Read other blog entries about "Faith": Cancer: Exotic Animals Battle It Too and Blind "Faith," the Fennec Fox

The word armadillo means "little armored one" in Spanish. Their thick, leathery shell is made of keratin (the same stuff as our fingernails) and the 3-banded has two half domes of shell, separated by three armored bands. Their head and tail are covered with bony plates and the headplate pattern is unique to each armadillo — like an identifying fingerprint. These are nocturnal creatures and spend their nights hunting for insects — ants and termites being favorites. They do not dig their own burrows, but instead borrow abandoned anteater holes. Their feet are especially unique. Their front insect-digging claws are so oversized that they walk on the tip of the largest claw — like a ballet dancer. The three center toes on their back feet are fused, like stumpy hooves. They don’t have typical teeth either — they have small peg-shaped teeth that lack enamel. And, they lap up their bugs and rotting fruits with a long sticky, pink tongue.

Tuck was shared with us by another educational facility. He is a quiet and shy Latin gentleman, but is naturally curious and will explore his surroundings looking for something wiggly to snack on. And, he won’t hesitate to quickly tuck into his famous shape to demonstrate his special skill at self-protection. Tuck will be traveling with us this summer to more than 50 free Texas library shows as part of our new "Animal Locomotion" program. Come meet Tuck in person — just don’t take it personally if he doesn’t untuck to meet you!

This 8-pound, football-shaped, herbivore was sent to us by another wildlife educator who just didn’t have the time to work with him. He is usually found in the savannahs and jungles of central African and is considered by scientists to be the nearest living relative to the elephant (yep, elephant — they share similarities in teeth, leg and foot bones, testes, and other obscure details). They are amazing climbers, using the sweat on their soft, rubbery, footpads to suction themselves to the rocks. They normally live in large colonies of females with only one male (so this guy may be a bit lonely). They spend their days basking in the sun, nibbling on plants. They are extremely cautious — they’ll take a bite of grass, freeze, look carefully around for predators, and if all clear, will relax and chow down. They do not have front teeth — they have 4 front tusks that have squared-off ends and they won’t hesitate to use their powerful bite as protection (okay, I already learned this the hard way, ouch.) They are extremely tidy critters, using a common "potty spot," even in the wild. Their communal outhouse is infamous — it hardens over centuries and becomes fossilized into what is called "African Stone" or "Hyraceum," which is used in perfumery as a substitute for other musky notes like deer or civet — "Hmmm, what IS that mysterious scent you’re wearing?" 

This special guy is still adjusting to people and has been in veterinary care for the last three months to fix some existing health issues. He is gaining trust with each day and will now let us hand-feed and gently pet him. He has a demanding personality and will run you over for his favorite slice of banana. He grunts, squeaks, and hisses, depending on what he’s trying to tell you. He should be ready to meet our fans starting this summer, but first he needs a name befitting this assertive rock climber.

So, get those creative juices flowing and send us some name suggestions. Simply leave a comment here on the blog or post on our Facebook page. If you suggest the perfect name, we’ll brag about you in our next post — and, if you’re brave, we’ll let you hold his banana!

Here at Zooniversity, we’ve accepted donations of animals with all kinds of health conditions—malnourishment, nutritional deficiencies, genetic conditions, systemic diseases, and…cancer. Our philosophy is do treat each animal as we would want to be treated. So, medical intervention is always given, until the animal’s quality of life deteriorates. When we “just know” it’s time for them to move on, then we help them to pass into their next phase of life. These decisions are so heart-wrenching, so difficult, but we will never let any animal suffer.

Why this dark, soulful topic for a blog? Because it’s an inevitable part of caring for exotic animals. And, because we have had to deal with it many times, especially in the last couple of weeks. Four cancer diagnoses in three weeks. It seems to always come in batches. One animal is no longer with us, one is being treated with medication, and two are recuperating from surgery.

“Goliath,” the two-pound African burrowing bullfrog, relished his weekly mouse (yes, he was carnivorous). Then, he stopped eating. Weeks went by. He refused to eat. We kept him warm, soaked him daily, eventually force-fed him protein-rich gruel. He couldn’t keep anything down. We could feel an abdominal mass on one side. Helpless, we felt it get bigger, and bigger. When his weight started to plummet and he showed signs of pain, we considered surgery. Amphibians do not usually survive surgery, so euthanasia was the better option. Necropsy showed the cause: a massive, cavity- consuming tumor that wrapped around every internal organ. The pathology reports are still pending. Rest in peace, Goliath.

