A Zoo Man's Notebook, 2025

It’s hard to believe, but we’ve come to the 125th – and final – species profile for the Zoo Man’s Notebook, 2025. Thank you to everyone who contributed with comments and questions and helped make it engaging. And what better species to end on than one that was there at the beginning of my career?

I’ve worked with a single aardwolf over the course of my career, very early on. The species wasn’t the rarity that it is now – ZAA (American, not Australian) just announced they’re starting an Aardwolf Animal Management Program, their version of the SSP, building on the recent breeding success of ZooWorld – and I’m embarrassed to say I took it for granted that the species would always be around. As it was, I was actually a little disappointed. Hyenas were my favorite animals, and I considered an aardwolf to be a poor substitute – tiny, shy, secretive, not a bone-crushing predator that could hold its own against lions. Still, all of that youthful jaded cynicism flew out the window when I met Acacia.


She was the last aardwolf at our facility, which had historically housed and bred many, and she was in her golden years. Before I worked with her she’d lived in few exhibits around the zoo, from a bedroom-sized habitat in the small mammal house to an outdoor cage originally built for leopards and bears. When I worked with her, she had just moved in to what would be her final home – a brand new exhibit, a grassy yard, slightly sunken off the main path, with tall grasses framing the back and a large artificial termite mound in the center. She shared the habitat with a flock of guineafowl; aardwolf can be mixed with a variety of species, and before moving into this habitat, Acacia had lived with rock hyrax, squirrels, monkeys, and other species over the years. Despite their insectivorous diet, aardwolves will eat meat if you make it very easy from them, such as if a bird were to fly into an exhibit window and land at their feet.

This was probably at least partially due to her age, but Acacia spent much of the day sleeping. Aardwolves are nocturnal by nature, so this was no big surprise. If a hollow log were positioned in an appropriate space, she’d often sleep in that, fully on few of visitors but seemingly unconcerned. Sometimes, especially on cooler days, she’d sleep on top of a pile of hay out in the open, soaking up the sun.

Aardwolves historically posed a challenge to keep in zoos because of their diet, a problem which historically plagued many insect-eating animals (I had a wildlife biologist from Ecuador come to an American zoo with me once, and he was floored to see that giant anteaters were not only commonly kept but commonly bred here). The same has been true of aardwolves – perhaps complicated further by the fact that historically so many zoos insisted on treating them like “proper” hyenas and giving them a meat-heavy diet. We did give Acacia some meat, to be sure, but she also ate chow, insects, and a sort of gruel. With advances made in zoo nutrition since then, I’m sure a superior diet has since been developed, but it worked well enough for her.

Acacia’s habitat was attached by a runway to a nearby hoofstock barn, in which she had a small stall for the cooler weather. Inside or outside, we were able to go in with her no problem, and she always politely kept her distance, but would approach, warily, for a treat if one was offered. I was always cautious about this part – the canine teeth of an aardwolf are surprisingly large, though meant for defense, not predation, and you’d seldom guess it looking at their sweet little faces.

Visitors seldom gave the aardwolf a second glance, which was a pity, because the more I got to know her and study her species, the more fascinating I found them. The species is attractive, evolutionarily unique, plays well with others, and makes a decent exhibit if you give them the chance. I’m happy to see that there’s at least a tentative resurgence of interest in the species. They are not endangered and, if sufficient interest were shown, imports could reestablish a North American zoo population (in my non-AZA days, I’d occasionally see them listed for sale in catalogs and websites, presumably wild-caught). If zoos were able to reliably breed them in the 1980s and 1990s, they could do it again, if there was enough interest.

But whether or not aardwolves make a real comeback (I’ve only seen the species once since Acacia’s passing), I’ll have memories of Acacia. I consider myself lucky to have lots of memories, actually, and the best part of writing this thread has been dredging my memory to relive some of them. I’m no longer at a stage in my career where I have daily animal interaction, which I often miss greatly, though I still occasionally manage to have some adventures with the critters, when I can convince the rest of the staff that I haven’t been behind a desk for so long that I don’t remember which end of a snapping turtle is the bitey one. So once again, thanks for your participation, and I hope that this has been fun and/or informative for you all. I’ll be happy to take any questions that arise, either here or in PM. I’ll leave you with a quote from Dana Payne, a late curator of the Woodland Park Zoo:

“Those of us who have chosen a life with animals know we have chosen well. Having a conversation with a lion is a fine way to start one’s day. For that matter, so is tossing tidbits to a toucan, or medicating a cobra. There’s something there, in the lion’s luminous eyes, in the gaudy splendor of the toucan, in the cobra’s sibilant protests: it’s magic. It’s the stuff of fairy tales to interact with animals like these, even in a scientific setting, and in spite of repetitious, routine chores. You should envy us, for we are the most fortunate of humans—we take care of the animals at the zoo.”

Epilogue: A Note About the Notebook

Some of you may wonder how so many stories were able to pulled up and shared so quickly over such a short period of time. The answer is, many of them were already written. About 7 years ago, as I transitioned away from direct daily animal care, I began a project that I called the Managed Species Fact Profile. The goal was to research and write a detailed fact sheet on each of the AA managed species (at the time numbering in the several hundreds – I’ve been working on it steadily since, and expect to finish it later this year). Each species had a 2-3-page fact sheet detailing the natural and captive history, followed by a journal entry in which I recorded personal memories of that species, either as a keeper, a visitor, or in the wild. Many of those stories formed the basis of this notebook.
Hi Aardwolf, thank you for a thoroughly informative and at times humorous and occasionally sad memories. I have enjoyed contributing to your thread and like you dredged up many memories to do so. Not only is a life working with animals, incredibly rewarding (I'm still hard at it, in my 70th year) it can also impact on not only your life, but also the members of your family. Thanks again!
 
Congratulations on finishing this exceptional project @Aardwolf! These last several posts have been among my favorites, but never once was there a dull moment. With enough research and travel anyone can produce mega-threads on this site, but rarely does one have such a diverse array of professional experiences to pull something like this off. From raising kangaroos to kissing chameleons to facing down villainous curassows to beating up towels for neurotic parrots. What a ride!
 
