Dr. Robert E. Wrigley
The following is an excerpt from Robert Wrigley’s upcoming book, Chasing Nature: An Ecologist’s Lifetime of Adventures and Observations. This excerpt was carried recently in his high school newsletter.
My favourite animal
One question I was asked repeatedly while giving curator talks or leading tours at the Assiniboine Park Zoo was, “What is your favourite animal?” Without a doubt, my choice was the snow leopard, and in particular, our magnificent male, Dmitri. He was an exceptional animal both physically and in his aristocratic mannerisms. Built for power, leaping and speed, he moved with the grace of a fast-flowing stream, never suffering an awkward step or momentary loss of balance. His regal persona stopped visitors in their tracks, and the intensity of his glare was arresting, capable of sending chills down a visitor’s neck. Dmitri was a fine-tuned predator, truly a product of millions of years of evolution in a world of deep snow, howling winds, and rocky mountainsides so steep that one slip meant almost-certain death.
I once watched a television show narrated by the famous naturalist-broadcaster David Attenborough in which a female snow leopard was filmed in a death-defying pursuit of a markhor (a type of goat) down a near-vertical mountain slope in Pakistan. It was one of the most-dramatic, predator-prey chases I have ever seen. The leopard managed to maintain its feet after semi-controlled falling for many metres in each bound, landing on broken rock and absorbing the great force of gravity with its muscular limbs acting as shock absorbers. Its reckless speed demonstrated a precision of eye-brain-body coordination which was hard to believe in real time, and any miscalculation in a procession of rapid decisions would have resulted in a fatal fall for hundreds of metres. At the end of this scene, the markhor escaped by tumbling into a raging river. In the next attack sequence with another markhor, the leopard was successful, and with super-feline strength, dragged its heavy prey back up the slope for a kilometer to reach its den, where a cub was waiting for food. How the photographer was able to capture such actions of one of the world’s most-secretive big cats simply amazed me.
Since Dmitri’s enclosure was close to my office, I could not resist visiting him almost daily, and soon we developed a special bond. This was likely encouraged by an occasional spray of a favourite perfume (Bvlgari for Men). The scent caused Dmitri to curl up his nose and lips, begin to salivate profusely, and then repeatedly rub his face and shoulder against the fence wire beside me, while uttering little whining ‘puff’ calls, before finally rolling over onto his back, as if he wanted me to scratch him. I used the antenna of my radio to tickle him (through the fence), and it was obvious he did not want me to stop. If I backed away to leave, he leapt to his feet, and placing his front paws high onto the chain-link fence, he executed the powerful movements of sharpening his impressive claws. In fact, he put such pressure on his claws that sometimes pieces of claw snapped off and flew through the air – something I did not want to encourage. The fragrance turned him into a big kitten, every time!
Dmitri and I shared a special game, which I liked to spring on the crowd of admiring visitors standing along the enclosure barrier fence. As I approached his exhibit, Dmitri suddenly spotted me, although I was sometimes up to 50 metres away. Transforming instantly from a bored, recumbent slouch to an energized athlete, he crouched and crept over to hide behind a large boulder, sometimes leaving his exceptionally long tail exposed and twitching. Then slowly, the top of his head (with ears flattened) and his big eyes appeared just above the boulder, watching intently my every move. I walked towards him, making no eye contact and giving no indication I was aware he was there. He saw right past the visitors, ignoring them completely. He was hunting me! As I drew near, I turned sharply and began to walk away, which was his signal to ambush. With astonishing speed, Dmitri covered the 12-metre length of the exhibit in two bounds and leapt almost three metres to the top wall of the fence enclosure, causing the gravel stuck between his toes to hit me in the back of my head. The visitors gasped and jumped back in shock, as the attack happened so fast and without the least warning. As Dmitri sneaked back behind the boulder for round two, I calmed the visitors by explaining that this was just a game we liked to play, but it also presented a dramatic demonstration of his extraordinary predatory prowess. When I finally had to return to my office, Dmitri bounded back and forth frantically at the fence, like an excited pet dog, urging me to stay and play longer.
Dmitri was a superlative representative of his race in another way. He and his mate, Lhassa, were the epitome of compatibility, a rather unusual trait for snow leopards, as they prefer to live alone (both in the wild and in captivity), except for a brief period during the breeding season. While most zoos have limited success breeding this species, our pair raised an amazing 16 surviving offspring – a tremendous contribution to the captive population of the world. When we submitted our annual report on the status of our collection of snow leopards for the Species Survival Program (operated by the American Association of Zoos and Aquariums for endangered species), the coordinator informed me that we must have erred, because we reported that Dmitri had bred his mate successfully at age 19 – several years beyond the known limit for the species. But no, there was no mistake. Dmitri and Lhasa were really this extraordinary. He lived for three more years – a respectful age for any big cat. Dmitri’s name is based on the ancient Greek, Demetrios, which means ‘devoted to Demeter’ – the Goddess of Fertility and the Cycle of Life, and so considering his compatibility and devotion to Lhasa, the name fitted him perfectly.
I missed my zoo friend so much that I commissioned an artist to paint Dmitri’s portrait from photographs, which now hangs in my family room. I will always remember kneeling down in front of him, with only a half a meter separating us through the enclosure wire, as we searched each other’s eyes and facial features. What was he thinking behind those huge expressive, yellow-green eyes? It was as if I could peer into the distant past of his race in Asia, tragically now on the verge of extinction. Here was one of Nature’s premier killing machines, appearing to gain immense pleasure from my presence. It was a humbling and emotional moment which I will treasure forever. My beautiful Dmitri; my favourite animal.
Dr. Wrigley was a curator and the museum director at the Manitoba Museum, the first director of the Oak Hammock Marsh Interpretive Centre, and the curator of the Assiniboine Park Zoo.