“Bailey” and “Q-Tip” are our two fun-loving, frolicking domestic ferrets. At 8 years of age (too old for surgical risk), Bailey began showing signs of adrenal cancer—hair loss, lethargy, weight loss. We’ve opted to treat her with medication to hopefully slow-down the cancer’s progression—monthly Lupron injections and a melatonin implant. Our 2-year old albino ferret, Q-Tip, showed signs of disorientation and lethargy. A quick test determined his blood sugar was too low. Diagnosis: insulinoma, caused by a pancreatic tumor. He is now recuperating well with a belly-line of sutures from the partial removal of his pancreas. His sugar is still a bit low, hinting that perhaps not all of the tumor is gone. Time will tell.

The most distressing case is “Faith,” our adorable, 10-year old, blind fennec fox, who still has a hoard of fans, despite the fact she retired from our shows years ago. We noticed a small, lumpy mass on the tendonous part of her back leg just two weeks ago. We rushed to have it surgically removed. The pathology report identifies it as “spindle cell sarcoma,” a soft-tissue tumor that has also invaded the bone in her lower leg. Prognosis is that is that the tumor will most likely return. Nothing phases Faith. She’s still squealing with delight to greet her keepers, she still wolfs down her food, and she totally ignores her stitches. She is such a good patient.

Cancer is an insidious, unforgiving disease, no matter whom it strikes. Watching, waiting, and knowing the inevitable future, is the worst part for those of us who’ve been given the gift of caring for these animals.

I’d like to be a joey wallaby. I’d spend long hours sleeping peacefully in a fuzzy pouch, stretch my oh-so-big feet upon waking, guzzle milk when I was thirsty, delicately nibble on hay and grass when hungry, hop-hop-hop faster-faster-faster at play time, and “huff” for my humans to give me some always needed attention and cheek rubs.

Such is the life of our little joey wallaby, “Sydney,” who came to Zooniversity last Fall for foster care. Her first month was a challenge, tough on her and tough on us, but she soon taught us how to care for her needs. At 9-months old, she has reached all the important joey milestones: how to leap in (and out) of a man-made pouch, how to hop at full speed without hitting walls, how to mess-up a play pen in less than an hour (stinky…whew), and how to intimidate the zookeeper’s terrier by hopping full-speed straight at him.

Sydney has also stolen many hearts. She attends almost all of our school and birthday programs and is now a seasoned traveler. She’s learned to pop her head up out of her pouch on cue to meet our audiences. She basks in the oohs-and-aahs and relishes all the head and belly rubs she gets from admirers of all ages.

She is a star, and she knows it. But stardom is short-lived. She is getting bigger. She is drinker fewer bottles and needing fewer cuddles. She is needing more space to hop and more time in the sun. She is growing up and, regardless of my protests, she will be a “big girl” soon and will be ready to be returned to her mob. That will be a new world, a new set of challenges, a new series of milestones. And, like any mother, I can only hope I’ve prepared her well for life in the big world.

Life is tough when you’re this little. Life is even tougher outside the security of Mommy’s pouch. Life is really tough when formula replaces Mommy’s milk and you’re surrounded by tall, strange-looking animals without fur or tails or pouches. Meet baby “Sydney,” an orphaned Bennett’s wallaby joey, who came to Zooniversity for foster care. This is Part 1 of her story.

Sydney was born about 7 months ago. Like all wallaby newborns, she was born the size of a jelly bean. She was born fur-less and pink. She was born blind and deaf. She spent the entire first day of life here on Earth climbing, hand over hand, up the fur on Mommy’s belly, looking for the opening to her pouch. She was lucky. She found it and climbed inside and found a warm place to hide and milk to drink and got an occasional bath from a furry, loving nose.

Then, at 6 months old, she found herself out of the security of her warm, safe pouch. The wallaby breeder kept her warm and snug until she met her new foster Mommy: me. Yes, I am now the foster mother to this tiny, sweet creature who depends on me for sustenance, warmth, protection and the learning of life’s lessons. Those are big wallaby shoes to fill.