It’s hard to believe, but we’ve come to the 125th – and final – species profile for the Zoo Man’s Notebook, 2025. Thank you to everyone who contributed with comments and questions and helped make it engaging. And what better species to end on than one that was there at the beginning of my career?

I’ve worked with a single aardwolf over the course of my career, very early on. The species wasn’t the rarity that it is now – ZAA (American, not Australian) just announced they’re starting an Aardwolf Animal Management Program, their version of the SSP, building on the recent breeding success of ZooWorld – and I’m embarrassed to say I took it for granted that the species would always be around. As it was, I was actually a little disappointed. Hyenas were my favorite animals, and I considered an aardwolf to be a poor substitute – tiny, shy, secretive, not a bone-crushing predator that could hold its own against lions. Still, all of that youthful jaded cynicism flew out the window when I met Acacia.


She was the last aardwolf at our facility, which had historically housed and bred many, and she was in her golden years. Before I worked with her she’d lived in few exhibits around the zoo, from a bedroom-sized habitat in the small mammal house to an outdoor cage originally built for leopards and bears. When I worked with her, she had just moved in to what would be her final home – a brand new exhibit, a grassy yard, slightly sunken off the main path, with tall grasses framing the back and a large artificial termite mound in the center. She shared the habitat with a flock of guineafowl; aardwolf can be mixed with a variety of species, and before moving into this habitat, Acacia had lived with rock hyrax, squirrels, monkeys, and other species over the years. Despite their insectivorous diet, aardwolves will eat meat if you make it very easy from them, such as if a bird were to fly into an exhibit window and land at their feet.

This was probably at least partially due to her age, but Acacia spent much of the day sleeping. Aardwolves are nocturnal by nature, so this was no big surprise. If a hollow log were positioned in an appropriate space, she’d often sleep in that, fully on few of visitors but seemingly unconcerned. Sometimes, especially on cooler days, she’d sleep on top of a pile of hay out in the open, soaking up the sun.

Aardwolves historically posed a challenge to keep in zoos because of their diet, a problem which historically plagued many insect-eating animals (I had a wildlife biologist from Ecuador come to an American zoo with me once, and he was floored to see that giant anteaters were not only commonly kept but commonly bred here). The same has been true of aardwolves – perhaps complicated further by the fact that historically so many zoos insisted on treating them like “proper” hyenas and giving them a meat-heavy diet. We did give Acacia some meat, to be sure, but she also ate chow, insects, and a sort of gruel. With advances made in zoo nutrition since then, I’m sure a superior diet has since been developed, but it worked well enough for her.

Acacia’s habitat was attached by a runway to a nearby hoofstock barn, in which she had a small stall for the cooler weather. Inside or outside, we were able to go in with her no problem, and she always politely kept her distance, but would approach, warily, for a treat if one was offered. I was always cautious about this part – the canine teeth of an aardwolf are surprisingly large, though meant for defense, not predation, and you’d seldom guess it looking at their sweet little faces.

Visitors seldom gave the aardwolf a second glance, which was a pity, because the more I got to know her and study her species, the more fascinating I found them. The species is attractive, evolutionarily unique, plays well with others, and makes a decent exhibit if you give them the chance. I’m happy to see that there’s at least a tentative resurgence of interest in the species. They are not endangered and, if sufficient interest were shown, imports could reestablish a North American zoo population (in my non-AZA days, I’d occasionally see them listed for sale in catalogs and websites, presumably wild-caught). If zoos were able to reliably breed them in the 1980s and 1990s, they could do it again, if there was enough interest.

But whether or not aardwolves make a real comeback (I’ve only seen the species once since Acacia’s passing), I’ll have memories of Acacia. I consider myself lucky to have lots of memories, actually, and the best part of writing this thread has been dredging my memory to relive some of them. I’m no longer at a stage in my career where I have daily animal interaction, which I often miss greatly, though I still occasionally manage to have some adventures with the critters, when I can convince the rest of the staff that I haven’t been behind a desk for so long that I don’t remember which end of a snapping turtle is the bitey one. So once again, thanks for your participation, and I hope that this has been fun and/or informative for you all. I’ll be happy to take any questions that arise, either here or in PM. I’ll leave you with a quote from Dana Payne, a late curator of the Woodland Park Zoo:

“Those of us who have chosen a life with animals know we have chosen well. Having a conversation with a lion is a fine way to start one’s day. For that matter, so is tossing tidbits to a toucan, or medicating a cobra. There’s something there, in the lion’s luminous eyes, in the gaudy splendor of the toucan, in the cobra’s sibilant protests: it’s magic. It’s the stuff of fairy tales to interact with animals like these, even in a scientific setting, and in spite of repetitious, routine chores. You should envy us, for we are the most fortunate of humans—we take care of the animals at the zoo.”

Epilogue: A Note About the Notebook

Some of you may wonder how so many stories were able to pulled up and shared so quickly over such a short period of time. The answer is, many of them were already written. About 7 years ago, as I transitioned away from direct daily animal care, I began a project that I called the Managed Species Fact Profile. The goal was to research and write a detailed fact sheet on each of the AZA managed species (at the time numbering in the several hundreds – I’ve been working on it steadily since, and expect to finish it later this year). Each species had a 2-3-page fact sheet detailing the natural and captive history, followed by a journal entry in which I recorded personal memories of that species, either as a keeper, a visitor, or in the wild. Many of those stories formed the basis of this notebook.

What an end to this amazing project! I was sort of expecting you to end it with a larger species, but finishing it with "the" Aardwolf was the cherry on the cake for these stories. It was a real delight to hear about your experiences, even though I didn't interact as much on this thread such as other people. I'll definitely be reading it again from the very beggining :)
 
It’s hard to believe, but we’ve come to the 125th – and final – species profile for the Zoo Man’s Notebook, 2025. Thank you to everyone who contributed with comments and questions and helped make it engaging. And what better species to end on than one that was there at the beginning of my career?

