Then, one morning, tragedy occurred. I went down to the garage to feed the animals, and I found that Juanita had developed pneumonia. Already she was so weak she could not stand, and I knew that unless we worked fast she would die. It was too cold to leave her down in the garage, so wrapping her in a blanket, I drove back to my friend’s flat, where I was staying. Here we put Juanita, who was by now unconscious, in front of a lire, wrapped up in blankets, and I gave her an injection of penicillin. For hours there was no change. She just lay there, hardly breathing, with her eyes closed. Then, towards evening, she opened her eyes and sat up, and I knew that there was a chance of her recovering. I fed her on brandy and milk, and last thing at night gave her another injection. To make sure that she did not uncover herself during the night and get a fresh chill, I decided to sleep on the sofa with her. That first night she behaved very well, though she tried to kick off the blankets in her sleep, and I had to keep waking up and covering her up again. The next morning, although she was still very weak, there was a great improvement, and she even had enough interest in life to object strongly when I gave her an injection. That night she was much stronger, so much so that when we lay down on the sofa to sleep, she decided that she would like a game. Her idea of a game was to go to one end of the sofa and take a running jump on to my chest, landing on her sharp little hoofs, and then try to bite my ear.
I soon put a stop to this game, and then she lay on her back alongside me and kicked her legs in the air, wriggled and grunted, and generally behaved in a most disgraceful fashion, until I had to put on the light and speak to her most severely. I must say that I was very glad when Juanita got better, not only because I did not want to lose her, but also because it is very exhausting to try to sleep with a peccary. Now, of course, Juanita is very grown up, and even has a daughter of her own. Her daughter, as her mother used to, likes having her tummy scratched, but Juanita just looks on in scorn: she feels she is much too old to indulge in such childish antics.
The anteaters and armadillos belong to a group of animals of which I am very fond, and they all come from South America. The giant anteater is, of course, the biggest of the anteaters, as well as being the most curious looking. With their long icicle-shaped heads,
White-
collared
Peccary
their handsome pattern of gray and black, and their huge bushy tails, the giant anteaters are spectacular looking creatures, and a full grown one may be as big as a St. Bernard dog. When I was in South America we once had a very exciting hunt after a giant ant- eater. It was in the grasslands of Guiana. An Indian hunter came to me one day and said that he had discovered an area where a giant anteater was living, and would we like to go and try to catch it. So, early one morning, we set off on horseback, carrying lassos with which to catch the anteater if we saw him, and several large sacks to wrap him in. We rode for three or four hours across the golden grass fields, and I was just beginning to feel very sleepy when our Indian guide reined in his horse and said that we had arrived.
He pointed to the area ahead of us, which was a very slight valley, filled with long grass and small, stunted bushes. Somewhere in there, the Indian informed us, he was sure the anteater was sleeping. So the three of us spread out in a line and rode through the grass and bushes, making as much noise as we could to try to frighten the anteater out of his hiding place. We were nearing the end of the little valley, and I was just beginning to think the Indian had been mistaken about there being an anteater hidden there, when from under a clump of bushes we were approaching, out rushed a huge male giant anteater, and galloped away across the grass, his tremendous tail streaming out behind him, like a flag, as he ran.
Immediately, shouting with excitement, we got our lassos ready, spurred up our horses and galloped after him. It was an exciting chase, because the ground was so uneven that we had to be very careful our horses did not stumble and throw us over their heads, but slowly we gained on the anteater. Our Indian guide was the first one to ride up alongside the animal, and he threw his lasso, but at that moment his horse stumbled, and his lasso fell short. He coiled up the rope and tried again, and this time the loop fell neatly over the anteater’s long snout. As I rode up alongside, the Indian leapt from his horse and pulled the lasso tight. I threw my lasso and managed it successfully, and it tightened round the anteater’s chest.
I jumped off my horse, and the Indian and 1, both hanging on to our lassos, were dragged across the grass by the anteater, who was, by now, very angry and snorting like a steam engine. But at last, after a long struggle, we managed to get another rope round his legs, and soon we had him trussed up so that he could not move. Then we put him in a sack, with just his head sticking out, and got ready to try to put him on one of the horses. Every time we lifted him up to try to put him on the saddle, he hissed so loudly and vigorously that the horse took fright and would not let us put what it obviously considered to be a fearsome monster on its back. In fact, none of the horses would carry our capture, so there we were miles away from camp, with an anteater in a sack and no method of getting it back. At last the Indian had to ride back to camp and fetch a bull, who was very strong and brave, and did not mind carrying anything, least of all hissing anteaters. It was late at night when we arrived back at camp with Amos, as we had christened the anteater. The next morning I had another problem, and that was to teach Amos to eat. In the wild state, of course, the anteaters break open the hard white ants’ nests and feed on them, but when you take an anteater back to a zoo you cannot supply him with white ants, so you have to teach him to eat something that can be supplied. It is a mixture of finely minced meat, raw egg and milk. At first, of course, the anteater will not look at this strange diet, and
Giant
Anteater
Amos was no exception. In fact he was so stubborn that I was beginning to think I would have to let him go, and then I had an idea. I went to a white ants1 nest, broke it open and scooped out a jugful of white ants, and these I sprinkled over the top of the meat and egg mixture. Seeing white ants on top made Amos very enthusiastic, and he had soon eaten up the whole bowl of food. For a week he was given the mixture, with white ants on top, and gradually, day by day, I reduced the number of ants, until, at the end of the week, Amos was eating his new diet with gusto, and thriving on it.
Funny enough strangely, you have no feeding troubles with the other sort of anteater found in South America, the small brown and silver tamandua (ta-man-DWA). These will take to the mince, egg and milk diet without any trouble. The trouble they give you is in catching them. Unlike the giant anteater, the tamandua lives in thick forest, and is a skilful tree climber; the only way you can hunt and catch him is with a pack of dogs. I remember one hunt I undertook, in the Guiana forests, after a tamandua, and it was a hunt that lasted nearly all day. We had set off into the forests in the early morning, myself, three Indian guides and a pack of five dogs. The dogs soon found a scent, and rushed off through the trees, all barking excitedly, and we ran after them, ducking and jumping over the tangled creepers. It was very important that we kept up with the dogs: otherwise, when they cornered the animal, they might harm it if we were not there to call them off.
Eventually the hunt led us to the banks of a small river and there, standing at bay among the bushes, was a huge iguana, the giant South America lizard that, with its emerald green skin and crest along its back, looks just like a story-book dragon. After some difficulty we managed to get a net over him, and then put him in a bag before continuing with the hunt. We walked for about an hour before the dogs got another scent, and after we had run about two miles we found to our annoyance that the dogs had lost whatever it was they had been chasing. It was not until evening that the dogs found another fresh scent, and raced off, barking loudly. By this time we were very tired, and it was all we could do to keep up with them. Then, as I was running along, I brushed a small bush out of my way. It was unfortunate that this particular bush contained a tree-ants’ nest, and a dozen or so of the ants fell on to my arm. These ants, although quite tiny, can give you a vicious bite, and within a minute my arm was red and swollen, and I felt as though I had been stung by about forty wasps. Fortunately, shortly after that, the dogs came to a halt, and I was able to bathe my arm in a stream which made it feel better.