ATLANTA'S ASIAN ELEPHANTS

Back in the mid-1980s I "interviewed" the two Asian elephants at The Atlanta Zoo. Their keepers were so gracious and the elephants so charming, that I still love their story and want to share it with you.

Coca II Grande Dame of The Atlanta Zoo Circa Mid-1980s

The largest ones weigh over eight tons -- that's about four Lincolns (80s editions) with a couple of Hondas thrown in. At one time they lived on every continent except Australia. They've been hunted by primitives and sophisticates, used as war machines by Hannibal, as executioners by Romans, as industrial workers by Indians, and as entertainers by Americans. They are the world's largest land animals -- elephants.

Coca, "Atlanta's Red Elephant" Strolls Around Her Yard On A Beautiful April Day

Two of these behemoths, with their distinct and endearing personalities, delight Atlantans daily as the Atlanta Zoo. Being Asian elephants, however, they are smaller than the Africans.

Asian bulls stand a mere nine feet at the shoulder and weigh a measly six tons (only three Lincolns). Cows are more diminutive, standing seven feet and weighing a willowy five tons or so. Coca II, grande dame in Atlanta, weighs 7,000 pounds. And, according to Atlanta Zoo Senior Keeper Ed Myers, she is the world's only red elephant.

"Coca loves to work the Georgia red clay into a paste to wallow in," Keeper Fred Alvey added during an interview at the zoo in April. Normally a giant gray prune, Coca ranges from deep red when she's covered with wet mud to pale pink when the clay dries to dust. There aren't many pink elephants around, but one usually can be found shortly after an Atlanta downpour.

On pretty days, Coca strolls with queenly dignity around her outdoor enclosure, haughtily holding court for her admirers, who occasionally bring her tasty edibles, such as peanuts or bread. If she's feeling playful, she may pinch the hand offering a treat with the surprisingly strong tip of her trunk.

Coca's playfulness causes her keepers to treat her with great respect and caution. "While Coca can be gentle and charming with guests," Alvey said, "if you turn your back, she might sneak up and try to grab you with her trunk. She wants to sling you around, which could be dangerous." She seems to get a kick out of deliberately pushing her keepers into dung, snatching their tools, and "rattailing" them with her trunk.

"She'll stand around pretending she's not paying any attention to you as you work," Myers said. "then suddenly you'll see her trunk flying at you. It's like a power pole; it looks bigger than it is. I stay far enough away to jump clear if I see it coming at me."

Twinkles and Ed Myers Inside The Elephant Barn

"Although Coca is mischievous, she obeys commands more quickly than Twinkles," Alvey said. Myers, who has taken care of the elephants for 31 years, added, "Coca and Twinkles are trained and can do a routine. They can kneel, stand on two feet, sit, lay down. When we had four elephants, we had two shows every day. It's hard to have an elephant show with only one elephant, but Coca and Twinkles won't work together."

Twinkles, at 13, would like to be friends with Coca, Myers said. But the domineering female, in her prime at 40, won't accept the bobby-soxer. "She pushes Twinkles around and butts her," Myers said. "When we had four elephants, Alice, the dominant one, kept the other three straight." Now there is no elephant to protect Twinkles, so her keepers keep her and Coca apart. Coca roams outside in the morning and is shut in the barn in the afternoon. Twinkles is allowed out in the afternoon, but she is timid and doesn't venture outside for long or go far. "She stands in the doorway peeping out," Alvey said. Possibly she will be more assertive when she grows up.

Now she is "like any adolescent," according to Alvey. "She behaves like a human teenager, with their vices and virtues. She's generous -- gives you a carrot if she likes you. Affectionate -- drapes her trunk over your shoulder and sticks her tongue out to be rubbed, that's her favorite caress. She can be pig headed -- if want her to move and she doesn't want to, she has a tantrum: squeals, spins in a circle and doesn't move away. She is impatient -- if her food is late, she kicks the door, trumpets and screams."

Myers Feeds Twinkles An Apple

When I slipped inside Twinkles' barn to take pictures, Myers called, "Come here, baby." The 4,500-pound "baby" quickly moved her silent mass to the doorway, reaching out with her trunk to investigate me and nuzzle Myers. "A caged elephant is like a child," said Myers as he patted Twinkles' trunk. "It must be looked after."