I’ve worked with a single aardwolf over the course of my career, very early on. The species wasn’t the rarity that it is now – ZAA (American, not Australian) just announced they’re starting an Aardwolf Animal Management Program, their version of the SSP, building on the recent breeding success of ZooWorld – and I’m embarrassed to say I took it for granted that the species would always be around. As it was, I was actually a little disappointed. Hyenas were my favorite animals, and I considered an aardwolf to be a poor substitute – tiny, shy, secretive, not a bone-crushing predator that could hold its own against lions. Still, all of that youthful jaded cynicism flew out the window when I met Acacia.


She was the last aardwolf at our facility, which had historically housed and bred many, and she was in her golden years. Before I worked with her she’d lived in few exhibits around the zoo, from a bedroom-sized habitat in the small mammal house to an outdoor cage originally built for leopards and bears. When I worked with her, she had just moved in to what would be her final home – a brand new exhibit, a grassy yard, slightly sunken off the main path, with tall grasses framing the back and a large artificial termite mound in the center. She shared the habitat with a flock of guineafowl; aardwolf can be mixed with a variety of species, and before moving into this habitat, Acacia had lived with rock hyrax, squirrels, monkeys, and other species over the years. Despite their insectivorous diet, aardwolves will eat meat if you make it very easy from them, such as if a bird were to fly into an exhibit window and land at their feet.

This was probably at least partially due to her age, but Acacia spent much of the day sleeping. Aardwolves are nocturnal by nature, so this was no big surprise. If a hollow log were positioned in an appropriate space, she’d often sleep in that, fully on few of visitors but seemingly unconcerned. Sometimes, especially on cooler days, she’d sleep on top of a pile of hay out in the open, soaking up the sun.

Aardwolves historically posed a challenge to keep in zoos because of their diet, a problem which historically plagued many insect-eating animals (I had a wildlife biologist from Ecuador come to an American zoo with me once, and he was floored to see that giant anteaters were not only commonly kept but commonly bred here). The same has been true of aardwolves – perhaps complicated further by the fact that historically so many zoos insisted on treating them like “proper” hyenas and giving them a meat-heavy diet. We did give Acacia some meat, to be sure, but she also ate chow, insects, and a sort of gruel. With advances made in zoo nutrition since then, I’m sure a superior diet has since been developed, but it worked well enough for her.

Acacia’s habitat was attached by a runway to a nearby hoofstock barn, in which she had a small stall for the cooler weather. Inside or outside, we were able to go in with her no problem, and she always politely kept her distance, but would approach, warily, for a treat if one was offered. I was always cautious about this part – the canine teeth of an aardwolf are surprisingly large, though meant for defense, not predation, and you’d seldom guess it looking at their sweet little faces.

Visitors seldom gave the aardwolf a second glance, which was a pity, because the more I got to know her and study her species, the more fascinating I found them. The species is attractive, evolutionarily unique, plays well with others, and makes a decent exhibit if you give them the chance. I’m happy to see that there’s at least a tentative resurgence of interest in the species. They are not endangered and, if sufficient interest were shown, imports could reestablish a North American zoo population (in my non-AZA days, I’d occasionally see them listed for sale in catalogs and websites, presumably wild-caught). If zoos were able to reliably breed them in the 1980s and 1990s, they could do it again, if there was enough interest.

But whether or not aardwolves make a real comeback (I’ve only seen the species once since Acacia’s passing), I’ll have memories of Acacia. I consider myself lucky to have lots of memories, actually, and the best part of writing this thread has been dredging my memory to relive some of them. I’m no longer at a stage in my career where I have daily animal interaction, which I often miss greatly, though I still occasionally manage to have some adventures with the critters, when I can convince the rest of the staff that I haven’t been behind a desk for so long that I don’t remember which end of a snapping turtle is the bitey one. So once again, thanks for your participation, and I hope that this has been fun and/or informative for you all. I’ll be happy to take any questions that arise, either here or in PM. I’ll leave you with a quote from Dana Payne, a late curator of the Woodland Park Zoo:

“Those of us who have chosen a life with animals know we have chosen well. Having a conversation with a lion is a fine way to start one’s day. For that matter, so is tossing tidbits to a toucan, or medicating a cobra. There’s something there, in the lion’s luminous eyes, in the gaudy splendor of the toucan, in the cobra’s sibilant protests: it’s magic. It’s the stuff of fairy tales to interact with animals like these, even in a scientific setting, and in spite of repetitious, routine chores. You should envy us, for we are the most fortunate of humans—we take care of the animals at the zoo.”

Epilogue: A Note About the Notebook

Some of you may wonder how so many stories were able to pulled up and shared so quickly over such a short period of time. The answer is, many of them were already written. About 7 years ago, as I transitioned away from direct daily animal care, I began a project that I called the Managed Species Fact Profile. The goal was to research and write a detailed fact sheet on each of the AZA managed species (at the time numbering in the several hundreds – I’ve been working on it steadily since, and expect to finish it later this year). Each species had a 2-3-page fact sheet detailing the natural and captive history, followed by a journal entry in which I recorded personal memories of that species, either as a keeper, a visitor, or in the wild. Many of those stories formed the basis of this notebook.
Wow, congrats on finishing this illustrious thread, it is certainly one of my favorite threads of all time! Most of these messages are not something just anyone knows so than’ for sharing!
 
It’s hard to believe, but we’ve come to the 125th – and final – species profile for the Zoo Man’s Notebook, 2025. Thank you to everyone who contributed with comments and questions and helped make it engaging. And what better species to end on than one that was there at the beginning of my career?

Awe man, not the end! It's been a very enjoyable read and I've been looking forward to seeing what species gets featured next since the start. Thank you very much for sharing your experiences, it made for a wonderfully informative and entertaining thread! Easily one of my favorite threads on the site and well worth a re-read. :)
 
Thank you all very much for the comments, it was a lot of fun to put together - I especially enjoyed hearing from my fellow animal care professionals as to how their experiences with certain species compared to and differed from my own.

