Becoming a zookeeper

Number one: Blood, Sweat and Tears

There is nothing quite like a first day in a new job. Let alone when you’ve dreamt about this day since 13 years old. It wasn’t seeing the animals, I’d done that as a visitor, but it was the kitchen. My god, the chopping boards, magnetic knife racks and pages upon pages of laminated diet sheets lining the walls. Stepping outside the hum of the enormous meat freezer (little did I expect to be washing gallons of blood out of it the next day) and the lavish stocks of hay, lucerne and pellet feeds in the barn opposite were a reminder of the scale of the diners here. Yet there were familiarities to me, filling hay nets and puzzle balls for horses and scooping pellets into rubber buckets occupied my whole life. My feet were light in my walking boots but my red suitcase stood out like a sore thumb, signifying my outsider status. I was given reams of paper work, including details of the animal escape procedure, radio codes and zoonoses (risk of disease transmission between humans and animals). I was also shown the panel of alarms, with everything from a smoke alarm to ones that were triggered by breaks in electric fences surrounding the most dangerous animals. I was then shown the small wooden bothy with a single bed and no linen and a small electric heater which would be my home for the next month. Alone and isolated, vast hills everywhere you looked, I sank onto the bed and freed tears of pure joy.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I had been around the whole park the previous afternoon seeing the incredible range of species and even more impressive enclosures. I couldn’t settle knowing there was very little between me and them. The nocturnal sounds meant I couldn’t switch off — the hoot of the eagle owls next door broke any amount of silence. Later in my stay it was the howl of the wolves at 11:30 until midnight. I slept early in anticipation of the wakening. This was exciting news for the keepers as it signified that the previously unsettled pack had become more stable and unified. One night a blaring alarm woke me up and I reasoned it was the polar bear fence alarm I had been warned about. Something had disrupted the electric barrier surrounding the two male polar bears and I knew not if it was a leaf or a polar bear! I could not leave the bothy until a senior member of staff arrived for work and could access the fire arms and instead stuffed ear plugs in as far as they would go and went back to sleep. I guess at that stage the heavy physical work was catching up! Fortunately, the bears were found snoozing safely in their houses that morning and a wet night meant a heavy branch was the likely cause.

On my first day of work, I was asked to assist with the keeper for a day experience during the polar bear encounter. This is a common experience in UK zoos, allowing members of the public behind the scenes and providing a good source of extra income. I was tasked to take photos of the guest and generally assist where necessary, mainly carrying buckets. It soon became apparent that after a few photos were snapped, (awkwardly holding strangers’ phones with oily, bloody gloved hands) that whilst the keeper talked and demonstrated target training with one bear, that the other bear would need distracting. I was able to feed him, initially using tongs to grasp small pieces of apple, carrot and horse meat and post them through to him. After soon losing the expensive tongs to the bear which were destroyed in approximately 0.5 seconds, I was told to just use my fingers (“you won’t be so careless with those!”), giving me somewhat of an adrenaline rush. Polar bears are however clever, considerate carnivores and take food very delicately, seeming to respect the fact that we provide food and are not ourselves a source of food. At the end of the session, we squirted almost a litre of cod liver oil into the eager lips of each bear, using an old washing up liquid bottle. I subsequently performed this routine every day for the two weeks I experienced the carnivore section.

The tigers were not so polite. The enormous male rattled the bars the whole time we worked around his enclosure, with a deafening presence. They snatched food from the sticks we used to pass them food and I again let one of them get hold of the stick with the meat. My reaction for some reason was to keep hold of the stick to pull it back off him. Obviously this was a dangerous losing battle. Whilst they were safely shut indoors we serviced the jungle of an outdoor enclosure, where I had serenely sat watching the tigers diving into the pool on a hot day off work. A crowd gathered ready for the tiger talk at 2pm. I took great pleasure in cleaning the inside of the windows and smiling back at their horrified faces, bemused as to why I wasn’t being mauled to death. It still mystifies me when people think looking after dangerous animals means throwing food from a distance and never cleaning the enclosures in order to avoid being eaten. There are always areas off show to the public which securely hold the animals in order for us to access others. We hung calf legs up around the enclosure, using high platforms and a telegraph pole to encourage the tigers to use some of their pouncing, jumping and climbing abilities. After the outdoor area was securely locked and the two heavy gates were checked and checked again by only the most senior keeper, he could let the tigers loose. Usually there was a collective uptake of breath from the crowd as the male ran out first, scaled the telegraph pole in two leaps and had his meat before they had blinked.

