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.

thundering herd

Once in a while, I'll get up in the morning and think "I don't have much to write about in my blog today," so I'll take a walk. That usually does it. The slogan here is "Expect the Unexpected," and that's what usually happens.

Saturday morning I decided to walk out to the new enclosure where the two tame caracals, Zinzi and Tammy, live, so Pickles (of course) and I set off down the airstrip in that general direction.

Have you ever just known someone is behind you? I did, and I turned around. Sauntering up behind us was Klippie the giraffe. She often does this on my walks, just follows for awhile, waiting for a good neck and face massage from me, so I wasn't alarmed, even though it IS a bit startling to find a 2,000 pound, 15-foot tall creature stalking me soundlessly.

I called her name and approached her, reached up to pet her, and then turned around and got on with the walk. She followed--a bit closer than she usually does. I sped up a little; so did she. Then Pickles and I went around a bend in the dirt road and lost sight of her. Then I heard it: ba da DUM, ba da DUM, ba da DUM. Thundering hooves behind me, coming up fast!

"Pickles! Hide!" I screamed, and we both jumped behind a big bush. Klippie game galloping up behind us, kicking up dirt and barely missing the bush. Then she stopped and stared at me.

We talked and I asked her in not-so-polite terms just what she was doing. She sauntered off, her game finished for the time being. Pickles and I set off again.

Two minutes later: ba da DUM, ba da DUM! Here she came again. "Dive, Pickles, Dive!" and we ended up behind a small tree--full with thorns, of course.

What was going on? She continued to pace in front of us, not allowing us back on the road. She pretended not to be looking at us, but she was definitely holding us hostage. After a few minutes of more questions and exclamations from me, I picked up Pickles--all 15 pounds of her--and backed away and finally found our way back to the road.

Klippie followed at an even pace. I walked backwards up the road in order to keep an eye on her this time, glancing over my shoulder to look for snakes-that-look-like-sticks and sticks-that-look-like-snakes.

Twice more Klippie ran at us, and twice more we had to hide behind bushes or trees. Bit by bit I headed toward the lion enclosures in hopes that the smell of lion would keep her away. Then I heard voices and we made a break for it, running headlong through the bushes, Pickles pressed to my chest, both of us hoping I would find help before Klippie ran us over.

I came crashing out of the bushes right into the middle of the morning tour group--guests, volunteers, and the guide Etosha who were stopped outside Sher Khan's enclosure, enjoying their morning snack of biscuits and tea in the civilized British way.

Everyone stopped to stare at this crazy girl and dog emerging from the bush, scratched, gasping for breath, and calling for help.

"Etosha!" I called. "Klippie's trying to kill us!"

With perfect timing, Klippie came barreling out of the trees at full speed and skidded to a halt when she saw all the people. And did the guests try to help me? Of course not--they were clicking their cameras as fast as they could. But Etosha waved me over to hide behind him and said, "It might be Pickles. Klippie doesn't like small dogs."

That stopped me. It hadn't occurred to me that it might be Pickles that the giraffe was trying to kill. I handed Pickles to Etosha, walked back to Klippie and put out both arms as I do to indicate wanting to cuddle. Klippie happily dropped her head down and nuzzled her soft hairy lips on my forehead--friends again.

With lions on one side and a deranged and jealous (?) giraffe on the other, Pickles was--yes--in a pickle, so we got a ride halfway home on the tour truck.

Even though it's funny to me now, I think I was more worried about that giraffe than I've ever been with a lion or cheetah. And every once in a while something like this happens that reminds me how powerful these creatures are, and no matter how tame they seem, they still have the ability to squash out my life without even meaning to.

As the dog and I crossed the bridge toward the lapa, I turned and looked back. There was Klippie, emerging from behind one of the guest houses, just nibbling gently on the camelthorn trees.

I thought, "Okay, if I were eaten by a lion or attacked by a leopard, that would be one thing. People would 'ooh' and 'ahh' over my death. Who knows? It might even be good for the sales of my book about Harnas. But to be trampled by a giraffe? That just lacks dignity. That is the stuff of black humor and puns. No--that maniac giraffe cannot be the end of me."

Bat-eared Foxes

One of the animals that you've probably never heard about or seen unless you've been at Harnas or in southern Africa is the bat-eared fox. They're only 3-5 kg or about 7-11 pounds.

We have three adults here--name He Re and Ro in honor of the Herero people who live in the area, some of which work and live at Harnas. From the three came a litter of six pups who are nearly grown now.

As you can see from this photo, the most obvious thing about them is their ridiculously big ears and cute pointy noses. The ears, though, are very practical. Their hearing is so keen that they can hear insect larvae (their favorite meal) underground so they can dig it up and have supper! They also eat things we don't want around like scorpions, termites, and locusts--and they DON'T eat sheep or lambs (which farmers mistakenly believe and so shoot them).

During the day they stay cool in their underground tunnels they dig over near the staff quarters--where I hang my laundry. The adults are extremely tame and allow people to bury their hands in their long fluffy hair. The pups usually let me get close and then bolt. This is how I know they're the non-tame ones.