I probably could have kept it going for a little longer, especially going more into the weeds with herps and invertebrates (I'd almost exhausted birds and mammals, or at least the ones that I had any good stories about) - there were also a few stories which I opted to leave out because they were too recognizable about certain major zoo stories that I'd been involved with over the years (not Harambe-size stories, but still, some fairly big ones).

I'm always interested in feedback about what sorts of things people would like to hear about next for a future thread. I'd taken a little time off after writing this and was just skimming the forums today - it kind of strikes me that there might be some educational benefit on a thread detailing from an insider perspective why zoos (both on a regional - i.e., AZA - and institutional level) do or do not work with some species, and how the process of getting animals from zoo to zoo works, from initial recommendation to actual transport.

Thanks again!
 
Congrats on finishing this big thread @Aardwolf! This is a fantastic resource - not just because of all the technical husbandry information or entertaining stories it provides, but because it's an invaluable look into what it's like to actually manage zoo animals on a facility and individual basis. Like I think I've mentioned before, I've fallen behind on reading it (have been extremely busy lately) but hopefully you'll be sticking around to answer questions for whenever I find the time to catch up and ask them! :)
 
Thank you all very much for the comments, it was a lot of fun to put together - I especially enjoyed hearing from my fellow animal care professionals as to how their experiences with certain species compared to and differed from my own.

I probably could have kept it going for a little longer, especially going more into the weeds with herps and invertebrates (I'd almost exhausted birds and mammals, or at least the ones that I had any good stories about) - there were also a few stories which I opted to leave out because they were too recognizable about certain major zoo stories that I'd been involved with over the years (not Harambe-size stories, but still, some fairly big ones).

I'm always interested in feedback about what sorts of things people would like to hear about next for a future thread. I'd taken a little time off after writing this and was just skimming the forums today - it kind of strikes me that there might be some educational benefit on a thread detailing from an insider perspective why zoos (both on a regional - i.e., AZA - and institutional level) do or do not work with some species, and how the process of getting animals from zoo to zoo works, from initial recommendation to actual transport.

Thanks again!

Just to add to the thanks for the very interesting and well written stories. It’s added to my appreciation for the work zoo teams do but also to what I look at when I’m at the zoo. I think discussion and further insight from you (and the keepers and staff and others who then engage) on how and why animals are acquired and moved and how keepers prepare for that (and how they feel about it both moving out and moving in) would be super interesting too. I probably know less than many people here in the field of zoo management though, so there may be a more pressing topic people might prefer!
 
I decided to revisit the thread and close out the year with a series of last posts. Instead of detailing species worked with (I’ve already shared all of my good ones), I thought I’d end with a few themed posts of different aspects of the zookeeping/animal care job, just to show aspiring keepers what it’s like working in the zoo.

For today, we start with one of the basics – diet prep.

upload_2025-12-1_10-57-39.jpeg

What diet prep looks like can vary widely for a keeper, depending both upon your animals and the organization of your zoo. At some large zoos, there the commissary team may prepare the entire diet for you; you come in to work in the morning and you find a large plastic tote outside the door of your building with lots of little diets inside, all prepared and ready to feed out. At other zoos, the commissary just delivers your ingredients and you prep the diet yourself. And, at smaller zoos, you are the commissary, and you take care of everything. Some zoos have one big commissary, others have lots of satellite kitchens around the grounds.

I’ve worked in zoos large and small, and I sort of prefer the smaller zoo diet prep model, where the person who takes care of the animals is also the one who is actually handling the raw ingredients and assembling the diet themselves to make sure everything looks good and is prepared in an appropriate manner. That being said, there have been some days in which diet prep has taken hours, and in those cases I wouldn’t have minded magical commissary elves coming and delivering neatly labeled diets for me. A zoo kitchen can be a very complex, chaotic place early in the morning, with keepers whirling around each other as the dart between the meat and produce fridges, the freezers, and the grain bins, grabbing and stacking dishes and buckets, waiting for a scale or a sink to be open, demanding to know who took your favorite knife and what they’ve done with it.

The complexity and variety of the diet depends on the animals. For some ungulates, you scoop some grain in a bucket, grab a few flakes of hay, and you’re done… and it’s the same diet, day after day. For some of the more omnivorous species, the diet may consist of a half dozen ingredients a day, fed on a rotating basis to boost variety and interest, as well as provide a broader array of nutrients. If you’re feeding bigger animals, produce can be given whole, or in large chunks, and the exact amount may be more of a range (i.e, feed three or four apple-sized pieces of fruit). Feeding very small animals can require a lot of tedious dicing and careful weighing.

Getting food to the zoo can be either very easy or very difficult. You probably get deliveries made from a few companies – a produce vendor, a meat vendor, a fish vendor, a grain vendor – which then need to be cataloged and stored. At one small town zoo I worked at, the zoo was located in a park with little roads and tight turns, meaning that the giant delivery trucks couldn’t reach us. We’d drive to the parking lot of a nearby mall to meet the trucks, loading the boxes of frozen fish and meat into our van to drive back to the zoo. Once a month or so we’d also make a run to the grocery store to buy a few novelty items – unusual produce, quirky meat products (i.e., pig feet), and other treats, like the yogurt-covered raisins that our tamarins adored. I learned quickly that new keepers couldn’t be sent on these trips by themselves – they would go crazy and ring up insane credit card bills which I’d then awkwardly have to explain to the director.

I’ve noted in the past a cultural divide in zoos between folks who adhere strongly to commercially prepared diets, and those who don’t like the idea of feeding anything that isn’t immediately recognizable as food – fruit, vegetable, browse, meat, egg. Vets tend to lean more towards the former – those Mazuri, Zupreem, etc diets are, by the numbers, the most nutritionally complete. The other diets tend to promote more natural feeding behaviors. A giant panda could either a) eat a pan of prepared diet, get all its daily nutrients in ten minutes, and be set for the day, or b) sit on its butt eating bamboo for hours on end, which is how it would behave in the wild.

