A skunk in the pool

My duties as the zoo veterinarian covered more than just the animal collection. From time to time there were situations in which the blowgun I had designed proved invaluable. 

 

     One such occasion followed a call from a worried householder who lived not far from the zoo grounds. “There’s a skunk in my swimming pool, and he can’t get out. Can you help?” she said. 

The striped (as opposed to the spotted) skunk is the main carrier of rabies in the prairies, so I approached the problem with great care. Zookeeper and friend Stu Hampton and I headed to the home to see what we could do.

 When we arrived the situation took on an extra level of complexity. The skunk was not just in the pool. A bedraggled and soaking wet, thoroughly miserable, lump of black and white hair sat in the middle of the pool on the blue cover, or so-called blanket. Two glistening eyes, the only bright thing that identified the animal as more than a child’s teddy bear, looked resignedly at us. 

We both went to the long edge of the oblong pool in the hope of persuading the animal to escape at the other side. It did shift away from us but only got to the pool’s edge before we realized why it was using the centre of the blanket as a resting place. When it tried to reach up to the pool edge, its weight promptly depressed the nylon material so that the skunk sank up to its belly and could not reach the tiled rim. Carrying one of the zoo nets Stu quickly went to the other side, where the skunk was still trying its best. It promptly retired to the middle.

My next possible solution was to use the blowgun. With the dart loaded with a suitable drug I went back to the long side of the pool so that the range would be minimal. The creature at once retreated. I could in no way ask my partner in this exercise to stand opposite me and drive the skunk back to the middle so that I could dart at a range of no more than three and a half metres. Such an action would be beyond dangerous. The last thing either of us needed was for Stu to be darted if the projectile should ricochet off the blanket surface.

         So, back to the short end of the pool. Now the hours of practice came into their own. The target was no larger than three of my palms held side by each. At a range of fifteen metres I pinged the dart right into the skunk.  Success! He was soon out cold.  The housewife looked amazed, Stu seemed impressed and I was delighted. The rest was simple. I lifted the blanket’s edge, causing the skunk slide down to the other side where Stu used the net. As a fisherman he had plenty of experience. Luckily the animal had not discharged its infamous scent so all was good.

A wild deer in the sitting room

Watching a group of wild deer cross the pond in front of the house is a form of magic. A wild deer in the house is a different matter. Something has to be done.
  

Eight does on the pond

By the late 1970s humans had acquired the ability to administer drugs to animal patients that were either dangerous or too far away to inject by hand. 

 Heavy metal darts, the kind seen on many a film of the time were well established. They are not precisely accurate enough for small targets. They can either miss, or cause severe damage. I had seen an X-ray of an unfortunate small dog that had been darted by a dog-catcher with one such projectile. The entire dart was buried deep inside its body. It died in seconds. The catcher and the owners must have been horrified. An alternative seems to be a good idea.

The new technique owed much to the men of hunter-gatherer societies in many countries. They had developed blow-gun systems that allowed them to shoot darts high into the forest canopy with deadly accuracy. Their darts had tips coated with paralyzing or poisoned compounds (working on the target, not the consumer) that brought down animals for use a food.

The basic design of those darts was converted into syringes that carried vaccines or other treatment drugs. 

Vaccination of a zoo lion. The blow dart can be seen in his hip.

Many zoo veterinarians and their patients benefited from the modernization of this ancient technique.

In chapter six book of my book From Porcupines to Polar Bears I describe my own struggles with the development of the blow dart and how I put it to use.

One problem that needed a quick solution was the noise emitted when blowing into the pipe. It is a noise that should at all costs be avoided when in polite company. Many readers will admit, under pressure, that in private the noise is associated with warming of the bed.

A simple mouthpiece solves the noise problem.

The solution was simple. A mouthpiece did double duty. It cut out the noise and ensured that all the effort in the puff propelled the dart with maximum power.

 On one occasion a call from the city police meant that I had to deal with a situation outside the zoo. The tool came into its own. An invasion of a home by a white-tailed deer needed urgent action.

In fall young males are often driven off by big bucks wanting to ensure that any females became their sole (or is that soul?) mates.

Under normal circumstances the youngsters head off into the countryside. But on this and other occasions the young deer seem to lose their minds. .

A buck had leapt through the picture window of a house with a fine view of the university buildings across the South Saskatchewan River. Two ladies of a certain age were enjoying a quiet cup of tea. Their afternoon view underwent a dramatic change.

The deer had no doubt come up from the bush-lined river bank. Naturally it panicked when it found itself in the unfamiliar environment of a city sitting room. Soon there were shards of bone china mixed with the shattered glass of the window. The ladies wisely retreated and made the call. When I arrived some fifteen minutes later the room lacked what I assumed was its former pristine state. The sofa was shredded. The carpet was decorated with a fresh stain of something dark wet and smelly. Several flowers lay scattered among greenery beside the coffee table.

The deer was standing still, no doubt bemused in unfamiliar surroundings. A drug-filled dart with its bright red woollen tail soon had the young buck down and out. Thence into the zoo truck and away to a wooded spot some fifteen kilometres from the city limits. Into the jugular vein went an antidote to the immobilizing mixture Thirty second later it was up and away, without even a look back of thanks.