Stealth Mode Activated

Hoodwinked for his own good

When you work in a captive aviary, where all of your animals literally have a bird’s-eye view of the entire exhibit, being stealthy becomes complicated. But, never let it be said that myself and my fellow bird keepers were not capable of outsmarting the birds. I mean, we had to work at it, and sometimes, we did not outsmart them in any way, but we at least had a better than average chance. And let me tell you, we went to some seriously ridiculous lengths to pull one over on the birds, usually when one was injured or sick and needed to be seen and treated by the vet.

Treatments for birds are even more complicated than most captive species, because they can and do easily get physically overwhelmed. During their capture and handling, they can very quickly overheat and die in your hands, particularly if they are one of the smaller songbird species. So, captures have to be made quickly and everyone has to be ready to act fast once the bird is in hand if we hope to return them safely to their environment without causing harm.

Every bird capture at the aviary began with the birds all knowing the minute anyone entered their exhibit to do anything remotely different from the daily norm. They knew individual faces, so trying to disguise yourself in civilian clothes rather than your uniform did no good. In addition, if a particular individual gets too invested in a capture project, the birds will spread the word to everyone to be wary of that particular human as soon as any of them have caught you at it. Then, all the birds will alarm call about your presence the moment they spot you.

Having set the stage a little, let me tell you the story of the capture of our male hooded pita with a limp. Mr. Pita was a blue-jay-sized, ground-dwelling bird. His plumage was a pretty green color with an all black head that blended seamlessly into the rainforest plants. He had elongated legs with wide, long feet for moving silently through the forest underbrush. Pitas are extremely timid and shy, as well. And to make things even more complex, I give them an above average intelligence rating, just based on this particular experience alone.

We started out trying to capture Mr. Pita via the usual means. We had long ago realized we needed to keep some permanent capture cages in the exhibit to use on the regular. We would spring the traps and reset them randomly without actually handling any of the birds. This way, they were less likely to panic when a trap closed. In addition, we made the trap areas feeding areas with all of the birds’ favorite foods, so as many of them as possible would be willing to go into the cages.

This practice helped us get a closer look at the birds anytime someone appeared sick, injured, or was simply behaving abnormally in any way. Birds, like all prey animals, are exceptionally good at masking symptoms to keep any problems from being detected which would make them more vulnerable to predators. So the slightest symptom could often be a serious health issue. The moment an issue was detected, we would start by only offering our target’s favorite food in the trap cages. In this case, Mr Pita’s favorite wax worms and bee larvae were offered only in the capture cage closest to his favorite hang out.

Mr. Pita’s home was the RJ Reynold’s Forest Aviary of the North Carolina Zoo, so it was a large glass-domed exhibit filled with over four thousand tropical plants of 450 different species, along with nine thirty-foot, extremely large ficus trees to provide the needed forest canopy across the entire exhibit. It was a true simulated tropical forest. At the time of this story, the aviary housed over 200 birds of 56 different species. So imagine how much work and steady observations went into knowing each of these individual birds well enough to know their favorite foods, the usual areas where they could be found, and what behaviors were normal or abnormal on any given day. It was a never-ending challenge that I absolutely loved.

Mr. Pita liked to hang out near our largest “trap cage” and anywhere between this cage and the exhibit’s public exit doors behind the largest of the aviary trees. He would move back and forth in that general area throughout the day on most days. But, every time any of the keepers were sitting in the exhibit, no matter how far away we sat, or how well we tried to camouflage the string that would be yanked to spring the trap door, the pita refused to go inside the cage.

It didn’t matter that this was the only place we were offering his favorite bugs, for over a week he refused to be a part of our attempts to capture him. And steadily his limp grew more pronounced. We began rotating keepers in shifts, to no avail. We tried having some of the other keepers and interns try, since they were less recognizable to the birds. No luck. Mr. Pita was clearly not going to be duped by his foolish bird keepers.

It became clear after almost two weeks that we were going to need to take drastic measures. Left without treatment, Mr. Pita could become very ill or potentially lose his foot or leg, which would be a death sentence for a ground dwelling bird like him. It was time to activate our stealthiest maneuvers. The aviary team had perfected serious stealth back in our renovation days. The previous year, we had needed to capture all of the birds who lived in the aviary and transport them to an off-exhibit holding facility while major structural repairs were made to the aviary. After forty years of moist, rainforest air, large tree roots, and older equipment failing, there was no other option than to complete a major overhaul.

We spent weeks mist netting, capturing our birds, and relocating them. I am happy to say we only had two injuries to the birds, one minor injury to a human, and no deaths as a result of said capture and move. By the end of that whole process, when we had introduced the birds back on exhibit, I was very impressed with all of us.

We learned to practice serious stealth when it came down to capturing the last birds to be caught off the exhibit. Our flock of Scarlet Ibis lived most of their lives in the aviary’s highest canopy, only coming to the ground to eat. They were very good at working as a flock to alert each other whenever they spotted any of us in the exhibit. Apparently, Mr. Pita was going to need us to reenact our Ibis stealth operation that had eventually netted us those last few ibis.