A few feeding rules, from me

1.) Variety, whenever possible, is essential. Sure, some animals will only eat one thing – but it can be dangerous to have animals become so accustomed to a single food that they won’t eat any substitutes. It puts you in a tough position if that food source is not available and the animal is unwilling to accept something else

2.) Don’t do for the animal what the animal can do for itself. Many animals in the wild spend relatively little time actually eating. It’s the behaviors that lead up to eating to are time-consuming and stimulating, and we should try to recreate them whenever possible. Think of it from a human perspective. Eating a crabcake in a restaurant takes less than a minute. Picking crabs to obtain the same amount of meat that would go into a crabcake can take much longer and requires much more effort. Whenever possible/practical – don’t give your animal the crabcake

3.) Single large or several small? Depends. Usually I prefer the second option. It breaks up the animal’s day, promotes activity (a plus for visitors as well), reduces anticipatory pacing, and gets your eyes on the animal more often throughout the day (instead of just seeing them once at opening and again and closing). Sometimes single large is better – I worked at a place where we’d give tigers a large carcass once a week, and just let them work on it – similar to the wild.

4.) Dietary segregation – both in the kitchen and in exhibits, keep foods separate. Like many restaurants, we used the color-coded-cutting board system in our commissary – meat was done on red cutting boards, fish on blue, produce on green. That kept diets from being contaminated (i.e., monkey diets not getting soaked in meat juice). As was mentioned in the post about the pacas way, way back, you can have animals that live together and are compatible, but their diets may be toxic to each other – so keep that in mind when feeding out!

5.) Don’t be afraid to stand up for animals. I’ve opened up a box of sweet potatoes or apples before and had the immediate thought, these are all bad. Like, all of them – pick up a sweet potato, give it a slight squeeze, and it exploded orange goo. Our vet, who was responsible for ordering produce and contracting with the companies, was very conflict averse and she was reluctant to call the company and tell them. We insisted that they replace it. At a non-AZA zoo I worked at, the only produce I could get were donations from grocery stores, often of so-so quality. Sure, animals can take some food that’s not the quality we would want for human food – a little riper, or older, or what have you – but they aren’t garbage disposal units. Quality food is necessary for quality animal care.

6.) Grow/raise your food? A charming idea, and makes a fun display for visitors, but seldom really works out well. It’s just a matter of scale. I’ve kept produce and browse gardens, raised chickens, rabbits, rodents, and feeder insects, etc – and I’ve still always had to order more. Especially if you’re a small zoo, ask if its really worth it. The exception, I’ve found, is if you need very small feeder items, like pinhead crickets or fruit flies, which might be easier to raise in house than order, have them arrive, and they’re too big for the little mouths you have to feed.

7.) Cleanliness is next to godliness – USDA and AZA are going to spend a lot of time looking at your commissary and diet prep areas. Neatness is essential. Clean it like every day is inspection day. Which brings me to…

8.) Every loves a feeding. As a keeper, so, so, so many of the questions that I fielded from the public were about animal food. People find it fascinating. If I was designing a commissary from scratch, I’d make it public-viewable through windows or something so people can understand the magic that happens there.
 

Attachments

  • upload_2025-12-1_10-57-39.jpeg
    upload_2025-12-1_10-57-39.jpeg
    173.3 KB · Views: 180
@Aardwolf I’m certain that most of us are glad to see a new post from your past experiences, especially now that we are going to see more of the technical aspects of zookeeping!

Additionally, as someone who also prepared animal diets in a zoo setting, this latest post was a fun read that definitely made relive the memories I had during that time; great stuff all the same!
 
8.) Every loves a feeding. As a keeper, so, so, so many of the questions that I fielded from the public were about animal food. People find it fascinating. If I was designing a commissary from scratch, I’d make it public-viewable through windows or something so people can understand the magic that happens there.
My local zoo built a new commissary a few years ago, and installed windows so visitors can look in - that by itself is now probably one of the most popular things in the zoo. From in those windows you can see keepers working, labeled barrels and buckets of prepared diets, various produce items laying around, and, most interestingly, a whiteboard listing every animal in the zoo and their typical diet. Despite no live animals there, the visitors love it.
 
I decided to revisit the thread and close out the year with a series of last posts. Instead of detailing species worked with (I’ve already shared all of my good ones), I thought I’d end with a few themed posts of different aspects of the zookeeping/animal care job, just to show aspiring keepers what it’s like working in the zoo.

For today, we start with one of the basics – diet prep.

View attachment 845129

What diet prep looks like can vary widely for a keeper, depending both upon your animals and the organization of your zoo. At some large zoos, there the commissary team may prepare the entire diet for you; you come in to work in the morning and you find a large plastic tote outside the door of your building with lots of little diets inside, all prepared and ready to feed out. At other zoos, the commissary just delivers your ingredients and you prep the diet yourself. And, at smaller zoos, you are the commissary, and you take care of everything. Some zoos have one big commissary, others have lots of satellite kitchens around the grounds.

I’ve worked in zoos large and small, and I sort of prefer the smaller zoo diet prep model, where the person who takes care of the animals is also the one who is actually handling the raw ingredients and assembling the diet themselves to make sure everything looks good and is prepared in an appropriate manner. That being said, there have been some days in which diet prep has taken hours, and in those cases I wouldn’t have minded magical commissary elves coming and delivering neatly labeled diets for me. A zoo kitchen can be a very complex, chaotic place early in the morning, with keepers whirling around each other as the dart between the meat and produce fridges, the freezers, and the grain bins, grabbing and stacking dishes and buckets, waiting for a scale or a sink to be open, demanding to know who took your favorite knife and what they’ve done with it.

The complexity and variety of the diet depends on the animals. For some ungulates, you scoop some grain in a bucket, grab a few flakes of hay, and you’re done… and it’s the same diet, day after day. For some of the more omnivorous species, the diet may consist of a half dozen ingredients a day, fed on a rotating basis to boost variety and interest, as well as provide a broader array of nutrients. If you’re feeding bigger animals, produce can be given whole, or in large chunks, and the exact amount may be more of a range (i.e, feed three or four apple-sized pieces of fruit). Feeding very small animals can require a lot of tedious dicing and careful weighing.