Viewed from the distance necessitated by bars and glass installed in the barn, Twinkles doesn't look very big. But standing next to her, she seems huge. She wanted to cuddle, edging tree-trunk legs closer to me, turning her brown eye down to have a good look. I stroked Twinkles' hairy trunk and, when she lifted it and opened her mouth, I popped in a few apples. Twinkles reciprocated by posing for pictures, doing a few tricks, and, always, pressing and pressing nearer, while I, always, backed nervously away.

But Twinkles remained a perfect lady, apparently only wanting attention. She likes for Myers to throw a Frisbee, which she doesn't catch, but chases. She likes to play with a basketball, though she tries to stand on it, so it doesn't last long. Both elephants love to be hosed down and scrubbed. (Note: There was no elephant pool then.)

It is unfortunate that Coca will not accept Twinkles. In the wild, elephants are social and cooperative, even surrounding and protecting an injured companion and supporting it while leading it to safety. They live in herds of 15 to 20 cows with their young, led by a dominant female. Junior bulls hang around the edge of the herd; and a large bull oversees all from a distance, sometimes having a small bull to act as scout. When calves are born, after a gestation of 20 months for a female and 22 months for a male, they weigh about 200 pounds and stand at three feet. The herd surrounds the mother while she is calving. The mother and other cows blow dust on the newborn to dry it. Within two hours, the baby stands and suckles, and joins the herd. If danger threatens, the mother seeks another female to help protect her calf. If mom is killed, another cow, even if she has offspring of her own, adopts the infant.

Coca Strides Away

Coca and Twinkles were infants when they joined the Atlanta Zoo -- both were two years old. They have grown to love their keepers over the years, staying close and following them when possible.

When Alvey joined Myers and Coca at the outdoor enclosure, Coca patted him with her trunk and left a splotch of red mud on his shirt.

"You knew what you were doing, didn't you?" Alvey said, grinning. He grabbed a handful of grass to wipe some of the mud off. Coca felt through the grass until the tip of her trunk found and fondled Alvey's rubber boot. Then, as though she feared she had shown too much familiarity, Coca blew a long noisy blast through her trunk, gathered her bulk, and majestically strode away.

Beth Back in The 1980s

MY LITTLE BUDDY

The Rescued Chipmunk Pup

Recently, in beautiful warm weather, I released my latest little "visitor" into the wild. Rick at Cochran Mill Nature Center supervised my feeding and caring for my little buddy, a chipmunk pup brought to us after a cat attack.

Sadly, many animals do not survive a cat scratch or bite, but this little fellow wasn't injured, except for a kink in his tail. He was also pretty mature: compeletly furred and with his eyes and ears open. Of course, he still had the infantile proportions that make babies so cute -- a large head, big soft eyes, and little body.

Rick Examines The Chipmunk

From the start, my little buddy was wiggly and resistant to handling. He surprised me with his strength and agility. He climbed with his little feet and twisted his back until he almost popped out of my hand. I soon had to swaddle him while I fed him puppy formula from a syringe. He never suckled, but lapped quickly with his tiny tongue, which flickered at an astounding pace, along with his little heart which I felt thumping against my fingers. Even at rest, he breathed so quickly that I thought he was scared. Turns out chipmunks are just speedy little creatures.


Rick Gives My Little Buddy His First Meal

We gave the little guy real food, only suplementing with the formula. He liked pecans, dandelion greens, mashed cooked sweet potatoes,and wax worms, which he ate like an ice cream cone, holding them in his teeny "hands" and nibbling daintily.
Eating A Wax Worm

We offered him acorns, sunflower seeds, fruit, etc. Some of these things he moved around in his habitat and some he carried away and hid in his house. It's hard to say what he actually ate. Before long, I gave up trying to "nurse" him, as he struggled to turn his head away and practically screamed, "Please, lady! I'd rather do it myself!" So I fixed formula with a little cereal and he lapped it out of a bowl.
The Chipmunk Keeps a Close Eye on the Enemy - Hobbs the Cat

One day I offered him an earthworm which he watched from high atop his limb, then worked his way cautiously down to the worm's level. As he approached it, the worm twisted around and moved toward the chipmunk, who turned and fled!

