Putting the cart before the alpaca

We're back in Essex today with a phenomenon that appeared in JuliaM's recent post on a news story from the Basildon area:

An alpaca trekking business has had to shut after yobs hurled rocks at the terrified animals.

Leaving aside the animal cruelty aspect for a moment, this sounded intriguing; alpaca trekking? In Basildon?

Pony trekking is well established as a way of looking at spectacular scenery while letting the animal do the hard work. Alpacas, however, are too flimsy for this.
.
Instead, 'trekkers' must walk beside the animal and lead it on a rein, although, to be fair, the alpaca sometimes makes a token gesture by carrying a picnic lunch on its back. Basically, you are paying to take a country stroll slightly impeded by one of the campest animals on the planet.

Alpacas are, I am sure, delightful creatures when you get to know them but it does seem a little odd to hire them by the hour, especially when you are only allowed to walk them round the park under supervision rather than, say, take them shopping in the Eastgate centre or experiment with their capacity for show-jumping.

The owner was, apparently, inspired by Victorian  pictures of llamas pulling cartloads of children at Whipsnade:

She decided she wanted to recreate the scene in her home town of Basildon, albeit with alpacas rather than llamas. 

Alpacas aren't big enough to pull carts so she decided on the trekking model instead at £10 for half an hour.

“It’s very exciting, this could finally be my big break.”

Assuming the alpacas were happy with the arrangement, it would be a laudable effort at free enterprise were it not for two things which suggest a painful degree of misplaced optimism and faith in human nature.

Firstly the surroundings: although businesses like this are springing up in scenic environments such as the Austrian Tyrol, the Pennines or Sudeley Castle, the prospect of plodding round the Essex marshes just north of Canvey Island is rather less thrilling even with a diminutive camelid mincing along by your side.

And secondly, of course, there are the rock-throwers, tangible proof, that, for some local residents at least, civilization is something that happened to other people. I saw 'Gladiator' at the Basildon Empire on a Saturday night and the on-screen barbarian hordes were nowhere near as frightening as the crowd outside afterwards.

The three alpacas have now been moved to safer quarters until accommodation can be found in, one hopes, a more salubrious neighbourhood. It all goes to show that, in the bizarre world of alpaca trekking, it's probably best to start with the ideal location and then look for livestock rather than the other way round.

What has six legs and four eyes?

Hot on the heels of the drunken prairie voles comes news of an even more intriguing scientific experiment.

In a bid to investigate the evolution of depth perception, some enterprising boffins have been equipping praying mantises (mantes? mantids?) with teeny-tiny 3D glasses.

image: gizmodo.com

The insects are then shown 3D films - the report doesn't say whether they are offered any popcorn - in a bid to discover how they process visual information. Sadly, for blogging purposes, the movies simply feature a black dot moving around the screen, making the plot only marginally more interesting than that of 'Jaws-3D'.

There is a valid reason behind the research...

Analysing how mantises see in three dimensions could give us clues about how 3D vision evolved and lead to novel approaches in implementing 3D recognition and depth perception in computer vision and robotics.

.... but, let's be perfectly honest, the rational explanations are always going to take second place to the utterly surreal image of a bespectacled insect. 

A Vole Lotta Lovin'

There's more proof this week that science can be fun; a group of researchers decided to host a drunken swingers' party for prairie voles.

In an experiment that follows in the noble tradition of levitating mice, stoned spiders and cinema-going ferrets, the usually monogamous voles were plied with drink in an attempt to establish the effects of alcohol on social relationships.

What is particularly interesting is that the scientists have found that, given a choice between dilute alcohol (essentially vodka) and water, the little furry chaps hit the bottle with relish (or as the study more sedately puts it, 'prairie voles voluntarily self-administer substantial amounts of alcohol').

24 hours later, when all the voles were pleasantly pickled, the scientists removed them from their current partners and set them up on a three-hour blind date with someone new, all the while closely observing their amorous activities.

According to their findings, inebriated females would rather snuggle up to their usual boyfriends for reassurance while drunken males, in an altogether more laid-back fashion, are happy to go out on the pull.