Getting food to the zoo can be either very easy or very difficult. You probably get deliveries made from a few companies – a produce vendor, a meat vendor, a fish vendor, a grain vendor – which then need to be cataloged and stored. At one small town zoo I worked at, the zoo was located in a park with little roads and tight turns, meaning that the giant delivery trucks couldn’t reach us. We’d drive to the parking lot of a nearby mall to meet the trucks, loading the boxes of frozen fish and meat into our van to drive back to the zoo. Once a month or so we’d also make a run to the grocery store to buy a few novelty items – unusual produce, quirky meat products (i.e., pig feet), and other treats, like the yogurt-covered raisins that our tamarins adored. I learned quickly that new keepers couldn’t be sent on these trips by themselves – they would go crazy and ring up insane credit card bills which I’d then awkwardly have to explain to the director.

I’ve noted in the past a cultural divide in zoos between folks who adhere strongly to commercially prepared diets, and those who don’t like the idea of feeding anything that isn’t immediately recognizable as food – fruit, vegetable, browse, meat, egg. Vets tend to lean more towards the former – those Mazuri, Zupreem, etc diets are, by the numbers, the most nutritionally complete. The other diets tend to promote more natural feeding behaviors. A giant panda could either a) eat a pan of prepared diet, get all its daily nutrients in ten minutes, and be set for the day, or b) sit on its butt eating bamboo for hours on end, which is how it would behave in the wild.

A few feeding rules, from me

1.) Variety, whenever possible, is essential. Sure, some animals will only eat one thing – but it can be dangerous to have animals become so accustomed to a single food that they won’t eat any substitutes. It puts you in a tough position if that food source is not available and the animal is unwilling to accept something else

2.) Don’t do for the animal what the animal can do for itself. Many animals in the wild spend relatively little time actually eating. It’s the behaviors that lead up to eating to are time-consuming and stimulating, and we should try to recreate them whenever possible. Think of it from a human perspective. Eating a crabcake in a restaurant takes less than a minute. Picking crabs to obtain the same amount of meat that would go into a crabcake can take much longer and requires much more effort. Whenever possible/practical – don’t give your animal the crabcake

3.) Single large or several small? Depends. Usually I prefer the second option. It breaks up the animal’s day, promotes activity (a plus for visitors as well), reduces anticipatory pacing, and gets your eyes on the animal more often throughout the day (instead of just seeing them once at opening and again and closing). Sometimes single large is better – I worked at a place where we’d give tigers a large carcass once a week, and just let them work on it – similar to the wild.

4.) Dietary segregation – both in the kitchen and in exhibits, keep foods separate. Like many restaurants, we used the color-coded-cutting board system in our commissary – meat was done on red cutting boards, fish on blue, produce on green. That kept diets from being contaminated (i.e., monkey diets not getting soaked in meat juice). As was mentioned in the post about the pacas way, way back, you can have animals that live together and are compatible, but their diets may be toxic to each other – so keep that in mind when feeding out!

5.) Don’t be afraid to stand up for animals. I’ve opened up a box of sweet potatoes or apples before and had the immediate thought, these are all bad. Like, all of them – pick up a sweet potato, give it a slight squeeze, and it exploded orange goo. Our vet, who was responsible for ordering produce and contracting with the companies, was very conflict averse and she was reluctant to call the company and tell them. We insisted that they replace it. At a non-AZA zoo I worked at, the only produce I could get were donations from grocery stores, often of so-so quality. Sure, animals can take some food that’s not the quality we would want for human food – a little riper, or older, or what have you – but they aren’t garbage disposal units. Quality food is necessary for quality animal care.

6.) Grow/raise your food? A charming idea, and makes a fun display for visitors, but seldom really works out well. It’s just a matter of scale. I’ve kept produce and browse gardens, raised chickens, rabbits, rodents, and feeder insects, etc – and I’ve still always had to order more. Especially if you’re a small zoo, ask if its really worth it. The exception, I’ve found, is if you need very small feeder items, like pinhead crickets or fruit flies, which might be easier to raise in house than order, have them arrive, and they’re too big for the little mouths you have to feed.

7.) Cleanliness is next to godliness – USDA and AZA are going to spend a lot of time looking at your commissary and diet prep areas. Neatness is essential. Clean it like every day is inspection day. Which brings me to…

8.) Every loves a feeding. As a keeper, so, so, so many of the questions that I fielded from the public were about animal food. People find it fascinating. If I was designing a commissary from scratch, I’d make it public-viewable through windows or something so people can understand the magic that happens there.
Hi Aardwolf, yet another interesting post.
I have have a few comments, if I may. I will start with your view regarding a window so that the public can watch food preparation, a good idea but be careful for what you wish for. A zoo I worked for has a window in one of the primate house kitchen. When doing food preparation you had to get used to not only the intelligent questions but, also the "Oh isn't that a funny looking monkey, ugly monkey" and a lot worse. You pretend you don't hear those.
I have always preferred to prepare, if possible, because if you have a certain animal which needs meds,you know what their favourite food items and so you can hide the meds in them. I couldn’t agree more about cleanliness, a dirty kitchen will attract vermin and cock roaches.
I also prefer to offer natural food ,especially if you can have different feeding stations, particularly for primates and softbills. When feeding small primates and softbills I offer as many as 18 to 20 different sort of food items. During Covid, I had quite scary times trying to source fresh fruit, so had to buy in dried fruit and soak in water over night, wasn't ideal but, it worked.
 
Having discussed food, we’ll now look at what happens to food after the animal is done with it – the scoop on poop!

I don’t know if this is actually true or not, but there’s an oft-quoted saying that the Inuit have a few hundred words for snow, differentiating all of the various kinds. I sometimes feel like keepers are like that with poop. It comes in so many sizes and shapes and colors sand consistencies, which can vary within a species, or even within an individual day by day. It’s a major, if unglamorous, part of the job, and offers a key insight into animal health and wellbeing. We often focus on it so much that, in a particular whimsical mood, I once found myself wondering if the animals think that we eat it or something, as obsessed as we seem to be with collecting it.

