 days ago, she started trusting me enough to purr--and she's been doing so every day now with me. She doesn't run to me when I enter the enclosure, but when she sees me, she lies down and arranges herself to I can pet her and groom her with my doggie brush. And then the gentle purr.

It was a triumph.

I've found that nothing comes closer to meditation for me than sitting silently with a cheetah. I've tried traditional meditation, but can't seem to do it. I end up making mental grocery lists or trying to remember all the words to "American Pie."

But with a cheetah, the simple motion of stroking their lithe bodies, scratching around the face gently, and focusing on the purr brings me to a place where I completely forget myself. It becomes just the cheetah, the African breeze, and a sense of peace. Fighter finally became part of that for me.

Then this week, I found out that Fighter is going to be moved to one of the outer enclosures with some other semi-wild cheetahs. My twice-a-day visits to her will end, and she will become what she's supposed to be: a strong and independent creature.

Any of you who really know me can figure out how this hit me. I mean, I'm the woman who talks to every squirrel she meets, names the deer in my backyard woods, and takes doggie treats to other people's houses instead of a bottle of wine.

I was devastated. At first I tried every argument I could to convince Schalk and Marieta and Frikkie that Fighter should stay where she is. But a new friend from Norway, Sissel, gently reminded me that this should be about Fighter's best interest, not mine.

I made a mental list of positives for Fighter: (1) She'll be freer. (2) She'll have lots more room to stretch her legs and run. (3) The whole point of Harnas is to release animals if we can.

This is my head talking, but the heart is another matter. In bed the other night, I had a small meltdown. I hadn't realized how much I had bonded with this sweet cheetah until I thought about losing her. I thought she was a project; instead, she was my friend. I cried and Pickles licked away my tears. It wasn't one of my stronger or braver moments here in Africa.

Do you remember watching animal shows in which an animal is saved, rehabilitated, and then set free? Remember the tears in the eyes of the people who send that eagle or lion or dolphin back to the wilderness? They always seemed like such happy and noble tears. But now I know they're not. Instead of feeling noble, I just feel like someone is tearing out a little piece of my heart.

I'm going to Windhoek today, spending the night, and then picking up some German friends--Cornelia and Willi-- from the airport in the morning and bringing them back to Harnas. When I return tomorrow afternoon, Fighter will probably be in her new space, too big to find her easily and becoming more wild by the day. So I went in her enclosure this morning as usual and said my good-byes. I told her she'd have space and some friends (five other cheetahs) and enjoy life as she should. She'll be happier, I said. She purred.

Now I just have to convince myself.

Don't Try This At Home

A few mornings ago on my walk, I went to the cheetah enclosure with the five tame beauties--Nikita, Afram, and the rest. I found two volunteers there with Luiki, a large male. He was drooling incredibly and I asked them if they'd noticed anything. They said he seemed to have something in his mouth that he kept working around.

I waited a minute and he yawned. Sure enough, there was something grayish in the top of his mouth, stuck. It looked sort of like a slab of chewing gum.

I don't recommend doing this with your neighborhood cheetah, but I felt these cheetahs--four of them, at least--trusted me because I spent enough time petting, grooming, and discussing politics with them. (Besides, the volunteers were watching me and I had to look like I was an authority or something.) So I put my hand in Luiki's mouth and worked a space between the roof of his mouth and the "thing" and tried to pull it out. It wouldn't budge.

The space was still there, though, so I took a short, flat stick and opened his mouth again. It was amazing: he seemed to understand that I was trying to help him. He could have bit off my fingers or hand, but he just made a sort of "mrrroowww."

I put the stick in between the thing and the top of his mouth. I yanked. Nothing. I tried it again. Nothing. On the third time (we were both getting annoyed), it popped out.

It was a flat piece of bone that had apparently gotten stuck when he was eating. He worked his jaw around a little, swallowed, and started to purr. I put my arms around his head and thanked him for not killing me.

It felt like that fairy tale, you know? The one with the guy who pulls the thorn out of the lion's paw and then the lion doesn't eat him later in life? I figure I get a free pass if I'm in the bush and a cheetah decides I'm dinner.

It made me feel good. Let alone how it made Luiki feel!

Goeters, the face of Harnas

A new email friend and a long-time supporter of Harnas, Regina from Austria, (who somehow found my blog!) asked me about Goeters, so I thought I'd write about him this morning.