The Little Guy Enjoys A Higher Viewpoint on His Limb

When I had time in the mornings, I liked to sit at my table and watch my little buddy. (I was told it is bad luck to name our fosterlings, so I didn't call him Buddy.) He was the cutest little chipmunk ever! Okay, he looked like all other chipmunks, I guess, but he is the only one I have ever had the opportunity to observe closely. He was brown-turning-russet with black and cream racing stripes on his sides. His face had cream eye-liner with a soft black stripe in the middle. Compared to squirrels, he had Cinderella feet -- so tiny his wicked step-sisters would be envious! And then he had the delicate ears, the twitchy whiskers, the chipmunk cheeks!

He Loved to Dart Through His Toilet Paper Roll

As I watched, he quietly slipped out of his house and scrabbled aorund searching for food. As he grew and matured, he became quicker, flitting back and forth, around, up and down. He was like a squirrel on speed! Often, he wandered around his habitat, as if he were casing the joint. He stood on his back legs and felt along the glass wall like a mime pretending to be in a box. He looked up and jumped, trying to figure out some way to escape.

I had to be very careful to keep him confined. I didn't want to try to catch a lightening ball in this house, especially with 2 dogs and a cat! Actually, he's pretty safe from the dogs, but, as he knows, a cat is fast and deadly.

"HMMM. . . I Wonder What's Out There?"

The little rascal delighted in zipping through his toilet paper roll and streaking into his house, which he barricaded with wood chips at each end when he went to sleep.

He didn't mind if I sat quietly at the table reading and watching him. Even photos didn't bother him. He ignored the flash -- I guess he was used to being a star!

Beginning to Look Grown UP!

Soon it was time to release my little buddy. I would like to keep him safe here and watch him like fish in an aquarium, but he deserves to experience real life. I realize that he probably won't live as long in the wild as he would in captivity. The average adult lifespan is 2 years.

We released him in the woods, so I won't have to worry about people hurting him, but owls, hawks, snakes, coyotes and other predatory mammals find his kind tasty. Rick said he has seen many other chipmunks in this area (some released by Rick), so maybe he'll be safe here.

Let Me Out, Please, I'm Ready!

Chipmunks live alone in burrows, which I read are clean and tidy, as the little guys have "refuse tunnels" where they put feces and debris. They don't really hibernate, but live on caches of food they have hidden and come outside on warm sunny days. Living in the Atlanta area, I guess local chipmunks come out quite a bit throughout the winter.

When we reased him, my little buddy moved a few inches away, then froze sitting up on his haunches for quite a while, little hands folded at his waist. He seemed to listen and observe this new world. Then he began to scratch around a little, then froze again. When we made a noise, he scampered to a boulder and darted under it, stopping just inside the cavity to peer back out. We left him there and went back to work. I was a little sad.

My Little Buddy Just Before Release - Isn't He Handsome Now!

But in spite of the struggle and risks my little buddy will face in nature, he deserves to enjoy the freedom and dignity of a chipmunk's life. As time passes, I hope that Rick will report seeing a little fellow with a kinked tail frolicking amid the autumn leaves and the spring flowers.

Later Note: I returned to the area where I released my little buddy. He met me with cries of joy and introduced me to his wife and pride of young. Then we sat on a big rock and sang "Born Free" for hours! All right, none of this happened, or ever would. It's just my fantasy, but it's difficult to send one's loved ones into the world and let go. Just ask my daughter!

My Little Buddy Eating His Wax Worm

EGG CANDLING

By Helen Thomae Searle

My Aunt Helen is guest posting today. I am compiling a book of stories about girls growing up in the South way back in the dark ages -- when I was a child and earlier -- and this is Aunt Helen's story about Egg Candling. I plan to include her story in the book. I hope you will find it just as charming as I do.



Helen Thomae 5 Years Old

Sometime during my high school days (1937-40), Daddy is trying to make some extra money and decided that country-fresh eggs would be a good product to sell to stores and to individuals. He had talked this idea over with several prospective customers who agreed to buy eggs from him on a trial basis. So we set up our production line in the basement of our house on a couple of card tables and on two orange crates turned on end. The basement wasn't a bad place to do this -- it was warm in the winter close to the furnace and, as for the summer, I don't think it lasted that long. I don't really remember how long we were in the egg business.

Ebb Thomae, Egg Magnate and Helen's Father (My Beloved Poppy)

It worked like this: Daddy would go to farms close to Chattanooga, buy fresh eggs from farmers, bring them home, we would candle and clean them up, then he would deliver them to his customers. I don't recall how many days would elapse from the time he acquired them until he delivered them, but probably about three or four as we had to "process" them.

