Theo's Zoo Visit-From a Falcon to a Reindeer

 Traveling with a gangster cat isn't easy. Sometimes we have to bribe Theo with treats, but not this time. From Theo's point of view, there's nothing that beats going to the zoo. 

Dan, Theo and I go to the Philadelphia Zoo all the time. We've visited the zoo in Washington, DC to see the elephants. We've hung out with the koala bears in San Diego. We've been to zoos all around the world--Rome, Beijing (to see the panda bears), Hawaii, London, and even the Schonbrun Zoo in Austria.  

Of course, since we're in Anchorage we must go to their zoo--founded in 1969 to conserve the Arctic species--and see animals we don't usually see up close and personal. How will Theo react to animals he's never seen or sniffed before? That is the question. Who will his favorite be?

The air is cool, and the sun is almost shining. It's the kind of day that when you take a deep breath, you taste the power of Mother Nature at her finest.

First stop is a Peregrine Falcon, which has an interesting history. Human have hunted these falcons since 2200 BC in China. Even William Shakespeare enjoyed the sport. The peregrine was always admired and reserved for hunting with royalty. These falcons themselves hunt all kinds of birds and are the fastest birds in the world (we're talking 238 miles an hour) when in pursuit of prey.

Peregrines declined in the USA due to DDT pesticide (banned in 1972). Falconers helped to breed and release over 5,000 peregrines from 1974 to 1999, when they were removed from the endangered species list. 

Theo is all agog. After all, the Peregrine Falcon is a bird. His fondest wish is to stalk, sniff and hopefully catch a falcon. Ha. Ha.  We literally have to drag Theo away from the falcon.

"There are other animals to see." 

We spot what looks like a buffalo but is really a Tibetan Yak and Theo is instantly mesmerized by this glorious animal with the funny horns. 

"Theo, this is a domestic yak. The males weigh up to 1200 pounds and can live for 25 years. In contrast wild yaks live between 14,000 and 20,000 feet in cold, oxygen poor air. They have extra red blood cells for carrying oxygen and two extra rib pairs for deep breathing. Less than 10,000 wild yaks remain alive as compared to twelve million domestic yaks who live on the Tibetan Plateau. Yaks fear hunters, cross-breeding efforts, disease from the domestic yaks and livestock grazing that push wild yaks from grassland habitats.

 

Theo has no comment. He wants to get closer to the yak and at one point reaches his paw through the fence. Unfortunately, the yak is conked out (mid-morning snooze) and doesn't react. 

A Bactrian Camel is next. This is the second time we've seen a camel in a zoo, but their wild brothers live in the Gobi Desert of Mongolia and China. The desert has harsh conditions--rain once every three years and sandstorms that can blow the paint off a truck. But the camel has long eyelashes, clear eyelids, ear hair and nostrils and lips that seal shut. They can survive temperatures of 40 degrees below zero to 120 degrees above zero, can drink salt water, and have survived nuclear testing in the Gobi Desert. 

The domestic camel can carry 600 pound loads for 30 miles a day. 

There is something intoxicating about a camel. Theo and I took a camel ride in the Sahara Desert and we met a baby camel in Morocco so Theo has no fear. He cat walks up to the fence and meows. "Just let me sniff you," he seems to be saying. But the camel prefers not to. 

Next up is a Caribou. "Look at those antlers, Theo."

Why does a Caribou look like a reindeer?

Answer: In Alaska caribou is a wild reindeer. In Europe all wild and domestic caribou are called reindeer. Geez. They can adapt well to Arctic conditions. Their fur is hollow and well insulating. Their hooves are hard for ice traction. They can live up to 20 years in captivity and 10 years in the wild. They weigh between 300 (females) and 600 (males) pounds. An adult reindeer can eat twelve pounds of plants a day. 

We can't resist talking about Santa Clause and the reindeer. Theo listens patiently, rolls his eyes only a little and as soon as we're finished, lobbies for a snack. One more thing--we talk about how climate change has affected the animals. 

By this time his cat eyes glaze over.

He's right. We need a break. As we're walking to the very small cafe/counter where there's food, I have to ask him. "What's your favorite so far?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "The falcon."

Of course. Birds on the brain always if you're a cat.

Eagle Eyed Theo Spots Salmon

 Theo, the gangster cat, and I disagree on one thing--salmon. He loves any kind of salmon--chicken and salmon, salmon by itself, tuna and salmon . . . while I eat salmon religiously once a week and can only do so if I cook it in an air fryer and smother it in a tangy teriyaki ginger sauce. 