There were several smaller carnivore species which were just as special to work with. The male arctic fox was blind and I had to make noise as I put his food around his enclosure so he knew it was there. The lynx had cubs shortly before my stay and I would always stop and stare at their enormous feet, far too big for their slender little bodies. They often sat by the fence gazing at the different people walking past. Birds were also part of the carnivore section and a highlight was getting to work with capercaillie. Huge, very reactive birds which require a lot of respect to work around: cleaning them meant walking low to the ground, moving slowly and not looking at the bird at all, which is difficult when you also have to be aware of where the bird is. The snowy owls were a lovely quiet pair, who nested happily in their steep, rocky enclosure (better than the arctic I suppose!). Snowy owls hunt by ambush, leaping off the ground in a somersault worthy of a gold medal, snatching prey in their huge outstretched talons. To mimic this we threw rats over their fence and true to their natural behaviour they erupted from the rocks like big fluffy athletes, never failing to catch the rat whilst upside down.

The wild cats were another animal that we could work around with them in their enclosure, again with no sudden movements and passive body language. I was tasked to feed them during the public talk. I felt very self conscious as I climbed between the awkward branches in their forest enclosure (enclosures are always designed to be great for the animals and be aesthetically pleasing from public viewpoints, NEVER to be easy to access and clean), in front of a large crowd, holding a bowl of rats cut in half. I must have hesitated slightly too long in placing one on a branch as a very loud hiss and growl told me. I looked up (as best I could whilst stooped between logs) to see a cat stalking straight toward me, her fur all sticking up. The keeper stopped the talk to say “just throw the rat to her Sunny, quickly!”.

One challenge of working with different carnivore species is providing enough mental stimulation to offset their lack of active hunting in captivity. Providing food in novel ways is the go to approach, especially with animals with a more varied diet like the polar bears. I vividly remember stuffing slightly off egg mayonnaise, kindly donated by the cafe staff, into cardboard tubes, donated by the public. They were also partial to a blood ice lolly, made by pouring blood into very large tubs and adding bits of carrot and apple. Frozen melons were a daily treat but unfortunately had to be lobbed from a decent distance over the twelve foot electrified fence, usually with strangers watching and a judging keeper waiting with “a woman throwing” type observing comment. It is also important with animals who use scent to provide sensory enrichment. The lynx were very partial to (as I’m sure dog owners are aware) of rolling in smelly things, especially bison poo. In the hot weather, we froze lumps of it which provided hours of entertainment.

The beaver was thrown a cabbage every day and it had always disappeared by the next day but the keepers had very rarely glimpsed the beaver. The enclosure was a river and could not be accessed easily. Towards the end of my stay I was joined by a fellow intern, a vet student. We were given permission to wander the park at night and try to spot the elusive cabbage eater. Needless to say we felt our way across wet slippery board walks, spooking ourselves with all of the sounds of the night and the endless expanse of blackness. We saw no beaver and as an icy rain set in we turned back and were faced with an almighty roar and then another. We jumped and then giggled nervously as we realised it was a roaring red stag in the park, being answered by a wild stag. The roar traveled and seemed very close but we kicked our scientific brains into gear and knew that evolution has made it appropriately loud and the stags were half a mile away.