Both sexes tend to get more affectionate with drink, and possibly rather less discriminating too: 'the authors found no evidence that alcohol-related aggression, impaired locomotor activity (e.g. stumbling) or passing out played a role in determining whether two voles became a steady couple.'

I can't help feeling that an observational trip or two to Britain's town centres on a Saturday night would have furnished them with much the same information - though obtaining the requisite brains to dissect for confirmation would have been rather more problematical.

It must, I think, come as something of a shock to the Righteous to discover that, far from being an unnatural and peculiarly human vice, the enthusiastic consumption of alcohol appears to be hardwired into other animals - it's just that only we have yet evolved sufficiently to invent the off-licence.

Sheep may safely graze...

 A flock of sheep has been blamed for destroying flowers and cards left by relatives in a graveyard in Berkshire.

This is the aptly-named Grazeley Churchyard; the church there was last used in 2006 so, lacking the means to pay for grass-cutting, the Parochial Church Council decided to allow sheep to graze within the walls. After all, it is, as the local vicar says, 'a traditional way of managing churchyards'.

This pastoral solution is, however, not to everyone's taste; relatives of some of those buried there have expressed their distress at finding the flock ruminating peacefully among the headstones, not least because the animals have apparently been tucking into the floral tributes left on the graves.

It's not the first time churchyard sheep have caused problems; elsewhere, back in 2008, a relative objected to the sheep 'literally trampling over the graves' as well as leaving droppings and uprooting plants, though other local people expressed support for the idea or even a desire to be 'buried with the sheep'.

In previous cases, the church has given in and removed sheep or built electric fences around the graves (after one family threatened to exhume their loved one and move him to another churchyard) but it looks as if Grazeley Parochial Council are made of sterner stuff, flatly insisting that there is no money to employ a human being to cut the grass.

Since the cards and tributes - or sheep droppings, for that matter -  make no difference to the departed, the case provides an interesting study in the attitudes and sensibilities of those left behind, and, perhaps, another indication of how far removed from nature our society is in its approach to death.

And, of course, no 21st century story of this kind would be complete without a statement like this:

Vic Jerrom, who has ancestors buried in the graveyard, described the damage as "very disrespectful". 

Well, that's sheep for you - no sense of what's fitting!

Beautiful Eurydice shows how it's done

With the Tavern's interest in matters maritime, it may not surprise you to know that we once owned a tide clock.

Things have come a long way since the intricate machines constructed for the purpose in the 19th century, which represent an impressive degree of initiative and ingenuity as well as having a certain steampunk charm.

Ours resembled a normal clock, except that the numbers had been replaced by a jaunty selection of flags (which may, for all I know, may spell out an exceedingly rude message in naval code; I never checked) marking off the tide levels in its 12.4 hour circuit.

Setting this useful gadget turned out to be a complicated and arcane ritual which had to be performed at high tide when the moon was full, as close to midnight as possible. Even then the clock lost 15 minutes a month and had to be reset at regular intervals, necessitating much checking of tide tables to find a suitable opportunity.

The speckled sea-louse, however, is spared all this fuss, since it has its own internal tide clock. According to recent research, Eurydice pulchra, even when removed from tidal waters and deprived of the circadian mechanism that reacts to light, continues to swim in time to anticipated tide changes.

The creature's name presumably derives from the way it burrows deep into the sand at low tide and emerges when the tide comes in, all, it appears, guided by a built-in ability to predict the ebb and flow.

I can't help feeling that, given the vast number of tide-related call-outs the RNLI have reported this summer, it would be a very good thing if scientists found some way of implanting this awareness in human beings.

Meanwhile, you can never have enough Gluck.

Lembit takes his eye off the ball

It's party time again! Just in time for the Bank Holiday, astronomers have spotted yet another Near-Earth Asteroid.

2013 QR1 will make its nearest approach this time - at what space.com refers to as a 'safe distance' of 1.8 million miles - at 3.37am BST tomorrow morning, though enthusiasts can watch it in a webcast at the more civilized time of 5.30pm BST on Sunday.

