The Rhino with Glue-On Shoes Read Free Page B

with them. They were family.
    I explained to the somber group that Hondo had hepatic amyloidosis, an accumulation of inflammatory protein in the liver. The cause was unknown, and there was no specific treatment for it. The only thing we could reasonably do to help him would be to keep him out of fights—a natural part of chimp culture—because the liver was involved with blood clotting. He could bleed to death from a serious bite wound.
    The keepers and curators decided to separate Hondo from the unruly female chimps, so he could lead a quiet life with Jonathan, the homely and mischievous young male. There was no way to know how long Hondo would live. At the request of the teary-eyed keepers, I visited him in his holding area, and was heartbroken to find him lying on his back, looking weak and in obvious pain. When he saw me, he reached his index finger through the mesh. I offered mine, and he stroked my finger slowly. I felt powerless.
    But Hondo didn't. Being retired from the difficult job of keeping ten cranky, argumentative female apes in line agreed with him immediately. He and Jonathan spent their days swinging from fire hoses, eating giant lettuce leaves, throwing dirt, wearing their play socks, and basking in the sun in their enormous exhibit. Hondo gained weight, grew more hair, and looked healthier than ever. A year later, he was reintroduced to the troop, and regained control of his females. He remains that way today. He's not cured, but perhaps the time away from the troop reduced the stressors in his life, making it easier for his body to fight the liver disease.
    I've been away from the zoo for nearly two years now, and I miss Hondo and his comrades. When I have the chance to visit, I head straight for the chimp exhibit. He still gets quiet and comes over to have a chat with me. I know he misses me too—because, well, he did spit on the new veterinarian.

    ABOUT THE AUTHOR
    Barbara Wolfe grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio, and avidly read animal behavior books as a child. She received her bachelor of science degree in molecular genetics from the University of California, Davis, and her veterinary degree followed by a PhD in reproductive physiology from Texas A&M University. Dr. Wolfe's interest in zoo medicine began with her research in assisted reproduction of endangered species, which has ranged from antelope to cats to elephants. Board certified by the American College of Zoological Medicine, she has worked as a researcher and veterinarian for the National Zoo and the North Carolina Zoo, and is currently the director of wildlife and conservation medicine at the Wilds in Cumberland, Ohio. She is an associate editor for the
Journal of Zoo and Wildlife Medicine
, serves on the Wildlife Scientific Advisory Board for the Morris Animal Foundation, and still finds animal behavior fascinating.

The Eel and the Bartender
    by Beth Chittick Nolan, DVM, MS
    A green moray eel was donated to the New England Aquarium by a bartender from a neighboring state. For years, the eel had lived in a tank next to the bar, but it had begun to outgrow its home.
    In the wild, green morays are found in warm marine habitats such as rocky shorelines and coral reefs. They are solitary fish, spending most of the day hidden in crevices and emerging at night to hunt fish, shrimp, crabs, or cephalopods. From what I could gather, this eel was no shrinking violet. It had been a favorite among patrons, who would regularly check on it during their bar visits.
    When the eel first arrived at the aquarium in the late 1990s, we set up a large holding tank along a back wall of the gallery. There it was quarantined from other fish in the collection until we were sure it was healthy and doing well in its new environment. Soon after its arrival, it settled in behind the rockwork of the tank, as eels often do.
    For the first several days, the eel hid in its nook and refused food. This is not uncommon for some fish, especially after a move. The days