The processing of these fresh eggs consisted first of cleaning them with vinegar. This was because there were all kinds of hen doody on some of them, which smelled, and it was Gene's (brother) and my job to clean them. And the more vinegar we put on them the more they smelled, and we did use a lot of rags which had to be washed quite often. That was Blanche's (sister) job -- when she came back to town every other weekend after teaching dancing in outlying towns -- it was her assignment to keep us with clean cloths -- and she also assisted in the basement assembly line from time to time.

Blanche and Gene


After the eggs were cleaned, they were then candled. It order to candle an egg, it was necessary to have a candling machine. Ours consisted of a shoe box with an oval hole cut in the top -- big enough to hold an egg. Inside the shoe box was an extension cord with a light bulb positioned underneath the hole. In order to see if the eggs were infertile (meaning that the roosters had kept their distance) I would place an egg on the hole in the top of the shoe box with the light shining beneath it, allowing me to see the outline of the inside of the egg. If it was infertile and had a clear outline of the yolk, it was ready for delivery.

But, if the egg showed signs of being fertile (meaning the rooster was a busy little fella), then that egg was placed in a different box for a different delivery.

If the yolk was milky-looking or dark in spots, it was considered unfit for consumption, put in still another box and taken upstairs to be flushed down the johnny.

Gene at Work (He Delivered Drugs -- And Apparently Repaired His Motorcycle When He Was Awake)

There were problems of one kind and another. I don't recall all the details as I was going to high school and only assisted after homework was done and on the week-end. Daddy had expected to get white eggs, but evidently the farmers had a market for them and mostly sold the brown eggs with doody on them to him. He had two or three special home customers and as he took me to school, we would deliver the eggs to their front door.

I don't know too much about the laying habits of hens, but seemingly somewhere during the year, there is a "no egg-laying" time, and, for us, that meant not too many eggs to clean and candle. But, also, the farmers wanting to keep making sales, would sell Daddy old, fertile, sometimes rotten, brown eggs. I candled them and not a one could be used! At the time, when I saw an unfit egg, I would go upstairs, break open the egg, and flush it and the horrible smell down the johnny. This happened about four times on the batch I'm telling you about before it dawned on me to get a boxful and take them up all at one time, since it seems that this particular collection of eggs had been foisted off on us.

It wasn't too much later that we went out of the egg business.

I didn't shed a tear.

Gene and Helen in 1925


An afterthought: This reminds me of a joke.

Two old maids decided to go into the chicken and egg business on their farm.

They bought 49 hens and 49 roosters!

Silvie 's Misadventure

SILVIE


Yesterday I ran down the street, in 90+ heat and high humidity. I had spotted my confused and lost 4-pound, 16-year-old poodle, Silvie, staggering along the street. Just as a car whooshed by, Silvie fell to the pavement, rolled on her back and kicked frantically into the air.

"SILVIE!" I screamed, running faster and waving my arms over my head to try to attract her attention. Silvie is practically deaf and can only recognize me if I am within ten feet or so. I'm sure that if any neighbors saw me running and screaming in such heat, they dialed 911 and reported an insane woman on the loose.


WILLOW


I was visiting Holly and Ben's house to puppy sit for a while. Their new "baby" Willow is only 8 weeks old and upset about being crated. They manage to be home a lot, with their crazy schedules, but Willow needed her Grandy to come tend to her for the afternoon.

HOLLY AND BEN

SILVIE AND MICHELLE



I had brought my poodles, Silvie and Michelle, who is 12 years old. Every time I took the dogs outside, I was vigilant, and only took them out the back, well away from the street. I feared that Willow might escape and run from me.

MAGGIE

I also kept a close eye on Maggie, their Yorkie, who sometimes visits neighboring yards. I felt pretty confident of Silvie and Michelle. Michelle is obedient and Silvie stays right at my feet. Always.


Until yesterday. Trying to keep Willow from wetting the floor and encouraging her to "go" outside, I took the dogs out, oh, about 30 times. Well, maybe not that many, but a lot. And was it hot!

On one of our trips back into the house, Silvie was missing. I looked all over the house, in case she was quietly wandering around. No Silvie.

VERY YOUNG HOLLY AND SILVIE NAPPING


"Come on, let's go outside," I called to the dogs and looked around the back yard. We went back in and looked, calling, though Silvie can't hear much. We went back outside and I carried Willow around the house twice, and walked along the wooded area, listening for little feet scrabbling in the undergrowth and leaves. No sign of Silvie.