Its recent discovery means that data from this pass will be needed to calculate whether there is any chance of a future impact, and there are still plenty more out there to be discovered, which rather calls into question the recent assurances that, based on current knowledge, we aren't in line for a strike for at least the next century.

“Finding 10,000 near-Earth objects is a significant milestone,” said Lindley Johnson, program executive for NASA’s Near-Earth Object Observations Program, "but there are at least 10 times that many more to be found before we can be assured we will have found any and all that could impact and do significant harm to the citizens of Earth.” 

Even leaving aside the question of all those 'unknown unknowns' still whizzing around up there, there's always the chance of a collision knocking one of the known ones onto a new trajectory. On a cosmic scale, it's always going to be a question of 'when', not 'if'.

And where's Lembit Opik while all this is going on? Surely this one-time stalwart campaigner for an asteroid early warning system has something to say on the matter? Unfortunately, he seems to have been occupied with matters rather closer to home:

'Former MP Lembit Opik bitten in the groin by a sausage dog while judging a charity pet show'

I suppose it's too much to hope that this will convince him once and for all that the celebrity life isn't all it's cracked up to be and that he should return forthwith to matters astronomical.

After all, while the USA gears up for an asteroid-based gold rush and runs competitions to find a useful method of deflection, no-one in Britain has yet stepped up to become, as it were, the face of asteroids.

This should leave the field wide open for Opik, once described as the 'Nostradamus of Westminster' for his dire prognostications of asteroid impact. After all, his previous alternative careers haven't exactly left him covered in glory and it's clear he has no future as a dog show judge.

Sadly, I suspect that his media antics have effectively disqualified him from becoming our national authority on the subject; should we one day face an imminent impact, I, for one, don't want to hear about it from an alumnus of 'I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here'.

Toast of the week - animal rescue edition

It's not just humans who get cut off by the tide, you know...

Two young ferrets who were at risk of drowning were rescued by lifeboat volunteers at Newbiggin RNLI lifeboat station.

What makes this story particularly appealing - apart from its furry protagonists - is the tone of the RNLI account of the incident, written by the local volunteer Press Officer, who has eschewed the usual utilitarian style of reporting in favour of a more literary approach:

The ferrets' anxious owners had made desperate attempts to save their animals by wading into the sea on the Cambois Bay rocks but their best endeavours looked likely to be scuppered when neither Tootsie or Lucky responded.

The crew found Tootsie and Lucky minutes away from drowning by the rapidly rising tide.

Fortunately the intrepid rescuers were able to calm the animals (and, by the sound of it, their distraught owners) and lift them to safety from the rocks.

The icing on the cake is the accompanying photograph, taken by the author; showing two seemingly identical ferrets, it is carefully labelled 'Tootsie (left) and Lucky' - a level of attention to detail that some of our national newspapers would do well to emulate.

It may come as no surprise that the Press Officer, who has written a book about the lifeboat station, is also listed as their mechanic; it's surely good news for the crews and those who may need rescuing that the lifeboats are in such meticulous hands.

When every day seems to bring us another news report of man's inhumanity (or indifference) to man, it is reassuring to think there are still volunteers out there prepared to risk life and limb if necessary to save lives - and to rescue the occasional pet.

It's a while since we had a toast in the Tavern, so I invite you to raise a glass tonight to the men and women of the RNLI and to their Press Officer in Newbiggin by the sea.

The Sunday song book - εξάπόδι

Following the fate of the needle-tailed swift a few weeks ago comes news of another rare creature's early demise:

'A holidaymaker who caught and ate an octopus was "horrified" to learn it was only the second rare six-legged specimen ever found.'

(With apologies to Rodgers & Hammerstein)

Where the skies are all bright, a lucky fellow
Splashing in the waters of his native Greece
Might just find him a tasty octopus
Brought ashore for a family feast.

And it’s too late to rant and rave and bellow,
Now it’s done and the creature is quite dead,
That it sure was a cockeyed octopus;
Only six legs attached to its head.

The creature in the case
Was just the second of its race
Discovered in the waters below,
But our hero had the will
A cephalopod to kill
And serve up with a nice merlot.