Goeters is the oldest cheetah on Harnas--and maybe in the world. As I mentioned once before, in the wild cheetahs don't live very long, 3-5 years. But Goeters is, by Schalk's estimate, about 23 years old.

He came to Harnas when he was about a year old, rescued from the side of the road. Marieta rehabilitated him and then tried to put him in with other cheetahs, but he just stood at the fence and cried for his human companions. Finally the vet said to take him out and make him one of the family. So for years and years, Goeters has lived in the garden area and acted pretty much like a tame dog.

Anyone could pet him--family, volunteers, guests--and his purr is legendary. You can hear it most of the time before you see him. It's deep and gravel-ly and soothing. Everyone adores him.

But after many years, he showed signs of old age just this past year. It looked like he might not make it. Good vets and regular meds, though, healed him once again. But he still seemed frail. Then Marieta and her team had an idea. They tried once again to put him with other cheetahs, this time a small group of young females.

What do you know? Goeters perked right up! It seems all he needed was the adoration of younger women. In fact, something amazing happened: one of the females actually ended up pregnant! Unfortunately the babies were born premature and didn't survive, but who knew the old guy had it in him?!?

He lives still with three females--Pride, Cleopatra, and Dumas--and seems very happy and healthy. He still gets his daily meds--which he probably needs to keep up with the girls.

I'll attach a video of me with Goeters just this morning. He seemed a bit camera-shy, so I'm also including a close-up still photo. You can see he's a handsome devil.

cheetahs and more cheetahs

It's been a couple of days of cheetahs, cheetahs, cheetahs. First, we had a sick one that had to be transported to the vet in Windhoek (our vet gets back tomorrow, thank goodness). It had some kind of intestinal problem that is being fixed, and he'll be fine. He comes home Saturday. Then a farmer found and trapped a cheetah on his farm and brought it here. It's being treated for worms and will also be fine eventually and released with some of our cheetahs.

Next, in the wild cheetah enclosure--a HUGE space that holds 28 cheetahs who were caught by farmers and so are very wild--there were 3 missing. We feed them every day, and we count them as they take their slab of meat. For several days we were short three of them, so Frikkie (the volunteer director) decided we must find them in case there's something wrong with them. Many of them are very old, though, for cheetahs, so the probability of death by old age was high.

Just a couple of words on cheetahs: they are incredible beautiful creatures, but they're also very delicate and endangered. Genetically they are all so similar that they've developed a lot of problems. Some quick stats: Only about 10% of cheetahs in the wild make it to adulthood. The ones who do only live 3-5 years. But in captivity, they can live twenty years or even more. The problem is that they don't usually reproduce in captivity (although some at Harnas have). So every cheetah counts.

I asked Frikkie if I could help with the search since I knew that the more people the better. So we spread out along one fence--about 20 of us--and walked through the bush about ten meters apart, checking for sick or wounded cats. We each took only a small stick and an attitude of authority. With twenty-something healthy wild cats, we were always running into them. Fortunately, cheetahs can be dominated pretty easily. You just have to look them in the eye and speak harshly to them and point the stick. They'll hiss and act like they're going to attack, but if you don't back down, they'll run away.

It took about two hours to cover the enclosure and we found three carcasses. It seems they all died, probably of old age. We also saw lots of interesting insects (not my favorite) and a couple of snakes. Every plant in Africa, it seems, has thorns, so our legs and arms were all pricked and bleeding as if we had been attacked by pins. But it was work that felt good--does that make sense? Real. Physical. Goal-oriented. It reminded me of what it means to be a volunteer here, as I was back in Feb of 2007. Hard and dirty work. But it's satisfying.

Then this morning I asked Frikkie if there was anything I could do to help. He smiled at me and said, "Yes I have a big job for you. I want you to take the five tame cheetahs for a walk. If no one takes them, they sit around all day under trees, and cheetahs need exercise."

"Ah. What a difficult job. Walking with beautiful, tame, and loving cheetahs." I accepted the "job" and walked about 1/2 mile to their enclosure. I called to them and they all came running (they probably thought I had meat). But even when they knew it was just me with no food, they followed me. We walked for about an hour through the bush. I kept calling "Come cheetahs! Come , come, come!' And amazingly enough, they followed me!

Every once in a while I'd stop and wait for them to catch up to me and we'd have a little love-fest. They'd purr while I'd pet them. It was heavenly. They are the most astounding creatures. I took a short video of them as they came to explore my camera. They're curious just like little house cats. Listen for their purrs.