Poop varies widely across the animals, and so does the amount of work that goes into cleaning up from it. Some animals you may spend five minutes a week cleaning up after, some may take hours. I’ve spent weeks of exasperation waiting for a snake to poop so I could get a fecal for the vets, that we needed for preship testing so we could send the snake out to a different facility (a good soak in warm water usually, but not always, helps loosen things up). On the other hand, I’ve filled up a wheelbarrow twice in a day from one…productive rhino. Once, when we opened a new kangaroo exhibit, I was so protective of the recently-established grass that I took to picking up each little drop of dung by hand (each a hard little marble), rather than rake the grass and risk tearing it up. And there are some animals I’ve worked with that I’ve never even seen the poop of.

Taken as a rule, herbivores produce more poop than carnivores (the bulk and reduced digestibility of their diet), whereas carnivores produce fouler, smellier poop than herbivores (meat = protein = amino acids = nitrogen). Omnivores strike an unhappy medium, and fruit eaters produce watery, gross poop. Bears are among my least favorite, as their poop, in zoos anyway, tends to be a smelly, pudding-like slop. This was especially inconvenient at one zoo where I worked, where you accessed the bear exhibit by crawling hands and knees through a low door… and your hand always managed to find that first pile of poop before your eye did. And they produce a lot of it, and its consistency makes it hard to clean it all up; I always preferred cleaning them on colder days, when the poop freeze-dried. Big cat poop may be smelly, but it’s at least in discreet, easy to clean little logs. Macaw poop might be my least favorite overall.

upload_2025-12-2_11-27-47.png
As a very young keeper, loading up a wheelbarrow​

Like all of my colleagues, I have been pooped on, in a variety of settings – by baby animals I’ve been nursing, by sick animals who loosened their bowls (a coworker of mine was carrying a sloth to the vet – the sloth died in her arms as she was carrying it, voiding in the process, a slimy, smelly concoction the likes of which I never saw or smelled from a sloth before or after), or by animals in branches overhead. It happens. What I’ve found more stressful about animal defecation is the power of suggestion it has on me – I’ll sometimes be out working in the zoo, see animals pooping all around me, and then have to drop my rake and shovel to make my third bathroom break of the morning.

Fecal tests are a key component of medical management of the animals, and we typically took samples twice a year. For group living animals, we might take a mixed sample from a few piles, with the assumption that if one animal in the group had a parasite, the others all probably did as well. For others, we might use frozen corn or peas, fed to one animal in a group, to try to differentiate its feces from its exhibit-mates. Or, we might patiently stalk that animal, rushing over with our little scoop cups as soon as the poop hit the ground. This often didn’t work, though – as a watched pot never boils, a watched bison never seems to drop a load.

Feces from many of the herbivores, such as ungulates, macropods, and ratites, was placed in a large dump truck, which we’d periodically take away to a local farmer who used it for compost. Carnivore and primate poop went into the trash. At safari parks where I worked, certain high-traffic areas, such as around feeders, were raked out and cleaned regularly. The rest of the exhibit space was large enough that dung would break down naturally. Periodically, we’d tie a section of chain link fencing to the back of a tractor and drive back and forth through the field exhibits, breaking up the dung that it dragged over and speeding up the process.

When cleaning conventional exhibits, you have wet cleaning and dry cleaning. Dry cleaning is basically just using a rake and a shovel to pick up poop, like in a hoofstock yard. Wet cleaning, I’m sure you’ve surmised, is hose or bucket work, often aided by bleach or other cleaning solutions (which your vet, and AZA, will require material safety data sheets for – not all cleaning products are approved for all species). Most cleaning isn’t too bad if you keep up on it – and most exhibits you can take a shortcut for a day if you need to, and things are really crazy. You run into trouble when people keep taking the same short cut day after day and things harden/stain/get gross. Flamingos, for example, are very messy, but they mostly poop in and around the water. Their holding building may be foul when you come in, but some quick hose work will get it spotless relatively easily… unless you don’t clean well the day before, in which case things are a lot harder to clean. Sometimes, especially in the winter, I would take it easy on the wet cleaning, just to help the animals stay warm/not have to kick them outside for too long, and then just do a really good clean once things warmed up a tad.

There is something to be said for not over-cleaning – making things too sterile that the animal always has the smell of disinfectant in its nostrils. The zoo exhibit is their home. It’s not the worst thing if it smells like it. We’ve largely moved on from the flushable exhibits of the Philly Zoo several decades ago.

You get a lot of flack and teasing from visitors about the poop, and there have been occasions when I’ve been tempted to launch a shovel-load in the direction of a particularly obnoxious visitor. It sometimes gives keepers a bit of an inferiority complex, though I typically haven’t been too bothered by it. As I’ve always seen it, cleaning up after the animals is the price for taking care of them, for spending them with them and sharing space with them – and in that, it is well worth it.
 

Attachments

  • upload_2025-12-2_11-27-47.png
    upload_2025-12-2_11-27-47.png
    228.3 KB · Views: 49
Hi Aardwolf, like you, never had a problem with cleaning poop,unlike some keepers who not only hated having to clean out but, actually seemed terrified of it. Some of the worst poop, I found was from fish eaters, not only does it stink but it stains badly. However, when mentoring/ teaching junior members of staff I always emphasised zoonosis and the importance of personal hygiene and hand washing. Interesting about your comment of over cleaning, which I think can cause stress for some animals who have to work harder by over spraying etc to reclaim their enclosure natural smell and for some animals not using chemicals is better,ie what I term " careful neglect ".
 
Last edited:
“There are two things you can make an elephant do – run away or kill you. But you can get an elephant to do an amazing number of things.” – Jay Haight, Oregon Zoo

Today’s take is on training. This is a weird one for me to write. On one hand, I have to admit that training has completely revolutionized animal care in our facilities. Even from when I first entered the field to the present, people are training a crazy variety of species, including animals that would have been considered untrainable when I was a newbie, to do behaviors that we never would have thought possible. There are so many advantages to training – the building of bonds between keepers and animals, the reduced risk by not needing manual or chemical restraint, the ability to provide better veterinary care, safer management of animals (i.e., emergency recalls), mental stimulation of the animal, you name it. From the perspective of visitors, it can provide fascinating, educational demonstrations. There are times when it’s hard to imagine how we used to do things before….