You could say that this hungry tourist fellow
Should have known it was rare right from the start,
But there's now no hope;
That American dope
Flash fried it and tore it apart
A la carte.

(As an extra trivial treat, the singer is Reba McEntire, who plays sharp-shooting, vowel-torturing survivalist Heather in the cult film 'Tremors'. Also, if you missed it, here's a link to Mark Wadsworth's inspired plot conflation 'South Pacific Rim - the Musical'.)

Hey, little goldfish....

...Where you goin' to?

Little goldfish, let me swim along with you.'

Every now and then, a news story comes along that makes me instantly and inexplicably happy. 

In the midst of all the gloom and doom, this week was brightened by news of the safe arrival at the International Space Station of one astronaut, two cosmonauts and 32 fish.

The guppy-sized medaka fish will be living in a state-of-the-art habitat, specially delivered by a Japanese robotic cargo freighter, where they will be studied to observe how they are affected by the zero-g environment.

Fish in space - how cool is that?

In fact, it's even better than the anti-gravity machine for mice.

(And, even more pleasingly, the vocalist lip-synching in this clip of the truly excruciating title song is one Richard Dreyfuss, later to acquire fame in quite another piscine context.)

Er...this is E sharp

I can't be the only one who read this...

Mice can "sing" like a choir by matching the pitch of their voice to that of others, scientists claim.

...and immediately thought of this:

Eight o'clock, and the cheetahs are in the diary room...

'Planet Earth Live; join us for the ultimate global wildlife drama.
Real animals. Real lives. In real time.'

"Welcome back to the Masai Mara, where the heavy rain has not dampened the spirits of Richard Hammond. Stuck in his tent amid the downpour, Hammond is reverting to his usual behaviour, gesticulating and chattering excitedly to camera; he must now use all his entertainment skills if the programme is to survive the next few weeks..."

Oh dear! Auntie has blown a massive chunk of our money on an all-squeaking, all-slaughtering Natural History jamboree and it's not going down at all well.

It was obviously meant to be a triumph of 'My Little Pony' broadcasting - make a list of the things viewers like best and put them all together in an incongruous one-size-pleases-all package - with hot and cold running popular presenters in exotic locations and lots of cute baby animals, some of which get eaten in exciting chase sequences.

The public, however, turned out to be resolutely ungrateful for this largesse; the first episode has brought a volley of complaints, not least about the fact that, despite the grandiose strapline above, the programme featured just 20 minutes of live footage consisting almost entirely of the presenters talking to camera, although a couple of buffalo were glimpsed in blurry night vision at one point.

However, the disgruntled viewers are, according to the BBC, quite literally missing the plot:

A spokesman for the BBC admitted that there was little live animal action but said the presenters were there to comment on the day’s news and stories and to provide analysis.

“A lot of it had been filmed that day on location and the footage was clearly signed as pre-packaged,” said the spokesman. “We consider the series to be a multi-media experience so the Twitter feed and website is key to the live action.”

So get with it, Grandpa - live TV is just so last year! Those hip young things at the BBC know what the viewers want, at least the viewers that matter; constant anthropomorphic soap opera is the order of the day, held together with lashings of cuteness and cheap sentimentality.

Thus it is that Hammond breathlessly describes a lioness as a 'single mum bringing up her son in difficult circumstances', while an elephant - 'Emily' - is 'a first-time mum who is finding things tricky'; all that's missing is Jamie Oliver recommending a list of healthy alternatives to decomposing zebra.

That being so, I suppose it makes perfect sense to choose wildlife programme presenters for their popular appeal rather than any expertise in the subject; perhaps the more intellectually demanding viewers should be grateful they were not invited to vote and say which of the the least talented animals should be fed to the lions.

This is Mother Nature as a pregnant 16-year-old with a Justin Bieber fixation.

All present and correct?

While on the theme of exotic animals (see previous post), we've mentioned this before, but why should London Zoo be holding its annual animal-count slap-bang in the middle of winter?

The papers are awash with shots of the customary photo-call - this year, it's the penguins - as a keeper poses with a clipboard and journalists try to think up an amusingly punning headline.

