In Which Amos the Anteater Leads Us a Dance

 

 

Guiana is a country lying in the northern half of South America and is almost as big as Ireland. It is situated on the edge of the great forested region that stretches right along the Amazon and through Brazil. The name Guiana is taken from an Amerindian word meaning the land of water, and it would be difficult to think of a more apt description of the country. It is split by three great rivers which run down its entire length and which are connected to one another by great numbers of small streams and tributaries. During the rainy season these streams overflow and enormous areas of country are flooded for weeks at a time. Owing to this, we found that nearly all the animals in Guiana were either expert climbers or expert swimmers; animals that in less watery countries spend their whole lives on the ground were here replaced by similar creatures that lived almost entirely in the trees: for example, in the Cameroons you find bush-tailed porcupines which live on the floor of the forest and make their homes among the rocks and caves, and which would find it almost impossible to climb a tree. In Guiana there are the tree porcupines whose paws are adapted for climbing, and whose long naked tails are prehensile – that is to say, like the South American monkeys, they can wind their tails round the branches to help them in climbing.

We found that Guiana could be roughly divided into two parts. Great forest land spread from the shore inland and eventually gave way to great savanna lands where the vegetation was principally grass fields, small clumps of trees and bushes dotted about it. The Cameroons was, of course, divided in much the same way, and this meant that in both Guiana and the Cameroons you would find one set of animals inhabiting the forest and quite a totally different set living in the grasslands.

Along the coast of Guiana where the great rivers flow out into the sea, the land is split up by thousands of rivers and creeks. Some are only a few feet wide and some are considerably bigger than the average English river. These creeks provide the most beautiful scenery in Guiana. The waters, filled with dead leaves and logs, are stained a rich sherry brown color and their movement is so gentle that the surface is generally as placid as a dark mirror. The great trees hang over the waters face, their branches festooned with long strands of Spanish moss, a gray lichen-like plant that looks like innumerable gray threads hanging from the trees. Then there are orchids in hundreds of different shades, which grow on the trunks and the branches, sometimes growing in such quantities that the trees seem as though studded with jewels.

Generally, as I say, the waterways are like long lanes of polished mirrors, but occasionally, growing on the surface of the water, you will come across a thick mat of green water plants from which tiny flowers of mauve and yellow thrust up their petals a few millimeters above the surface. In sunny spots near the bank, you will see great clusters of the giant water lily, whose flowers are bigger than a teapot, and whose great platelike leaves are the circumference of a bicycle wheel. When traveling up one of these overgrown creeks in a boat, it is as though you are sliding over a green lawn, for, as you move along, the nose of the boat thrusts the water plants aside and, passing on, the plants float together again so that no water is visible. With the movement of the boat, ripples cause the water plants to rise and fall in green waves in your wake.

When we arrived in Guiana, our base camp was in the capital of Georgetown. For here it was easy to obtain a large and regular supply of food for our animals, and we could be within easy reach of the docks, when we had to load the collection on to the ship. Having made our base camp, we would then take trips into the interior of Guiana, visiting the different types of country and capturing the animals that lived there.

The first trip of this sort that I made was to the grasslands near the Pomeroon River. We set off from Georgetown and headed up the creeks in the direction of a small Amerindian town called Santa Maria, hidden away in the depths of this strange, swampy country. It took us a whole day to reach our destination and it was an unforgettable trip. As the boat slid smoothly up the polished waterways under the brilliant trees, big black woodpeckers with scarlet-crested heads flew ahead of us, giving wild shrilling cries and stopping every now and then on a dead tree to rattle on it vigorously with their beaks. In the undergrowth along the bank were flocks of marsh birds, the size of a sparrow, with black bodies and brilliant canary yellow heads. Occasionally, as we rounded a corner, a pair of scarlet ibis would fly up in a flutter of pink and crimson wings. On the aquatic vegetation along the edge of the creek there were great numbers of Jacanas, a strange-looking bird rather like an English moorhen. The most astonishing thing about them is that they have long, slender legs ending in a bunch of great thin toes. These toes enable them to walk over the water plants on the surface of the water without falling through, for with each step the jacana spreads out its toes like a spider and distributes its weight evenly over the lily leaves. When they are walking solemnly across the lily pads they look rather drab little birds, but when they fly up you can see that they have a brilliant lemon yellow patch under each wing.

Occasionally, we would disturb a caiman lying on the bank. This is the South American equivalent of the crocodile in Africa. It would watch us for a moment with raised head, its mouth half open, and then would scuttle heavily to the edge of the bank and plop into the water.