That being said, I’ll offer my confession. I really don’t like training. I’m component at it, but not especially talented. I can do the basics, and help maintain established behaviors, but don’t really have a knack for it, like so many of my colleagues do. I find it very uninteresting. I think it’s because, on some level, I got into zoos because I was interested in the animals, and to me, training has always felt to be more about the keepers.

Which isn’t to say that I need to be convinced of the benefits. And I definitely have spent time training animals, including, in a few cases, initiating their training. This mostly happened in the early days of my career, when training – especially for less-conventional species – was a new concept, and I was determined to be on the cutting edge of everything. It seemed like every new keeper who read Karen Pryor’s Don’t Shoot the Dog thought that they were the next genius trainer who understood the animal mind, and I was no exception. The first animal I trained as a primary trainer was a Chinese alligator. This was an extremely shy, reclusive animal, who spent most of the day in hiding. Through some very basics – first habituation, then positive association, and then actual reinforcement – we made some incredible progress. I remember watching the look on my smug curator’s face when I put a trashcan down on its side at the edge of the pool, and he watched the gator swim over, climb into the trashcan, and let me carry it over to a scale for a weighing, its first weight in years.

upload_2025-12-3_10-35-26.jpeg
Target training an American alligator (you can see the clicker under my thumb, held against the pole). I noticed that this animal always closed her eyes when she touched the target, whereas her companion, who had a purple target, did not - perhaps the yellow was too bright and bothered her eyes up close?
I’ve often had the best luck training animals that are either initially playful and curious, like a binturong I worked with, or that are aggressive, like a jaguar I worked with – basically, an animal that already wants to interact with you, one way or another (even if it’s to bite your face off). You can redirect that energy into a desired outcome, like a new learned behavior. It’s much harder to train an animal that wants nothing to do with you, or is fearful of you – which is tough, because those are the animals that it’s most likely to benefit from training. It’ll make them calmer, and it’s certainly easier to recall and animal to come up so you can see it, medicate it, crate it, rather than having to chase it all over with a net and risk it breaking its fool neck.

When I started in the field, many of the curators, senior keepers, and older keepers opposed training, especially in front of the public. They felt that it reduced the animal to a plaything in the eyes of the visitors, or made it seem like a pet or too circus-like (this was also back when there was a cultural emphasis on not naming animals, or at least not sharing the names with the public). They felt that the keepers who were most into training wanted to show off to the public, to be the stars and centers of attention – and I will admit, I definitely have known and worked with some keepers who are like that, where every training session seems to devolve to “Look at me! Look at me!” Most animal care staff, however, now recognize it as part of the routine in providing optimal animal care, and I’d say almost everyone is on board with it (at least across mammals and birds, with some exceptions – prairie dogs, bats, aviary birds – and increasingly among herps and even some aquatics). Rather than just "playing" with the animals, it requires patience, consistence, and a degree of empathy, putting yourself in the mind of the animal and figuring out how to communicate with it, and how to facilitate the animal doing what you're asking (and that's how you should be thinking of training - an ask, not a demand).

The most basic training behavior that we do is target training - getting the animal to touch usually its nose to a target. Move the nose you move the head, move the head you move - and position - the body. Presentation of different body parts, such as opening the mouth for inspection, or showing paws/flippers/wings is also very helpful (or, especially, hooves for trimming). So is injection training - that way, when you need chemical restraint, you can just inject by hand, rather than having to dart, or net the animal first. Emergency recall is vital for getting animals back into holding when something goes wrong, like a visitor falling into an exhibit, or an exhibit becoming structurally compromised.

To this day, the public seems to have a hard time differentiating between behaviors that we train the animals to do to assist in their care and management (I remember being wowed watching a colleague at one zoo give a polar bear eye drops as she showed me her bear dens) and bears riding on bicycles, or whatever. A lot of it depends on presentation methods – some emphasize the care and science and behavior aspects, whereas some places still have their training demos a bit more circus-like and silly than I care for. The second scenario increasingly leaves a bad taste in my mouth; I don’t mind humor with animal presentations, but not at the expense of the animal’s dignity.

upload_2025-12-3_10-37-16.jpeg
A keeper at the Denver Zoo training a tiger for an impromptu public demo

Training is now something that many zoos build into their plans for new exhibits, such as adding training walls, or demonstration areas, or having ports built into fencing to allow for blood draws, ultrasounds, or other procedures.

I said earlier that a lot of older zoo folks didn’t go for training, but I guess in a way that’s not true – all animal people are involved in training. Some of them just don’t know it. Every time that you interact with one of your animals (or don’t interact with it), you’re training it. When that macaw or cockatoo screams at you and you get exasperated and yell at it to shut up, you’re training it to realize that if it screams, it gets your attention and a reaction (“Oh, you’re yelling,” the bird may think, “That’s fun, I’m yelling too! Let’s yell together and see who can be the loudest!”). If you ignore the screaming, you’re teaching the bird that it doesn’t have that response, and maybe reduce it in the future. If you treat an animal roughly, you train it to avoid you. Likewise, I worked with one male white-tailed deer who could get very aggressive during rut. Many members of the staff loaded their pockets with fruit when they went into this enclosure, and every time that he approached, they’d lob an apple or pear for him to go after. Really, all they did was train him to approach in a menacing manner, sure that he’d get a reward for going away.

That would be my main takeaway about training – you’re doing it anyway, whether you know it or not. So you might as well learn the basics so you have a clue what you’re doing.
 

Attachments

  • upload_2025-12-3_10-35-26.jpeg
    upload_2025-12-3_10-35-26.jpeg
    161.6 KB · Views: 75
  • upload_2025-12-3_10-37-16.jpeg
    upload_2025-12-3_10-37-16.jpeg
    305.3 KB · Views: 75
Back
Top