I suppose the staff are less busy now than at any other time, but it does seem a little harsh on the poor animals to be turfed out of their nice warm beds for roll-call - I heartily sympathise!

Meanwhile, the Scottish Government is being castigated for spending nearly £43,000 on a 'welcome party' for their new pandas, though it's not quite the extravaganza the term suggests:

The money spent by the Scottish Government includes a grant of £12,900 offered to the Royal Zoological Society Scotland towards the arrival event, £23,000 on marketing links between Scotland and China in both countries and staff costs of £6,822.

So that's what it was about: I thought there was something distinctly odd about the ranks of children obediently cheering and waving their little flags in unison as the lorries went by - though I bet it played well back home among the big bosses in China.

Subrosa certainly wasn't impressed:

'I have no problem with businesses introducing new ideas to boost their profits, but using live animals under the canopy of improving relationships with China, is a few steps too far.'

Looking after your neighbours' pet rabbit while they're away is worry enough; I hope, for Scotland's sake, these two furry hostages to fortune thrive in the chilly winds of Edinburgh.

Oh, I do hope so!

From the Mail:

'What could be Britain's most daring thieves were last night on the run from police after around 100 exotic animals - including a 5ft crocodile* - were swiped in a pet shop raid.

Officers are now hunting the missing menagerie and have warned the thieves they could be risking life and limb trying to handle the stolen predator.'

The BBC has more: 'Shop worker Paul Williamson said the caiman was "aggressive".

"I've been here for four years and I've never picked it up. I wouldn't want to physically go in there and pull it out - they're not the biggest animal in the world, but they can do a lot of damage.

They're very powerful, very strong and they've obviously got huge teeth, so if they bite, the next place for you go to is hospital."'

Perhaps someone's been reading Angry Exile and got some ideas about cross-breeding (very cross indeed, I should think, if that caiman has anything to do with it.)

Update from a Manchester news website: 'Stolen' 5ft crocodile and other reptiles miraculously reappear outside Stockport pet shop

The thieves seem to have bitten off more than they could chew; I wonder whether the caiman did too...


*Loosely speaking; but then the Mail has form in the area of vague taxonomy.

Exit, pursued by a bear/lynx/wolf/moose/beaver

Mark Wadsworth has been musing on moose this week - more specifically, the pair that have arrived to repopulate the Scottish Highlands.

The male and female moose are part of ambitious and controversial proposals by a millionaire landowner to recreate an ancient mountain habitat, complete with wolves, lynx and brown bears roaming freely within a vast fenced-off wildlife reserve north of Inverness.

The wolf release plans suffered something of a setback earlier this year but the moose, being vegetarians and thus less likely to help themselves to the local indigenous wildlife/sheep/hill-walkers, have arrived ready to set about their mammoth task - no pressure there, then!
 
Should they succeed in creating a new generation, motorists will have to deal with the not inconsiderable risk of running into one on a secluded road; not for nothing do Canadian highways carry the iconic moose warnig signs at regular intervals. Still, should a moose despatch you, at least it will not add insult to injury by tucking into your mortal remains.
 
On last year's trip to the Highlands, we were accompanied by a Canadian visitor who was most amused that the most dangerous animals we encountered were cattle (see Under Siege); her garden is invaded by bears on a regular basis and she found it quite a novelty to be in a wilderness where there is nothing that might want you for lunch (except the midges).
 
If these plans go ahead, things may eventually be rather different. The beavers released in Argyll - amid much protest from those who want to keep the Border salmon rivers as they are - have survived and are breeding, but the diffficult terrain means researchers are finding it impossible to track them down and their electric tags have dropped off.
 
Now consider the impact of dozens of top predators wandering at will in the northern glens - they are bound to break out of the planned reserve sooner or later. It's true that these animals already roam wild in populated countries but people there are accustomed to dealing with them - and even so, attacks happen.
 
A few years ago, on a visit to Canada, we arrived at the idyllic remote lakeside cabin we were renting to discover that there was a bear reservation next door - with no fences. 'No problem', said the owner; 'just make sure you don't sneak up on them. Make plenty of noise and they'll stay away.'
 