Nevertheless, we're both keen to watch the salmon run in Anchorage which occurs May through June for the chinook salmon and July and August for the hatchery seeded coho salmon.

I know little to nothing about salmon. Experts promise that in August you can see literally thousands of salmon making their way up Ship's Creek, which lies in the industrial heart of Anchorage. Ship's Creek runs through the port and alongside the ocean waters of Cook Inlet. 

So, of course, after a delicious lunch we trek to Ship's Creek, following a touristy kind of map which is mostly accurate, but not really. I'd like to say that it was our superior navigation skills that land us in the right location so we can look down from a kind of boardwalk and see the salmon, but that isn't true. I can only attribute our success to Theo and his amazing sniffing ability. 

Amidst the mud and sledge flats, fed by ocean waters, the salmon run. But here's where seeing the salmon gets tricky.

Dan and I are there in exactly the right spot (according to Theo) but see nothing. Theo, however, is intently looking down, his tail wagging a mile a minute, and we fear that soon he'll decide to jump off the boardwalk into the water. He has that stalking look on his face. And he's bouncing up and down, as if ready to pounce.

He sees something. We see nothing.

According to the experts, coho salmon are a dark metallic blue color with greenish blue backs in the ocean, but when they enter the creek they go through a hormonal change and turn a deep dark muddy green or charcoal gray color. That's what we're looking for--green or gray.

The sun is shining brightly. Dan grabs ahold of Theo and holds on to him for dear life. We're not amateurs when it comes to this gangster cat who will stop at nothing when there's food involved. 

"Theo, Theo," I hiss, "Do you see anything?"

Theo, ever patient with mere humans who can see yet not see--when it comes to those things most important--points his sleek paw at the precise spot in the water where we should see something. 

A miracle happens. Suddenly the water isn't just water anymore. It's chocked full of what look like long narrow black fish, crammed together (yes, like sardines in a tin can). 

We stay for a long time watching the salmon run. Eventually Theo realizes we're not letting him jump into the water and get swept away. He relaxes somewhat (if that's possible) and watches the show. We learn that it's not unusual for the salmon to appear black in the water. We can thank Mother Nature who's designed what they call "countershadowing" to camouflage the fish if the All Fishing Prohibited sign doesn't work.

If you see one up close and personal, they appear almost silver with black spots on their back. The fish meat inside is orange colored. 

When we finally walk away, I feel like a salmon expert. Theo, on the other hand, squinches his cute face, rolls his eyes, and meow whispers, "Dream on."

Home Turf for Gangster Cat

 Theo's fans are clamoring--who is Theo, the gangster cat, really? What does he do when he's at home? So, I'm sharing photos of what his day to day life is like, whether he's perched on the dining room table (to see a bird out the window) or stretched out in casual style on my favorite writing chair.

First, Theo is the oldest of three cats. His two siblings (twins) are about two years younger than he is: Michelangelo (orange and white) and Sienna (mostly white with tips of gray).

Theo was adopted (or as he sees it--kidnapped) a few years ago from Tabby's Place, a privately owned cat shelter in New Jersey. He was rescued from a clinic where for 2 1/2 years they did animal testing--mostly for vaccines. At Tabby's Place, he was incredibly shy. It took some time for his true nature to emerge--a slightly sardonic, slightly sarcastic traveling man who has a heart of gold. 

He rules the household with an iron fist. No nonsense is his motto. He's not easily ruffled or insulted. At times Mico (nickname for Michelangelo) will chase him through the house, stalk him from a nearby sofa, or try to steal his snacks. Sienna is known for grooming him one second and then smacking him seconds later. Theo barely reacts. 

"I have their number," he assures me, fully understanding that the twins were feral and lived in a barn outside for the first few months of their life. Luckily, they were rescued (kidnapped) and taught some social skills. Still, Theo and I know the twins are wild to the core--they just know how to disguise it. 

That doesn't mean they don't do things together. Often the three of them are lined up at the patio door, furtively watching a squirrel or bird carouse outside. They take turns on guard duty, making sure that other cats don't invade their space. Because we have catnip growing outside, neighborhood cats like to come around and sniff. 

Usually, Sienna will smack the glass with her paw to scare them away, while Mico races from window to window, tracking their escape. Theo, his tail blown up like an oversized balloon, sometimes stays with Sienna and sometimes runs around with Mico. 

