9.
Ninth in a series of short writings about our recent ecotourism trip to Costa
Rica
Two-fingered
sloth on the ground. I was told that “two-fingered” is the best name because
the digits being counted are on the anterior limbs, thus on the hands instead
of feet. Later, at the Sloth Sanctuary of Costa Rica, at Cahuita, we also got a
lesson on sloth urination and defecation, bodily functions in which this one
was obviously involved, or it would not have been on the ground. If you go to Costa
Rica as an ecotourist, somebody will make sure you see sloths. Nobody in their
wildest dreams, however, can guarantee you’d see one on the ground in the wild,
near a relatively popular beach, on a Sunday. Needless to say, among the crowd
that watched this one make its way across the sand and gravel to a nearby palm,
in a swimming-like crawl that can only be called “agonizing,” there were
hundreds of smart phone photos taken and probably sent, instantly, to friends
around the world. I’m wondering how many of those pics were accompanied by the
biology lesson: Hoffmanns’ two-toed sloth, Choloepus hoffmanni, on the
beach after pissing and taking a crap.
Prior
to this ecotourism trip to Costa Rica, my only encounter with sloths was in a
village along the Amazon a couple of days downriver from Iquitos, Peru. I was
with a group of students from two eastern prep schools, their teachers,
including Jim Serach, a Cedar Point Biological Station alum, and one of my own
doctoral students, Alaine Knipes, now with CDC. We’d stopped in this village to
buy stuff. One girl was holding a baby sloth. Immediately I asked to hold it,
too. Somebody took some pictures. That little sloth clung to my arm and hand;
that’s the only way I can describe it. I
don’t remember ever falling in love with a wild animal as completely, and
quickly, as I did with that little sloth. We asked the girl what she fed it;
she answered “leaves.” We asked her what she was going to do with it when it
grew up. She answered “eat it.”
A
few days after the Sloth Sanctuary visit, Karen and I were having breakfast
with another couple. The conversation turned to sloths, and the rationale for
spending all that time, money, and human energy on the rescue of so many that
were either injured or otherwise damaged in a way that prevented their return
to the wild. The only answer I could provide was the emotional impact of being
close to these creatures, hearing details about their biology, and staring into
their faces. I was not allowed to hold any of the sloths at the Sanctuary. I am
convinced, from handling many different kinds of creatures, that any kind of a
close encounter changes the way we view those organisms, whether they be
beautiful, soft, and brown-eyed ones like that Amazonian one eventually headed
for the dinner table, or those gorgeous, but microscopic, ones seen in the
intestine of some other animal. Meaningful interaction destroys fear and
stimulates curiosity—no matter the participants. The big time take-home lesson
from biology.
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