We arrived at Santa Maria late that night, and the next day, with the help of the Amerindian villagers, set out to collect our animals. Many of the Amerindian people keep the wild forest animals as pets and a number of these they allowed us to buy, so in a very short time we acquired a great number of brilliant macaws, whose screams and shouts nearly deafened us in our small hut, several young boa constrictors and two or three Capuchin monkeys. I was very surprised to find the Amerindians keeping boa constrictors as pets, for I had expected to find them as frightened of snakes as the Africans were. Inquiring about it, I discovered that they kept these reptiles in their huts crawling about on the rafters, and they took the place of the domestic cat in England. Feeding on any rats or mice they came across, these snakes would become very tame and, as long as the supply of rats and mice lasted, remained up in the rafters and never ventured down to the ground. The Amerindians explained to me that not only were the boa constrictors far better rat catchers than any cat, but they were handsome pink, silver, black, and white creatures which were considerably more beautiful than cats to look at as they draped themselves like colored scarves in the roofs of the huts.

In Guiana there are found three different kinds of ant-eater. There is the giant which, with its great shaggy tail, measures over six feet in length; there is the tamandua which is about the size of a pekinese; and there is the pygmy which measures only about eight inches long. Now these three anteaters live in completely different types of country and, although they are occasionally found in each other’s territory, they mainly stick to the country which suits them best. The giant anteater prefers to live on the grasslands in the northern half of Guiana, while the other two, being arboreal, inhabit the forested regions. The tamandua can be found even in the semicultivated portions of the country, but to find the pygmy, you have to go into the deep virgin forest.

To capture a giant anteater for our collection, I had to fly some two hundred miles inland up to the northern grass fields or savanna land. The plane dropped me off at a remote ranch on the banks of the Rupununi River. Here I enlisted the aid of an extremely clever Indian hunter who was called Francis. I explained to him what I wanted, and after a lot of thought he said the best way would be for him to go out into the grass fields and search about until he found signs of where a giant anteater was living. Then we could go out and search for the animal and try to capture it.

I agreed to this plan, and three days later Francis turned up at the ranch house, beaming all over his face, to tell me that he had been successful. Somewhere in a certain patch of the savanna, he had found unmistakable signs of an ant-eater’s presence, in the shape of ants’ nests that had been split open by its powerful claws.

So very early, Francis and my friend and I, mounted on horseback, set off after the anteater. The golden grass fields, dotted here and there with small clumps of tiny shrubs, shimmered in the rays of the sun, and stretched away in every direction to the distant horizon where there was a rim of pale greeny-blue mountains. We rode for hours and saw no life at all except a pair of tiny hawks circling high in the blue sky above us.

Now I knew that the grasslands had their fair share of animal life and I was rather surprised that on our ride we did not come across more creatures. I soon discovered why this was, for as we were riding along, we came to a great oval hollow in the bottom of which was a placid lake filled with water lilies and fringed with lush plants and small trees. In a flash, everything seemed to come to life. The air was full of zooming dragonflies, and brilliantly colored lizards scuttled about our horses’ hooves; kingfishers perched on the dead branches of trees hanging over the water and in the reeds and bushes alongside the lake there were hosts of tiny birds chattering and fluttering. As we rode past, I saw on the opposite bank ten jabiru storks, each standing about four feet high, and gazing down their long beaks with solemn expressions. When we had passed the lake and once again entered the grass field, everything became lifeless again and the only sound was the steady crackle and swish of our horses’ hooves in the long grass.

So I realized that the majority of these grasslands were waterless from the point of animal and bird life, and it was for this reason that they concentrated round the edges of the lakes and pools which were to be found. Therefore, you might ride for miles and see no life at all, and then you would come to a little hollow with a pond or lake in it and find that its shores were overflowing with bird and animal life.

Eventually, about midday, we reached our destination, a certain spot in the savanna, at which Francis halted his horse and told us it was in this area that the anteater was living. He said it would be best for us to spread out in a line and ride through the long grass, making as much noise as possible so as to frighten the anteater out of its sleeping hollow. We could then drive it on to an area of savanna which lay to our left, with short grass, and we could overtake the animal more easily on horseback. We plunged into the long grass which was as high as our horses’s chests and made our way shouting and creating as much noise as possible.