I shut the dogs into the house and ran back outside and to the street. I ran into the street and looked both ways. Still no Silvie. Which way? A tiny dog, lost and confused, could be anywhere!

I began to run toward the highway, which was a block or so. Finally, as I rounded a curve, I saw poor little Silvie! That was when the car sped by and Silvie fell to the ground.

I screamed, Silvie!" and ran down the street toward Silvie, who struggled to her feet and stumbled toward the gutter. As I neared my little girl, a car came up behind me. I waved at it to slow down. I kept my eyes glued to Silvie until I could get to her and pick her up. The careless driver didn't slow down at all, just zoomed past me and my doggie.

SILVIE


I lifted Silvie and held her gently against my body. She rested her little head on my chest and drooped in my arms. Was she injured? Did a car hit her? I looked quickly, but there were no obvious injuries and no blood. Silvie has occasional seizures and I think that's what happened when I saw her fall.

Dazed from the heat, fear, and seizure, Silvie just slumped against me. I thanked God all the way back to the house that little Silvie was spared a horrible fate. When I got into the house, I offered water to Silvie, but she just stared ahead. I lifted a little water in my hand and wet her mouth several times, then carried her to the sofa and just sat holding Silvie to let her cool down and rest for a little while.

Then I examined her little body to find no injuries, not even scrapes. Silvie seemed a little tentative the rest of the evening and seemed afraid that bouncy, puppyish Willow would knock her down, so she just rested in my lap and lapped up the soft cooings of concern from Ben and Holly as they came home.


HOLLY AND BEN



YEN AND YANG: SILVIE AND MICHELLE

SWIMMING WITH STINGRAYS

A couple of summers ago, I visited my Aunt Helen in Jacksonville, FL. My adult daughter, Holly, and daughter-in-law, Nicole, along with her baby, Kaden, accompanied me and we had a great vacation eating seafood, exploring St. Augustine, and going to the beach. Until the stingray invasion.

Holly, Nicole, and I waded out into the cool, refreshing ocean. Kaden sported a fancy inner tube. We went about waist deep, backing into the waves and laughing as the spray flew around us. Kaden enjoyed the ride in his tube. The sun was shining; the afternoon was just perfect.

"Oh, look," Holly said, pointing to a little stingray.


"Hm," I replied looking into the water. Interesting. We peered at the stingray for a moment as we moved to the side, avoiding being anywhere near it.

Before our next breath, we were surrounded by stingrays! Coming from behind, a huge flotilla bore down on us, surrounding us and cutting off our escape route to the beach. We looked around us and saw - truly - thousands of the things, a huge . . .school? . . . flock?. . . flapping from deep water to the shallow surf, flowing from our left to our right and on and on until they were out of sight!

Holly and Nicole began screaming! "EEEEEEEEEE!"

"Don't scare the baby," I yelled. "Don't scream, you're scaring the baby!"

I pulled Kaden and his tube out of the water, afraid that he might get stung.


I admit that Steve Irwin's stingray-induced death popped into my mind. "Horror!"

"No, no," I said to myself. "That was a fluke and a huge stingray. Nothing to be afraid of."

"Steve Irwin!"

"No, really, I don't need to be afraid."

"Poor Steve Irwin!" my mind debated like opposing politicians, fright and common sense fighting for my emotions.

"EEEEEEEEE!" the girls continued to scream. Both Nicole and Holly began climbing my back! "EEEEEEEEE!"

Now I'm staggering along dragging Kaden and mostly carrying Holly and Nicole, still yelling, "Don't scream. You're scaring the baby!"

We floundered toward shore, screaming bloody murder, Kaden having joined the chorus. The stingrays bumped into Holly's and Nicole's legs, accompanied by ever shriller screeches. One caught on Holly's calf, wrapped its "wings" around her leg, then wiggled itself free and swam away. "EEEEEEE!" Holly shrieked, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"You're choking me!" I squeaked. Holly released my throat and began pushing me forward.

"Shuffle your feet," Holly called, "shuffle your feet!"

"Shut up, Holly!" Nicole retorted between screams while still trying to climb my back. "Just shut up!"

At that, I began laughing, stumbling, gasping, tottering with two girls on my back and a baby in my arms, the laughter sucking the last strength from my legs.