She was so tiny. Her fur was brand new. She could not yet hop or maintain her body temperature. She was kept warm and cozy around the clock in a fleece-lined, man-made pouch with microwave-warmed heating discs. She was bottled with kangaroo/wallaby formula every  4 hours, all day and all night long. Learning to drink from a bottle was not easy and she struggled to figure it out. I struggled to keep her hydrated and nourished and alive. I also struggled to function (and to present wildlife shows) on very little sleep.

This first month with Sydney has not been easy. Sydney’s tiny body has had a very hard time adjusting from Mama’s milk to man-made formula. Our first four weeks together have included four trips to the veterinarian, three fecal tests, one bacterial culture, and countless supplements of probiotics, acidophillus, digestive enzymes and Kaopectate. The diagnosis? She is perfectly healthy, but her young digestive track still struggles to properly process the manufactured formula. Time will tell if her body will be able to figure it out.

Tummy troubles aside, she has learned to hop…and hop…and hop. And she’s learned that if the world is too scary, the safety of her pouch is just one somersault away. She’s learned to hold her own bottle and to guzzle it down with gusto. She has gained weight and a fuzzy new fur coat. She has tried to put a few pieces of hay and grass in her mouth, but figuring out how to chew them still eludes her. Life is indeed tough when you’re this little.

There are still many wallaby milestones for Sydney to reach and many new life lessons for her to learn before she can be returned to her pasture and lie in the sun with the rest of her mob. Until then,we will try to guide her through each new challenge and will chronicle her leaps-and-bounds for you in future blog entries. –Allison

Long before her life in the spotlight, Faith was born into the exotic pet industry. Her parents were intentionally mated by a very reputable exotic animal breeder solely for the purpose of selling the litter of "kits" (what baby foxes are called) to private owners who wanted to own an exotic animal as a house pet. Now, don’t read into this that I am against exotic pet ownership. I am not. I am against exotic pet ownership by people who don’t know what they’re doing! The fennec fox is a wild species, not a domesticated one, and so little is still known about their proper captive care and husbandry needs.

Faith was given to Zooniversity when she was 3 years old by a private owner who could no longer afford her veterinary bills. No one is quite sure of who or what caused her to lose her eyesight. The buyer (a wanna-be breeder who purchased the 6-week old kit) accused the breeder of feeding her the wrong baby formula. The breeder accused the buyer of feeding her the wrong first solid foods. Regardless, irreparable damage was done and she lost her eyesight at just 4 months of age. Upon arrival, our veterinary ophthalmologist (yes, an eye doctor for animals) diagnosed her with severe glaucoma and advanced juvenile cataracts. The best guess is that something in her diet lacked an amino acid, called taurine, which foxes need to develop their keen fox eyesight. Of course, no one intentionally damaged her vision. This just illustrates how little we still know about the nutritional needs of this 3-pound wild creature.

Is Faith incapacitated by her blindness? Heck, no. This spirited desert darling runs at full speed, never hits a wall, recognizes her keepers with fennec squeals of delight (a shrill trademark of a fennec), and loves her belly rubs. Is she in pain? She doesn’t seem to be. She’s been given glaucoma eye-drops twice daily for her 7 years with us, and no, it hasn’t been easy. The interocular pressure in one of her eyes sky-rocketed to uncontrollable levels last year, so it was necessary to have the eye removed and replaced with a prosthetic eye. You read that correctly, a prosthetic eye.

The fennec fox seems to be gaining popularity among dreamy-eyed exotic animal buyers. It is cute…too cute. And, that’s the problem. Impulse purchasers who don’t do their research will pay anywhere from $1.200 to $2,000 to have one of these dainty darling’s shipped to them with visions of strolling the sidewalks with a fennec face peering from their shoulder pet carrier. Not a chance. The fennec is a stunningly adorable animal, but they are not chihuahuas. They sleep all day (nocturnal desert creature), they run 20 mph and faster all night long, they dig 14 ft. holes as the sun rises every morning (in your carpet, if that’s all there is), and…they mark their territory (no further explanation should be needed). Does this sound like a house pet? The fennec fox is not a designer accessory. It is a wild animal. It is genetically programmed to act like a wild animal. In captive care, it is dependent on our expertise and knowledge to keep it healthy. It is dependent on researchers and scientists to formulate diets and supplements that work with their wild systems. Unfortunately, any newfound knowledge is too late to help Faith.

For an update on Faith, read this blog entry: http://www.zooniversity.org/2009/03/cancer-exotic-animals-battle-it-too/