The earth under the grass was baked as hard as a brick by the sun and split with great cracks and holes, so our horses often stumbled and almost threw us over their heads. Suddenly, I heard a loud yell from Francis, and looking toward him I saw a dark shape hopping about in the grass just ahead of his horse. My companion and I turned our mounts and rode down to help our hunter. The anteater, for that was what I presumed it to be, was trying to get still deeper into the long grass but we managed to cut him off and drive him out on to the open patch of ground. He galloped along, his thick stubby legs thumping the ground, his long icicle-shaped head swinging from side to side and his great tail fluttering out behind him like a banner.

We rode after him as quickly as possible and I went to one side to prevent him from getting back into the long grass while Francis took the other side, uncoiling his lasso as he urged his horse on. Gradually, he drew level with the galloping anteater, and whirled his lasso, and threw it. He had, unfortunately, made a mistake in the size of the noose. It was too big and so, although it was well in front of the anteater, the animal just galloped through it and continued on across the grass, snorting and hissing. Francis halted his horse, recoiled the rope and set off in pursuit once again. He drew level with the animal and threw his lasso again. This time he was lucky and drew the rope tight around the anteater.

He was off his horse in a moment, hanging on grimly to the end of the rope while the angry anteater rushed on across the grass, dragging him with it. I jumped off my horse and ran over and laid hold of the rope as well. It was quite amazing the strength the anteater had in his stubby legs, for he dragged us to and fro across the savanna until we began to feel quite exhausted and our hands were being cut by the rope. Francis, looking over his shoulder, grunted with relief. Looking round, too, I saw that our struggle had brought us fairly close to a small tree about twelve feet high. This was, in fact, the only tree to be seen for miles.

Sweating and panting, we dragged the reluctant anteater toward this, and then wound the loose end of the rope around and around the tree trunk and tied it fast. I had just tied the last knot when Francis glanced up into the branches of the tree above and gave a yelp of dismay. Looking up, I saw about two feet above our heads a large circular wasps’ nest about the size of a football. The anteater, tugging on the end of his rope, was making the tree sway and bend, and the wasp colony was not at all pleased with this and they were swarming out on the outside of the nest, buzzing angrily. Francis and I retreated with all speed.

Now that we had the anteater safely tied up (or so we thought) we went back to the horses to collect the various items that we had brought with us – some strong twine and some large sacks for carrying the quarry in. When I returned to the tree I was just in time to see the anteater loosen the last loop of rope around his waist, shake himself like a big dog and start off plodding across the savanna in a slow and dignified manner. Leaving Francis to retrieve his lasso from the wasp-infested tree, I ran after the anteater on foot, fashioning a slipknot at the end of a length of twine as Iran.

I rushed up to him and flung my amateur lasso at his head, but not being as skillful as Francis I naturally missed. The anteater kept plodding on; I tried again with equal lack of success and then a third time, but the anteater had become a little irritated with my constantly flinging yards of twine at him and he suddenly stopped, faced around and rose up on his hind legs. In this attitude his head was on a level with my chest and I looked warily at the great curved six-inch claws on his front feet, that he held at the ready.

He snuffled and sniffed, waving his long, slender snout from side to side and swinging his forearms so that he looked rather like a boxer. As I did not fancy having a rough and tumble with a creature that was obviously capable of doing considerable damage with his front claws, I decided that it would be better to wait until Francis had joined me and then one of us could attract the animal’s attention, while the other tried to capture him. I walked round the anteater to see if I could take him unawares, in the rear, but he merely revolved like a top, always keeping his big claws pointed menacingly at me. So I sat on the ground to wait for Francis.

The anteater, realizing that there was a break in hostilities, decided that it would be a good chance for him to repair the damage done to his person by his fight with us. As he had run about the savanna, hissing and snorting, great streams of saliva had been pouring out of his mouth. This was thick and sticky, and normally the anteater uses it for coating his long tongue, in order to pick up his food. However, these long strands of adhesive saliva had run out of his mouth; as he ran they flapped to and fro picking up bits of stick and grass and eventually getting stuck across his i^ose. He now sat on his haunches and with great care cleaned his long snout with the aid of his claws. Then he gave a deep sigh, stood up and shook himself and started to plod off across the savanna once more.

When Francis joined me, carrying his lasso, we approached the anteater once again and hearing us, he stopped, turned around, and sat up on his hind legs, but with two of us to deal with he was at a disadvantage. While I attracted his attention, Francis crept around behind and threw the lasso neatly over him. As soon as he felt the noose tighten once more around his waist he set off at full tilt, dragging Francis and myself with him, and for the next half an hour we struggled our way to and fro over the savanna until we managed to get so many loops of rope around the anteater’s body and legs that he could not move. Then trussing him up with an extra length of fine twine to make sure, we pushed him into one of the big sacks so that only his long head and nose protruded.