That is the reason that most Canadian hikers wear bear bells on their clothing or hiking poles, though it's advisable to carry pepper spray too. It helps if you keep an eye out for bear scat, so you can get an idea of their movements - and which kind you are dealing with.
 
As any rural Canadian will tell you, black bear scat contains berries and small pieces of fur, while grizzly scat smells of pepper and contains small bells.

Ernest Rutherford Seagull - a Cautionary Tale

A piece of fiction today, with sincere apologies to Richard Bach.

Staff at Sellafield are considering a cull of seagulls as the site is overrun with birds, cats and mice, representing a substantial risk of contamination. Meanwhile, natural wildlife deaths on site mean they have 350 little frozen carcasses in storage as 'putrescent' nuclear waste pending proper disposal.

Ernest Rutherford Seagull hovered in the updraught from the cooling tower, watching mice scurry over the brickwork. The faint glow from his extended wingtips was matched by the eerie luminescence of the waste water lagoons where his friends were swimming.

He knew there was something different about the mice – something new about the way they gathered in small groups, then moved on decisively. Things were changing around Sellafield. Certainly the cats he had seen looked thinner, more desperate. Some of them were even hungry enough to tackle a seagull.

His friend Robert Oppenheimer Seagull manoeuvred into position beside him. Ernest Rutherford Seagull pointed downwards with his beak. “Do you see anything different about them?” he asked.

“So you’ve noticed too.” Robert Oppenheimer Seagull didn’t sound surprised. “I think they’re evolving intelligence. They’ve already learned to evade the cats.”

“Poor little things,” said Ernest Rutherford Seagull. “They probably wish they could fly.”

At that moment there was a loud bang and Robert Oppenheimer Seagull crumpled into a ball, plummeting downwards towards the ground and landing in an untidy heap. A man in a biohazard suit picked him up with tongs and placed him carefully in a freezer bag.

Behind the man the grass stirred, although there was no wind. There was a glimpse of fur, the twitch of a tail, a slight hissing sound. The mutant feral cats were gathering. And they were hungry.

Ernest Rutherford Seagull wheeled on the updraught and flew sadly away towards Whitehaven, his wings still glowing faintly.

No Parachutes for Algernon

Can you build an anti-gravity machine for mice? It sounds like one of those questions you’d ask in the pub, but those clever scientists at JPL have done just that.

Not content with making frogs hover in mid-air – who said science was boring? – they’re using magnets to suspend mice above the floor of a specially designed cage to study the physical effects of weightlessness on mammals.

A superconducting magnet generates a field which levitates the water inside living tissue and the rest of the animal goes along for the ride, so to speak. Which is probably a good thing, really, particularly for the mouse.

Their first subject became agitated and disoriented – wouldn’t you? – so the next mice to try it were sedated. Just imagine what was going through their tiny, stoned rodent minds; ‘Hey man, I think I’m flying! No, really!’

The plan is to continue the experiment long enough to study the long-term effects of a zero-g environment. What we don't know is what will happen to their brains - experiments have shown that exposure to magnetic fields can affect brain activity and can duplicate effects sometimes described as profound religious experiences.

Who knows? This could be the beginning of a spiritually enlightened super-mouse.

Bring On the Morlocks...

Want a recession-proof business idea? Then take a lesson from Pets at Home – pre-tax profits up 29% in the year to March – who are planning to open another 20 stores this year. It seems customers are buying toys and treats for their pets, but that’s not all:

Sales of fashion lines, such as dog clothing, have also risen as owners, faced with spending more time with their animals, try to spruce up their image, the company said.

Read it and weep! Even in the current financial climate, there are people out there prepared to spend their (presumably) hard-earned cash procuring the product of a third-world sweatshop to decorate a dog.

There’s a depressing symmetry here; the RSPCA recently reported that pets are being abandoned in ever-increasing numbers – up 25% on last year. The cost of pet ownership is surely a factor but:

The RSPCA is concerned that people are ready to give up their pets for the most bizarre reasons. One owner told an inspector: “My cat doesn’t match my new carpet.” Another said: “I’ve just bought a new leather sofa and I don’t want the cat to scratch it.”