By the time we tumbled onto the beach and sprawled on the sand, we were all shrieking with laughter and relief, except for Kaden, who howled with terror. Wiping the stinging salt water from my eyes, I looked around at the other vacationers. Not one person had noticed our distress or the stingray armada currently cruising beyond our sight.

We didn't go back onto the water that day.

RUN WITH YOUR MOUTH CLOSED!

A few years ago, I was running along the highway in the hot summer with my mouth open and my tongue dragging along the street behind me when a bumble bee flew into my mouth!

Not missing a step, I puckered up and blew the bee out, desperately trying to keep my tongue and lips away from its stinger.

"Fwoof." Out it came without hurting me at all. But I realized that I had lightly touched it with my tongue, because the yellow and black "visitor" felt fuzzy and tasted sweet.

INJURED LOON VISITS COCHRAN MILL NATURE CENTER

We had an interesting visitor at the center this week. A loon, apparently on its way north. Here is what Rick, who cares for all of the center's animals, had to say:

The loon was brought in from the Atlanta airport by the Aviation Authority. It had landed on a runway. Apparently this happens sometimes where the loon mistakes the runway for water. They can only take off from water and need about a football field's length to run across as they take off.

It had some abrasions to its feet and wings, so we put some topical antibiotics on.

Two rehabbers on the coast gave me some very important information regarding this species. Because their legs are so far back on their bodies, they have to lie in a donut-shaped towel if they're in a carrier or they will quickly get sores on their keel as they can't hold it up. Also, they will lose the waterproofing of their feathers if they don't have constant clean, refreshed water, so the kiddie pool was not a good solution long term.

It didn't eat any of the fish I tried (as far as I can tell). I took it to a private lake today and released it and it appeared very happy to be free.

I was totally taken aback at how aggressive (defensively) it was! It would go out of its way to come after you if you pressed its space. Worse bird I've dealt with in that respect. Worse than any raptors! Whod've thunk it??

What a beautiful haunting cry they have. They are also very beautifully colored and marked when in their breeding plumage.The injured loon was either young or not in its breeding plumage.

There are many loon fans who go to the northern states in order to see/hear them in the wild. I have a friend who lies in the Adirondacks in loon country and he was talking to some loon revelers once and he told them, "I shoot them and eat them!" They were horrified and one asked, "What do they taste like?" He replied casually, "They taste like Bald Eagles!"

I'm glad to know that Rick released the loon. Its sad call, repeated often, seemed to be searching for its flock or at least another of its kind. I hope that it has joined other loons and is winging its way north.


LOONY FACTS:

Starting with the name: The bird's name MIGHT have come from its eerie yodel, especially when heard on moonlit nights. Some of its calls resemble crazy laughter, hence "loon" as we think of strange persons. And the word "lunatic" originally referred to a person who became deranged by sleeping in moonlight (luna = moon). Maybe families huddled in their safe, tightly closed cottages heard weird cries in the night and imagined lost souls wandering around a lake howling and laughing.

Common Loons dive and fish underwater, catching their prey and swallowing it, aided by backward-facing sharp knobs in their mouths that prevent escape of the intended dinner. They can stay under water for almost five minutes while fishing.

The Common Loon is Minnesota's state bird.

You might hear one of four calls from the loon: the tremolo, like maniacal laughter, is an aggressive one; the wail, a lonely-sounding long call; the hoot, used to communicate among parents and offspring; and the yodel, made by males defining their territory.

In the summer, loons are speckled black and white with a blackish, iridescent-green head. Their bills are black and their eyes are red. The red eye helps the loon see underwater. Winter colors are gray and white, like the loon which visited CMNC.

Both parents sit on the nest and care for their one or two babies. The young can leave the nest after just a day, but can't fly for two months. The parents often carry their offspring on their back to protect them from predatory fish and turtles in the water.

Their menu includes fish, frogs, leeches, crayfish, mollusks, salamanders and insects.

Young loons are on the menu of skunks, raccoons, foxes, snapping turtles, northern pike and muskies. Only the bald eagle is likely to eat the adults.

Loons have solid bones, unlike most birds whose bones are hollow. The extra weight helps them dive for food but, because their bodies are heavy relative to wing size, they need a 100 - 600-foot "runway" to take off from a lake. Once up, they can fly faster than 75 miles per hour.

Loons may live for more than 30 years.