We were just congratulating ourselves on having captured him when a fresh difficulty became apparent. When we picked him up in his sack and carried him toward the horses they all decided that, while they did not mind carrying us, they disapproved strongly of carrying a strange creature in a sack, which was hissing and snuffling in such a fierce manner. For a quarter of an hour we tried to soothe them, but it was no good. Every time we approached them with the anteater they would throw back their heads and shy wildly.

Francis decided that the only thing to do was for me to lead the horse while he walked behind, carrying the anteater on his shoulders. I was a bit doubtful as to whether this would be successful, for we were a great many miles from the ranch and the sun was scorchingly hot, and the anteater was no lightweight. However, it seemed to be the only thing to do, so I mounted my horse and led Francis’s, while he staggered along behind with our capture on his back. The anteater made everything as difficult as possible by wriggling about in his sack, so that it was extremely uncomfortable to try to carry him. After about an hour we had only progressed a couple of miles across the grass, for every two or three hundred yards Francis was forced to put down the sack and have a rest.

Eventually, we decided that it would take us about a week to get the anteater back to the ranch at that rate, so Francis suggested that my companion or I should remain there with the anteater while the other rode with him to the out-station, a distant speck on the horizon which he pointed out to us. There, he assured us, we would get something called a “draftball.” As our hunter’s English was none too good, we could not make out what a “draftball” was, but Francis seemed convinced that it was the only way out of our difficulties, so my companion stayed with the anteater in the shade of a small bush while Francis and I galloped off across the grass toward the out-station.

When we arrived there, we found a charming old Indian in charge who gave me a most welcome cup of coffee. Then Francis took me outside and showed me the “draftball.” It was in fact a draft bull, that is to say, a bull that is used for carrying loads or pulling carts in certain parts of the world. Francis’s wife then appeared on the scene and Francis told me that she would ride the bull out on to the savanna while we galloped on ahead on our horses. This tiny Indian woman jumped up on to the enormous bull’s back and sat there sidesaddle, her long black hair hanging down to her waist, so that she looked rather like Lady Godiva. Then she gave the bull a whack on the rump with a large stick and he set off at a brisk trot over the grasslands.

When Francis and I arrived back at the place where we had left my friend and the anteater, we found that the ant-eater had succeeded in making things difficult for us. He had managed to climb halfway out of his sack, which was now hanging round his hind quarters like a pair of rather baggy trousers, and he was scuttling to and fro across the grass hotly pursued by my friend. We caught and pushed him into a new sack and tied him up even more securely, while my friend recounted the difficulties he had undergone during our absence.

Apparently, first of all, his horse, which we thought was securely tied, had suddenly wandered off across the grass, and my friend had pursued it for quite a long time before he managed to catch it. When he got back, he found the ant-eater had succeeded in wriggling free of some of his cords and had ripped open the sack with his claws and was half out of it. My friend, frightened that he might escape, rushed forward, pushed him back into the sack and tied him up once again. When he looked around he found that his horse had seized the opportunity to wander away once more. By the time he had captured his mount and returned to the anteater, the beast had broken out of his sack for the second time. It was just at this point that we had arrived back on the scene. Presently, Francis’s wife galloped up on the bull’s back and she helped us to load the anteater on to it. The bull was very quiet about the whole business and did not seem to mind whether the sack on his back was full of potatoes or rattlesnakes, and although the anteater hissed and struggled as much as he could, the bull plodded steadily onwards, taking not the slightest notice.

We reached the ranch just after dark and there got our capture out of the sack and untied him. I made a rough harness out of the rope and tethered him to a big tree; also, a large bowl of water was placed there for him and he was left to have a good night’s sleep. Very early the next morning I crept out to have a look at him, and at first glance I thought he had managed to escape in the night, for I could not see him. I realized after a while that he was lying between the roots of the tree, curled up in a tight ball, and had spread his tail over himself, like a great gray shawl, so that from a distance he looked less like an anteater and more like a pile of old cinders. It was then that I realized how very useful his big tail must be to him. In the grasslands he scrapes himself a shallow bed in among the big tussocks of grass, curls himself up in this and spreads his tail over himself like a roof, and only the very worst weather could succeed in penetrating this hairy cover.