Last night, after chasing down one of the jackals pups and returning her to the garden area (we can't figure out how she's getting out, but it was the second time yesterday I found her out on the lawn), I was sitting on the deck with some people in the early dark, and Marieta started to make this "LALALALALALALALA" singing sound.

No, she isn't crazy--or maybe she is, but this didn't prove it. Around the corner scampered the 9 bat-eared foxes--who roam the lawn area at night. They know that sound means cookies! They love these cookies that she throws them (well, to be honest, so do I, but I resisted fighting with the foxes for the bits and pieces).

I know it's dark, but watch closely when they come into the light. See their big ears and their skinny legs. (Actually, their legs aren't that skinny compared to their bodies, but their hair is sooo thick that it makes them look much larger than they are.)

Once they have their fill, they disappear with their big ears into the night.

So many amazing creatures that I never knew existed live here at Harnas. I would never have dreamed that I would be playing with jackals, grooming cheetahs, and petting bat-eared foxes in my lifetime, but here I am. Once the foxes had gone last night, I couldn't help but sit back and wonder at the life I'm leading. Sometimes being here, it's easy to get lost in the everyday, but in moments like last night I'm reminded how lucky I am--and how happy this place makes me.

Easy Rider

Near Swakopmund the sand dunes come down right to the sea. This is the Hollywood desert--dune after dune of sugary sand with very little vegetation.

On the second morning at Swakopmund, Marieta, her two granddaughters (Morgan 12, Nica 6) and I went quad biking on the dunes. It was great fun, even if there weren't animals involved. Here's a picture of me coming down one of the higher dunes. Believe me, it was steeper than it looks here. One young woman who rode with us went down too fast, flipped off it, and landed hard. The sand is forgiving, though, so she only went away with sore ribs and a bit of disgrace.

We rode for about three hours, the guided stopping occasionally to show us interesting things in the desert--remnants of tribal grass houses, fossilized animal prints on a mud flat, a burial ground with some skeletons exposed. He made us eat things in the desert that were edible (but no good, although if you were starving, I guess they would taste better), and he showed us where we could find water under the sand. Interesting stuff!

Back on Harnas, we've had the addition of two jackal pups--named Jack and Jill. They arrived from a man who had rescued them and kept them as pets. They even slept in his bed. So they're exceedingly tame, just like puppies.

These are specifically Black-backed Jackals--found throughout southern Africa. They don't get very big--no more than 25 pounds or 12 kg when they're fully grown. They're scavengers and farmers don't like them because they eat their lambs, and so they're often shot just for existing.

It's a bad rap, though, because mostly jackals eat small ground mammals--squirrels, rats, mice--and keep those populations in check. Also, they eat fruit and insects. There's even a berry that's called Jackal Berry because they love it.

Jack and Jill came to us when the owner decided they needed a more natural habitat--although by that time they were too tame to be let back into the wild. So after a few days quarantine to make sure they were healthy, Marieta released them in the garden area where they play with people, sniff everything (they have an acute sense of smell), and sneak looks at the vervet monkeys and baboons that are in the enclosures lining the garden.

If you approach Jack, he immediately rolls over as if to ask, "While you're here, would you mind rubbing my belly?" Jill is a little more wary, but she, too, loves to be stroked. They're soft and sweet, but the teeth are quite sharp--and like puppies, they love to chew.

They've become an immediate favorite, and no one who comes into the garden area can resist their charms. Here they are with Kate, a volunteer from the UK who is also a vet nurse.

Lala update and more

First an update on Lala, the Miracle Dog: Tuesday morning Lala started to regain control of her tongue and legs (her tail was already going) since the venom had paralyzed her muscles. By 11:00, her tongue was controlled enough to drink from a bowl, and she was struggling to sit upright. When I left the clinic at noon, she struggled to her feet and followed. Amazing.

She continued to improve all day, and today she is tired, but almost herself again. Her throat is still very swollen and sore (partly from the tube) so she can only make a sound that can only be described as a goose-like honk. One by one yesterday afternoon, her doggie-friends were brought to her so they could see she was all right. As you can see in this picture, Pickles was much relieved that her buddy was back.

Marieta said that a people who are bit by mambas and survive often have to learn to walk all over again and are in bed for weeks. So everyone is sure that Lala has some important reason to be here with us still. She is being spoiled and pampered by all--and deserving of it.

On to the Swakopmund story. My favorite activity was the seal and dolphin boat trip that Marieta and I took. One of the seals came aboard for some fish and lovin'--and I was privileged to have Spotty sit on my lap and let me hug him. He was big, but hey--he ain't heavy, he's my seal. His breath, though, could have used a few dozen Tic Tacs--very rotting fish-like.

We went on to see hundreds of seals on one beach. There are about 2 million people in Namibia, but there are 2 1/2 million seals. They sound like sheep "baaa-ing" all together. Quite amusing animals. I may bring one home.