The general picture is a depressing one; treating an animal as a fashion accessory, dressing it up for amusement or abandoning it for completely selfish reasons are the acts of a child, unreasoning and irresponsible. Britain is full of them, and retail power is now in their hands.

Will the last grown-up to leave the country please turn out the lights?

(Bulgarian Bush)Baby, It's Cold Outside

Some of the more exotic victims of the Russia/Ukraine gas dispute were shivering in their enclosures in a Bulgarian zoo yesterday. When gas heaters failed in sub-zero temperatures, zoo staff rushed to provide electric heating for 1300 animals including parrots, hippos, elephants and monkeys (reports fail to say whether they were brass ones or not).

Perhaps given a potential shortage off heaters, they could develop a variation on the animal adoption scheme popular in many zoos. For a small fee, you could be adopted by a bush-baby or armadillo and have a seat next to its enclosure, sharing the heat from its cosy electric fire. After all, they've got to pay the electricity bills somehow, or the inhabitants of Sofia may soon be wearing a lot of interesting new fur coats.

Meanwhile, in one of the oddest bits of timimg ever, London Zoo have started their annual census, a roll-call of every specimen in the zoo. It has to be done annually in all British zoos to keep count of births, deaths etc, but whose bright idea was it to do it in the second week of January? All over the zoo, shivering animals are being forced to stand by their beds while keepers with clipboards tick them off the list.

The meerkats, bless 'em, have flatly refused to cooperate. Hours before the survey began, a litter was born in a deep burrow inaccessible to staff where they cannot be counted and the tribe is firmly staying put in support, leaving the census-takers with the sort of unknown variable that gives obsessive bureaucrats everywhere the heebie-jeebies.

I've always felt a certain liking for meerkats - they have much in common with my childhood hero Rikki-Tikki-Tavi; it's pleasing to see they have a healthy attitude towards authority too.

Advent Calendars For Dogs...

..and cats are being sold in a local pet shop, according to a sign outside.

Now, I checked in the dictionary, and Advent is defined as 'the season before the Nativity'. The idea of a calendar to count down the days until the birth of Jesus has already been secularised to a startling extent by Disney and Spice Girl versions and we have reached a stage where a child is likely to feel short-changed if the windows don't contain chocolate, but an advent calendar for pets takes it to a whole new level.

Only the most blindly devoted anthropomorphist could maintain that a dog or cat has any understanding of the concept involved so we must assume that, far from a demonstration of the intelligence of pets, these calendars are a manifestation of the besottedness of owners - unless, of course, you are buying one in a delightfully post-modernist ironic way*.

Counting the days until the arrival of presents rather than the earthly manifestation of Christianity's supreme being did, of course, greatly increase the potential market for advent calendars beyond the actively religious (and the chocolate must have helped) but it has yet to be seen whether manufacturers will beat the credit crunch by tapping into an as yet unexploited market.

*It's one of those irregular verbs; I make a post-modernist ironic purchase, you have more money than sense, he is just a vulgar idiot.

Obama: still considering choice of dog for White House

Hold the front page! As the BBC news strapline said, in answer to a question from one of the highly-trained political journalists at this evening's press conference Barack Obama revealed that they had still not chosen the future First Puppy.

He explained that this is because the dog must be hypo-allergenic (?!) and secondly - here's the good bit! - they would like to get a dog from a shelter, and they can't name a breed because "most shelter dogs are mutts, like me".

Parental concern, social responsibility and racial integration all rolled into the answer to a trivial and facetious question - that man is one skilled political operator!

Back in the UK, a cursory glance at tonight's television schedules shows that the Friday night slot left unexpectedly vacant following a certain resignation is to be filled by a screening of 'Armageddon'.

Last week, the hastily-found replacement for the show was 'Speed', in which an out-of-control bus causes havoc. Is the BBC trying to tailor its programming to the tastes of those newly deprived of Ross' sophisticated repartee or is someone trying to make a not-so-subtle comment on his career?