My problem now was to teach Amos, as we called him, to eat a substitute food, for he could not be fed on a diet of white ants at the zoo in England. The mixture was composed of milk, raw egg, and finely minced beef to which was added three drops of cod-liver oil. I filled a large bowl with this mixture and took it along to a big white ants’ nest, which was not far from the ranch house, and, making a hole in the nest, collected a handful of the creatures and scattered them over the surface of the milky substance in the bowl. I carried the whole lot back and placed it where Amos could reach it.

I thought it would be some time before he would take to this new food, but, to my surprise, on seeing the bowl, he rose to his feet and ambled forwards. He sniffed carefully and flipped out his long snakelike tongue and dipped it into the mixture. Then he paused for a moment, musing over the taste, and having decided that it was to his liking he stood over the bowl, his long tongue flipping out and in with amazing rapidity until it had been licked quite clean. The anteaters, of course, have no teeth and rely on their tongues and the sticky saliva to pick up their food. Occasionally, as a special treat, I would give Amos a bowlful of termites which were, naturally, all mixed up with lumps of their clay nest. It was amazing to watch his long tongue come out and dip into the pot so that the white ants and the bits of clay stuck to it like flies to a flypaper. But then as he drew his tongue back into his mouth again, the bits of clay would be knocked off by his lips, so that only the white ants were sucked inside. He was really extremely clever at doing this.

Not long after I arrived back at our base camp in George-town, and Amos had settled down in his new pen, I succeeded in getting a wife for him. She arrived one day tied up in a snorting bundle and crammed into the trunk of a taxicab. The person who had captured her had not been very careful about the job, and she had several nasty cuts on her body and was extremely exhausted from lack of food and water. When I took the ropes off her, she just lay on her side on the ground, hissing in a very feeble manner, and I did not think that she was going to live. I gave her a bowl of water to drink, and no sooner had she sucked it up than she revived most miraculously and got to her feet and started attacking everyone in sight.

Amos had got used to being the only anteater in the place and did not receive his mate very kindly and, when I opened the door of his pen and tried to push the female inside with him, he gave her a loving greeting by bashing her on the nose with his claws and hissing furiously. Eventually I decided that they had better share adjoining cages until they had got used to each other. Amos’s pen was very large, so I just simply divided it down the middle with stakes. Now, whereas Amos had been no trouble at all about his food, his new wife was extremely difficult. She refused point-blank even to sample the mixture that I gave her in a bowl, and for twenty-four hours she was on a hunger strike.

The day after her arrival, however, I had an idea. When I was feeding Amos, I pushed his bowl close to the wooden bars that separated him from the female. Amos’s table manners were not of the very best, and anyone standing within thirty feet of him when he was having his food, was made well aware of the fact, even if they could not see him, by the sucking, snorting, and snuffling sounds that he produced. The female anteater, attracted by the noises of Amos enjoying his breakfast, went over to the bars to see what it was he was eating. She stuck her slender nose between the stakes and sniffed at his bowl of food, and then very slowly and cautiously she dipped her long tongue into the mixture. Within a couple of minutes she was gobbling it down with the same speed and enthusiasm that Amos displayed. And for the next fortnight she ate all her food like this, with her neck stuck through the bars and her long tongue sharing the bowl with Amos.

At last, by constantly feeding out of the same pot, they became quite used to each other and it was not long before we removed the bars in between and allowed them to share the pen. They became very affectionate and would always sleep close together, their tails carefully spread over themselves. For the voyage home, however, I could not get a cage big enough to hold the two of them, so they had to travel in separate boxes. When we were on board ship, however, I pushed the two cages close together so they could stick their long noses out and sniff at each other.

When they eventually arrived back in England and went off to the zoo, they used to amuse crowds of visitors by giving boxing matches. They would stand up on their hind legs, their great noses swinging from side to side like pendulums, clouting and slashing at each other with their long, murderous-looking claws, their tails swishing and sweeping on the ground. These boxing matches looked fast and furious, but never once did they hurt each other.

 

 

The second biggest anteater found in Guiana is the forest-loving tamandua. This looks not unlike the giant; it has the same long curved snout and small beady eyes and the powerful front feet with great hooked claws. It is clad in short, light brown fur and its tail is long and curved. Whereas the giant anteater uses its tail as a form of covering, the tamandua cannot do this with his, but he uses it as the tree porcupine or the monkeys in Guiana use theirs, to assist him in climbing up trees. The tamanduas were the most stupid creatures we ever caught in Guiana.