They take their sworn guard duty very seriously. 

The best times are when they play with a scratching board (covered with dry catnip) and hit a small ball around and around a groove, trying to hit it, then catch it. Or when they lounge around, ready to chant in unison: we have nothing to do.

The worst times are when we catch them--heads huddled together--plotting. Theo at these times is the spokesperson cat--meowing and explaining that we're three minutes past the due time for a snack or negligent in not turning on the nature channel so they can drool over the birds. 

For the record, Mico and Sienna hate when Theo goes traveling. They've written up several petitions alleging the grevious offense of leaving them alone. Even though they absolutely love Rachel, their cat sitter. 

Theo tries to talk sense into them. Really? You want to travel? And then he tells a harrowing tale of what can happen when you're out there in the wild world. 

"But you're a star," they argue. 

Theo shrugs because, after all, he may be a star, but Theo is still the gangster cat and that's the way it will always be.

Is Theo Really Whale Watching?

 Everyone knows that whales are not birds. Theo, our gangster cat, (affectionately called) loves birds. He loves to watch them, chase them, cackle at them and well . . . who knows what else? But whales?

We love whales. I've even gone on whale watching cruises, hoping to see one. 

"They're super big. And they're the nicest animals, Theo. They hang out with their family."

And then we point. When you're on a cruise in Resurrection Bay, with hundreds of other tourists, you almost have to knock down and drag people out of the way to see into the bay--to actually see the whales. You have to be ready to rush from one side of the boat to the other. Someone shouts out a sighting, and everyone rushes to the spot. Then someone else spots a whale and everyone rushes to the next spot. It is a miracle if you're standing in the exact right place and can actually see the whales. 

We are dying to get a good photo. But it's hard. We click and click and all we end up with are whale tails. The whales leap up but by the time we click, they are submerged with just their tails as evidence that they were ever there.

Whales do not pose for photos.

I am determined, though, to catch a full bodied whale. I take a video:

Imagine--whales are swimming along--under the water and then they pop up like jack in the boxes, water spouts up and then they dive under the water again. You learn to look for clues so you can see one of those magic moments.

 You look for seabirds--the gulls, the shearwaters, the gannets and the petrels who gather near a whale family to partake of the buffet of fish the whales create. Whales herd fish and krill to the surface, which the seabirds love. You see the birds, you see the whales.

We realize part of the way through our whale watching (with Theo in our arms, equally captivated) or so we think that he isn't looking at the whales at all. No, by gosh, he's enamored with the seabirds that are madly flying around, hoping for a snack.

That's how Dan puts it. "See those birds, Theo. They want a snack."

It all makes perfect sense to Theo, whose view of the world is much simpler than ours. Much more pragmatic than ours. 

"Are you noticing the whales at all?" I want to know.

Theo looks up at me. Then goes back to watching the whales . . . no, correction please--I now know the truth. He's watching those darn birds. Even as we see the most magnificent sight of all, more than tails. We see the whales leaping up out of the water. Yes.

As we eventually sail back to dock (after spending hours chasing a whale family in the bay) we pass another amazing sight. Seals are sunbathing on the rocks. And you can actually see the entire seal. We imagine they've already put on their suntan lotion and will be there for hours, hoping for a tan.

Does Theo even notice or is he looking backwards, hoping to see more birds. 

Theo Finds a Musk Ox Friend

I have to admit. I never heard of a Musk Ox before I went to Alaska. I never saw one in a zoo. I never saw one on TV. 

Theo is also suspicious. We have a chance to visit a Musk Ox Farm.

"Sounds like fun," I tell him. 

He squints up at me, seemingly disbelieving every word that comes out of my mouth.

"No, they're real animals," I hasten to add. "I'm not kidding."

"Do I have a choice?" He doesn't say those words, but I can usually tell what's rattling around in that cat brain of his.

So we are here. A beautiful day. A rambling farm where the musk oxen roam. In Palmer, Alaska.

We learn there's an organization FOMO that's dedicated to protecting and teaching the world about musk ox. And, of course, selling some products and making some money.  

We learn that back in 1954, to help preserve these animals, John Teal domesticates a few musk ox calf on his farm in Vermont. Ten years later he moves his animals to Fairbanks, Alaska. His idea is always compassionate caring for animals through gentle, low stress husbandry. 