During my stay, the army came in voluntarily to build a new enclosure for a female polar bear. I remember chatting to some of the army guys and telling them that I was staying on site in one of the bothies. He didn’t hesitate in saying that that would give him the creeps and he would never do it! I learnt a lot of DIY on that placement and the lovely Steve taught me how to saw properly, drill and use various other power tools. The price I paid was taking tea to the fellas in their workshop, trying to ignore the photos of topless girls lining the walls…

For the second half of my stay, I worked with the hoofstock team and was able to show off my poo picking and haynet filling skills. However, I soon learned that each variety of poo required a unique skill to swiftly flick it into the trailer. The keepers masterfully flicked many, many poos a minute and I had a lot to catch up on. The hardest were the sloppy yak cakes which, if not all caught in the shovel in one enormous sweep, became a very messy, time consuming job. This was back breaking. In addition, hoofstock are amongst you as you clean, unlike carnivores who are locked into adjacent enclosures. A keeper once had to dive into a bison paddock to retrieve a bucket (you soon learn that all tools are gold dust and missing one bucket from a morning routine can seriously upset your whole day when time is the essence). As I recall I was told to run to the pick up NOW and when I looked back from the safety of the passenger seat, she appeared to be trapped between a fence and the rear end of the gigantic bison bull. Not a place anyone wants to be and to see such a cool, collected and highly experienced keeper look momentarily worried was very disconcerting. She thought quickly on her feet (another skill I have had to acquire!) and tossed the rescued bucket in to the pick-up. The noise of it distracted him and he moved away to investigate. She dived into the driver’s seat unscathed — phew!

The Kiang is a tibetan species of ass. Being horsey, I was often found watching the herd, seeing how different their behaviour was to domestic horses. The stallion was ruthless. He sunk his teeth into the backs of the mares and ran with them for five-ten minutes at a time as they brayed and brayed. This is all natural behaviour but I couldn’t help feel for the beaten wives of the brute. He had been moved out of the enclosure in which public cars drove through, as he had basically tried to do the same to moving vehicles! One foot out of place when feeding them meant his back end would approach you all too quickly. As is the golden rule of dealing with such animals in zoos, a rake or broom was carried religiously. The friendly Prezwalski’s horse that I patted made up for the anger from the Kiang!

One day, when I had reached the stage of working more independently, I heard the radio call that one of the white lipped deer was giving birth. I took my buckets and raced across the park to meet a line of keepers at the enclosure. The nose and front feet were visible and I stayed to watch the birth, something which still never fails to leave me in slight awe of nature. In the next couple of days, the calf would have to be caught, sexed, vaccinated and an ear tag put into its ear, by law. White lipped deer are big animals and protective mums. Fortunately for us they leave their babies huddled in amongst clumps of grass whilst they go off and graze. I was part of a large team of keepers who entered the enclosure with a good amount of kit. We quietly shielded the baby and did our stuff before mum was really aware what had happened.

In a totally opposite experience, I also witnessed the death of a forest reindeer. As he was loaded on to a truck to go on for a post mortem in Edinburgh, the grim sight and smell turned all of the keepers green. I notice that the people who had worked with him his whole life did not show much outward emotion and did not let it affect the care of the other animals. Still, it was definitely a sombre day for everyone.

On my last day, I was taken with the keepers, perched on the side of the back of a pick up, to the far corner of the built up area of the park, to gaze out at the park boundaries, which extended far further than I had realised. The plans discussed then and there have since become reality and that fills me with hope for the future of zoos. A place of dreams, the park stood out, not only as it was so beautiful but also from the thrill of being so far away from home for the first time (and living in a wild animal park in a wooden bothy!). I learnt a lot about what makes a good keeper and was sad to leave and resume my studies. I also learned that it is not always the animal encounters which stay with you but the amazing colourful characters of the zoo keepers, species in themselves. The people I met there were all perfectly unique and interesting in their own right and one hundred percent lived and breathed for the health of the animals in their charge. Course and outspoken, a person easily offended by toilet humour and ruthless language could not cope with the life of a zoo keeper! But they made me feel welcome and acknowledged the help (unpaid of course) that I was to them, with their immense workload. To receive a hug as I was leaving from an ageing weight lifting mach-man tiger keeper was so surprising it truly touched me!