In the wild state they clamber up the tall forest trees and work their way out along the great branches until they find a large earth nest of the tree ants. Using their great hooked claws, they break open the ant fortress and proceed to lick up the ants with their long sticky tongues. Every now and then they will break off a little more of the ants’ nest and go on with their licking. In captivity they find it difficult to rid themselves of this habit and when you present them with a pot of minced meat, raw egg and milk, they dip their long claws into it, lick up a bit and then scrape at it again with their claws. It would usually end with them overturning the pot on the floor of their cage. They were under the impression that the pot was a sort of ants’ nest that had to be broken in order to get at the contents, and it was only by fixing their food dish to the wire that I could prevent them from splashing their food all over themselves and the cage.

 

 

The first of the pygmy anteaters that I obtained was in an Amerindian village in the creek islands. I had been traveling all day by canoe, visiting various settlements and buying whatever animals they had for sale. In this particular village I found quite a good haul of pets and spent an entertaining hour or so bargaining with the villagers. As they could not speak English and I could not speak their language, it all had to be done in sign language.

Presently, through the crowd of people surrounding me, a small boy of about seven or eight years of age pushed his way, carrying in one hand a long stick, on the end of which was something that at first glance I thought was a giant chrysalis of one of the big forest butterflies. However, on looking more closely I discovered that it was a pygmy anteater, clinging to the branch with its eyes tightly closed. I bought it from the boy and found that there were a lot of interesting points about the little animal which I had not seen mentioned in any book on natural history.

The little creatures measure about six inches long and are completely clad in thick, soft golden-brown fur, that makes them look like tiny toy teddy bears. The long, prehensile tail is also thickly covered. The soles of their hind feet, which are bright pink in color, are slightly cupped, so that when the creatures scramble about the branches their feet fit around the twigs and give an excellent grip. When a pygmy anteater is holding on with his hind feet and his tail, it is almost impossible to pull it off the branch without seriously hurting it. Like its relatives’, its forefeet are short and very powerful and are armed with three curved claws, a big one in the center and a small one on each side. The palm of its paw is like a small pink cushion and, when it grips with its front feet, the long claws snap down on the palm with tremendous strength, rather like a blade of a pocketknife fitting into the slot.

These little animals have a very curious habit which has earned them the name among the natives of Guiana of “Tank ’e God.” When asleep, the creatures sit clasping the branch with their hind feet and their tails wound around tightly, sitting upright like guardsmen, with their two front paws raised heavenward. If it is disturbed in any way, it will fall forward on its enemy and the two claws on its front paws will slash and rip its assailant. The anteater will also adopt this odd position when it is frightened, and will squat there for as long as half an hour, its paws raised high above its head, its eyes closed, waiting for an opportunity to attack.

The little anteater was extremely slow and sleepy in his movements and seemed so resigned to his capture that I did not even have to put him in a box, but just leaned the twig he was sitting on in the bow of the canoe, and he stood there very stiffly and upright, like a figurehead on an old ship, and remained without moving until we reached our camp. I was not at all sure what sort of food the little fellow would eat, but I knew from books that this tiny animal lives on the nectar of various forest flowers. So the first evening, I mixed up a solution of honey and water, and hung a little pot of it in the anteater’s cage.

About eight o’clock that evening, he started to show signs of life. He got down from his stiff, upright attitude and started to crawl in among the branches in his cage in a slow and cautious manner: he was like an old man on a slippery road. Then he discovered the pot of honey. He was hanging on the bars just below it and he sniffed it very carefully with his short pink nose and then decided that it probably contained something worth eating. Before I could stop him, he had hooked a claw over the edge of the little dish and tipped it up, and the next moment he was covered in a shower of honey and water. He was extremely indignant about this, and even more irritated when I had to take him out of the cage and mop him up with a piece of cottonwool; for the rest of the evening he sat on a branch, cleaning off the sticky remains from his fur. He enjoyed honey and water very much, but I had to give it to him in a pot with a very small mouth, otherwise he would dip his whole head into it and then climb down on to the floor and wander about, so that by the time morning came, he looked like a moving ball of sticky sawdust.

Honey and water, however, did not give the little animal sufficient nourishment, and so I tried him on some ants’ eggs. To my surprise, he firmly refused to eat these; then I tried him with the ants themselves, and he appeared to be even less interested in them than he was in their eggs. Eventually, more by chance than anything else, I discovered that he liked grasshoppers and moths, and he would pursue these round his cage with great vigor every evening.

The anteaters of Guiana are certainly not the easiest of animals to keep in captivity, but they are very fascinating beasts and it is well worth taking some trouble over them.

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

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