We learn that the musk ox goes back 2 million years and are often confused with the bison or the yak. During the last Ice Age (10-20,000 years ago) the musk oxen roamed the earth with woolly mammoths. 

We learn that both males and females have horns like sheep and goats. They also shed and regrow their coat every year, a process that is spurred by on by the warmer and/or colder weather.

Finally, the process of socialization (getting used to people) is important for the musk oxen on the farm so they feel comfortable and safe.

We are anxious to get out and see the musk oxen in person. They are behind a fence. But we can get fairly close to them.

They are magnificent creatures. I try to imagine their existence even 10,000 years ago. It is truly a look back into time itself. I want more than anything to get on the other side of the fence. I want to get closer. 

I glance down at Theo. He is here by special permission, a solemnagreement that states Theo must stay on our side of the fence. 

I see him mosing around, closer and closer to the barrier that separates him the musk oxen and his chance to sniff. I fear he'll find a way to break through, which would not be a good thing. 

"Don't even think about it. Remember you promised."

Sometimes Theo seems to have a hearing problem. Can he hear me? Do cats enter into their own world where they block out everything else in the pursuit of a single goal? Chase a squirrel or bird. Sniff a bug crawling on the floor. Slip into a closet where there's a giant bag of snacks.

"Maybe you should pick him up just to be sure," I say to Dan.

"He's fine."

"I'm afraid . . ."

"Theo can see how big they are. He's not going anywhere."

But then everything changes. We go to a separate part of the farm, still fenced in, where most of the baby musk ox are. There's something about seeing a miniature version of the musk ox, how small and cute they are. How cuddly they must be if you could pick them up. Theo seems to be thinking the same thing.

Suddenly, a baby musk ox wanders up to the fence. 

He's as curious as we are. I turn to see where Theo is. He's at my feet, his nose already in between the openings of the fence, sniffing, sniffing. By gosh, he begins to sniff the baby musk ox. No fear. And the baby seems perfectly content to sit there and be sniffed!

I feel guilty. Right above the musk ox's head is a sign--Do Not Put Hands Through Fence. Technically, Theo is keeping his paws on his side of the fence, but that sniffing nose . . . 

It's over even before it's begun. Theo is safe, but in that short amount of time, he's made a friend. They both stare at each other. Close encounters. How wonderful!

Theo Naps and Snacks in Historic Talkeetna

 Traveling around with a gangster cat can be a chore, at times. You want to do one thing, and he wants to do another. How do I convince Theo that Talkeetna (yes, the place where he had ice cream) is worth checking out--especially the historic places that go back to the 1890's?

The only sure fire method is a bribe. You do this for me and I'll do this for you. Of course, we're talking about snacks, plenty of snacks.

One tour is all we want, we tell him. 

He issues back a plaintive meow. 

We strike a deal.

The first known people of the Talkeetna area were called "mountain people." They lived in the area 6,000 years ago. They were nomadic Indians who hunted caribou and fished the three rivers that joined together nearby. The last of the mountain people died in 1918 during the flu epidemic. They left only oral stories behind, no written records.

Isabella Grindrod arrived in Talkeetna in 1917 and worked many jobs (laundry, cook) before buying her own cabin near the Talkeetna River, starting a freight company with two brothers, eventually marrying one of them which led to the Talkeetna Trading Post. When her husband died, she added a dining room to the trading post and began to serve meals. She kept chickens and a large garden. Unfortunately, her cabin no longer exists but here's a photo:

We're excited to walk into a cabin that does still exist, a railroad era style 1920's cabin to glimpse the inside  and see how people lived. This cabin was bigger than most. The owner also had a horse barn and small blacksmith shop and was the village blacksmith for ten years before he moved away. 

We visit another cabin, which was typical of a one room cabin built in 1916. The owner worked for the railroad, trapped and practiced gold mining. When he married and started a family, he didn't do the obvious thing and enlarge the cabin but built another cabin nearby. 

Theo likes the cabins. He spends as much time as he can sniffing around. He jumps up and looks out the window. When he tries to take a nap on one of the beds, it's time to go.

Life was tough back then. We pause to look at the breathtaking scenery, which is one reason why people lived there--in so much isolation. 

"Well, what did you think?" I ask my unusually cooperative gangster cat as we're walking back through town to catch the shuttle to our hotel.

He doesn't say a meow, only licks his lips--having just wolfed down an entire plate of snacks. 

Okay, Talkeetna is a hit in Theo's book. And in ours, too.