This meant the keeper who volunteered for the job, in this case me, would have to come in to work in the early morning before sunrise to hide in the dark before the birds woke up for the day. We built a palm frond, one-woman tent, with a memory foam mat to lie on my stomach under all the plants at the base of one of the large ficus trees. I could peep out of a small hole to see the trap cage. I would have to stay extremely still, making as little noise as possible, and literally lay in wait. It takes patience and fortitude to pull this kind of work off, and for some strange reason, I love it. Despite being someone who always talks too much and has to stay busy as a bee all the time not to be anxious, when it comes to capturing or observing birds, I can quiet down and stay still for hours.

Now that my meditation practice has deepened with time, I can see how the act of hiding in stealth was very down-regulating, and when I would focus on the now to observe the birds, I would find a place of calm in my monkey mind, or at least the space to recognize my own chaos and choose a different path. Though, I won’t lie, it wasn’t all deeply meaningful. I also liked being one of the best trapping keepers on our team, because I do have a competitive streak.

So, at 5:30 am, about twenty minutes before sunrise, I snuck into the aviary wearing all green clothing to slowly crawl into my little tent. We had built it days before, so the birds would get used to the addition. Checking my trap was set, and that it all looked adequately camouflaged, I got myself comfy lying on my stomach in the dirt. I even went so far as to paint my face with green makeup to keep my milky skin from showing too much through the leaves once the sun came up.

And then I waited. The hardest part of the entire experience was seeing the ants crawling past the mat in the earthen planters and hoping they would not decide I was tastier than the food bowl leftovers at the nearby feeding station. It was an hour before I heard the first keeper come into the exhibit to pull the old food and put out the first round of live bugs. And when Mr. Pita looked around nervously and opted not to go into the trap for his treats, I felt defeated. Still, I opted to hold my position until the first morning feed.

It was another three full hours before the keepers came into the exhibit with the first feeding, just about the time the exhibit opened to the public. Lying prone, I began getting drowsy from the early morning wake up. I struggled to keep my eyes open and actively watch for Mr. Pita once my coffee high had worn off. Around an hour later, I caught myself snoring softly and came awake to find Mr. Pita standing less than three feet away from my face.

I have no idea how I didn’t gasp, he startled me so badly. He paused in his stealthily walk past my face and looked around. I tried to take slow, very shallow breaths so he wouldn’t hear me. Eventually, he crept past, moving closer to the trap cage. He seemed to have no idea he was walking so close to me, and obviously had not thought my little snorefest was a threat.

My heart picked up the closer Mr. Pita got to the trap. I held my breath entirely as he stood right in the door looking around. Once again, he decided something was off and he turned and walked right back past me again, never once making the first sound as he walked back and forth in front of my face. Meanwhile, I remember trying to make myself somehow less in every way, as if I might be able to pull my very aura inside so he wouldn’t figure out the game before I got to make my move.

By the time I heard the keepers rolling the feeding cart into the exhibit at 9:30, I was starting to have trouble keeping still. Parts of my body were tingly or aching. I remember saying silent prayers to whoever might be listening that Mr. Pita would decide he needed his wax worms and bee larva. I was willing to do just about anything at this stage.

When the keepers were done feeding the entire exhibit, which takes a good thirty minutes, and they had finally left, Mr. Pita emerged from his hiding spot again and gingerly limped past me to the trap once more. He paced back and forth a few times making me want to throw something at him, or at least throw a serious tantrum, but I held myself in check. Finally, he took his chance, and walked into the back of the trap cage to his bug bowl.

The hardest part was not acting too soon. I waited until his face was down in the midst of his bug feast before pulling my string and bursting from my hide to secure his door. Of course, I tripped and almost fell flat on my face when I found one leg totally asleep. Through the miracle of prayer, or more likely sheer luck, I managed to make it to the door and zip it closed before Mr. Pita found the opening to escape.

I waddled out to the nearest bench like a limping duck and slumped down onto it, calling the team on my handheld radio to let them know the job was done. Now, it would be up to them to net and treat him once the vets arrived. In the meantime, we backed off and gave him time to calm down from the initial scare. It turned out Mr. Pita had what is known as bumble foot, or an infection in his digit that needed care. He spent a couple of weeks contained in the trap cage area at the back of the exhibit where we could net him more easily for vet treatments, which were mostly oral, but also included some washing, medicating, and bandaging his foot until it had healed up. He survived all of the hullabaloo and successfully recovered, making the long hours of discomfort that day absolutely worth it to me.

Even though I left the exhibit that morning a soil covered, sweaty mess, with green makeup streaked down my face, I remember a euphoric feeling. The same one I always got after the thrill of a good capture where no one was hurt and we got to help the animals. I got an amazing sort of high each time. But it was particularly sweet with those like Mr. Pita’s who made us work for it.

After caring for so many different types of birds over my zoo career, from ducks, to storks and ibis, to toucans, and pitas, and warblers, I can 100% guarantee that we, as a species, have not been giving birds enough credit. We consider being “bird-brained” an insult, meaning foolish, stupid, scattered, flighty. It really should be a compliment on intelligence, canniness, aptitude, fortitude, and the most amazing work ethic in the universe. I can only wish to one day be as strong and wise and savvy as a bird.