On board we were treated to champagne and oysters (at 10:00 in the morning). Marieta had her first oyster ever--grimaced the whole time, but she got it down. My years living in New Orleans made me a fan of them, though, so I put away more than my share of them.

Then we ran into several pods of dolphins who followed the wake of our boat over and over. It was wonderful to watch them. All in all, it was a great little adventure. I always think life's experiences are enriched by the presence of animals.

At night we went out for fabulous seafood--one night at a barefoot bar on the beach and another at a five-star restaurant shaped like a boat, called The Wreck. Swakopmund is a great seaside resort town because it has authentic German architecture, genuine African art shops, and none of those cheesy cheap souvenir and t-shirt shops. The sand goes on for miles and miles and miles with no one on them but a few walkers with their dogs. But buy your property quickly--construction is everywhere.

So I picked out my beachfront lot near Langstrand--the place where Angelina and Brad went to have their baby Shiloh. Now I just have to wait for my ship to come in. Marieta and I decided to build next to each other and get a fast boat for dolphin sightseeing. Anybody who wants to donated a couple of million, feel free. Checks accepted.

Lala

I'm home from my trip to Swakopmund, but tales of that adventure will have to wait till tomorrow.

The first creature to greet me home was Lala, the beautiful and sweet yellow lab whom you can see in this photo with Pickles and the two baby boons in my bed one night. (When I got home, Pickles was in the kitchen with Cecelia, the cook, so it took her some time to hear me. Pickles is what I call a "meat-whore" and will love you for a bite of your supper.)

Once the two dogs and I had made re-connections and had a small lick-fest, the two joined me in my room while I unpacked. Soon, though, Frikkie called Lala out for an afternoon walk with Martha, the lion cub. She ran out my door--she loves taking walks in the bush.

A few hours later, I went into the office, and Mariska asked if I had heard anything about Lala, who, she said, had been bitten by a mamba on the lion walk. It was the first I had heard. I bolted for the clinic.

When I arrived, Lala was unconscious, with an IV drip in, and the vet was pumping air into her lungs every few seconds. The bite of a mamba paralyzes the lungs so the victim can't breathe. Her heart was beating rapidly (240 beats a minute) but the only thing keeping her alive was the slow pumping of air into her lungs. I tried to be strong, but Lala is such a good dog--only 6 six years old. She has raised a leopard cub and a lion cub as their surrogate mother, and has such a sweet temperament. We all took turns crying and petting and talking to her.

People were racing to Gobabis for the anti-venom, which arrived around 6 p.m. The vet put four doses into her and we waiting, taking turns pumping the air in. Her heart continued to beat at an alarming speed, and her temperature soared, so we packed her in ice until it came down. The snake had bitten her right on the tongue, so the poison went straight into her system. Her tongue was so big and swollen that it had to be pulled out of her mouth and set to the side. It looked like a piece of puffy liver.

As several of us sat around the table, talking and pumping, whispering to Lala and telling her to keep fighting, we talked about how this could have been prevented. The only way would have been to keep her from her favorite activity: running through the bush at high speeds, checking every plant and tree, and chasing whatever moved.

To protect her, she would have had to be on a leash the whole time, confined to a life that was careful but dull. Being bit by a snake is one of the risks dogs always have--not just in Africa, but everywhere. Back in North Carolina, my vet often has a dog in her office that has stuck its nose too close to a copperhead or cottonmouth. People often live in fear of what might happen, but dogs shouldn't have to. We can't make the choice for them--especially in a place where they can run free.

At 8:00, the volunteers started in shifts of 2 people for 2 hours each, pumping and watching her. Then the medicine started to work, and at midnight she started to breathe on her own, so the vet, Desmond, gratefully took the tube out. She started to regain consciousness--a slow process.

I didn't sleep much. This morning I ran over to the clinic first thing, found her still on an IV and lying down on her side, but conscious and breathing. When I said her name and petted her, she wagged her tail. Now it's just a matter of time--recovery is slow, but there should be no side effects.

It's wonderful that everyone came together to save the life of this one dog. People here will do anything because they believe that the lives of animals are valuable. All the time, energy, money for medicine, and belief of the people here made it happen.

This morning I whispered to her that she is welcome to sleep in my bed as soon as she is able.

On the Road Again

I'm leaving today for a road trip of sorts to see more of Namibia. I've been to this beautiful country four times now, but I love Harnas so much that I haven't seen much else.

Melanie, Marieta's daughter-in-law, is going to remedy that. We're heading to Swakopmund first, a seaside resort famous in America for being the place Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie went to have their baby Shiloh. Marieta will be with us on that part of the journey.

Then Marieta has to return to Harnas because a film crew is coming and she must be in the film. So Melanie and I will continue alone to Irindi, the largest private game park in Namibia.

I'm not taking my laptop, so unless I run into an internet cafe somewhere, you won't hear from me for about a week. Try not to get too excited.

Meanwhile, I'll leave you with some of my favorite photos of Harnas that you haven't seen yet.