 While
strolling through the Oregon Zoo in Portland, my wife and I came
across a unique exhibit, sort of like a giant "ant farm."
It was, more or less, a large earth-filled box with occasional glass
portholes providing viewing access to numerous tunnels and chambers.
Plastering my face against an available porthole, I peered straight
into the face of a small, pink, wrinkled, rodent-like creature with
a serious overbite.
"What is it?" my wife
asked. "Hamsters, I think," I replied cautiously.
"Actually, dwarf hamsters, maybe. Yes, definitely dwarf
hamsters with some kind of dental prosthesis. Jesus, they're
ugly!"
 We were moving along, peering into
various portholes, when I heard the spouse let out a gasp.
"That is sooooooo gross," she groaned. Excited by the
promise of a shocking image, I ran to her window, pushing her and
several small children to one side. "Lemme see, lemme
see!" I cried. I was not disappointed, nor was I shocked. I was
bewildered. What I saw were dozens of these little creatures
swarming over each other like bees, participating in what appeared
to be a full-fledged, buck-toothed orgy. "Good God," I
whispered, "these must be Roman dwarf hamsters."
Just then, a small voice said,
"They're trying to get to the queen." "Queen?" I
repeated, looking down at the little girl who had managed to regain
strategic field position in front of the window. "Honey, these
are Roman dwarf hamsters and hamsters don't have queens. Only bees,
ants, termites and Monarchies have queens," I promptly stated,
in order of importance.
"Read the signs, mister,"
she said sharply, pointing to the educational displays located
prominently throughout the exhibit. I left the child still shaking
her head in disbelief, and wandered nonchalantly toward one of the
displays. It read:
What has very little hair, pink
wrinkly skin, very
large incisors, tiny eyes and no external ears?
A. A Hot Dog With Teeth
B. The Naked Mole-Rat
C. Pokemon
"Pokemon? What the hell is
Pokemon?" I thought, pushing the button labeled "C."
This response set off a very loud soundtrack of weasel-like
laughter, followed by a booming, baritone voice: "YOUR ANSWER,
POKEMON, IS INCORRECT. TRY AGAIN." I moved away swiftly towards
the next display as my wife, who had been heading towards me,
quickly changed course leaving the exhibit altogether. Sigh.
As I was to learn from the
educational displays, this curious animal was, in fact, a naked
mole-rat. The only mammal known to live in a eusocial system,
mole-rats live in colonies of 20-300 individuals who are divided
into a caste system. There is one dominant, breeding female (yes,
the Queen!), a few breeding males, a few non-working
"soldiers" who take care of the breeding elite and protect
the colony (i.e., sacrifice themselves) from snake invasions, and a
whole bunch of "workers" who dig the tunnels and find
food.
Other fun facts: Mole-rats average
about 3 inches in length and weigh 1-3 ounces; have the strongest
jaw muscle for a mammal its size; live exclusively underground in
semi-arid regions of eastern Africa; and have the poorest capacity
for thermoregulation of any mammal (body temperature of 88º
Fahrenheit). You have to see one to believe it and, as far as I
know, this requires a trip to Portland, Oregon; Tampa, Florida; Chicago,
Illinois (Lincoln Park
Zoo); or Washington D.C. (National
Zoo).
Full of new and exciting knowledge, I
returned to the portholes to take one last look at the startling
subterranean action. At this particular window, a couple of
mole-rats (workers no doubt) were taking turns pushing what appeared
to be a chunk of Purina mole-rat chow up a large incline. Once at
the top (Position A), the first mole-rat would release the food,
allowing it to roll back to the bottom of the incline (Position B)
to the awaiting second mole-rat. The second mole-rat then pushed the
food up the incline to Position A, passing the first mole-rat who
was on his way down to take Position B, etc., etc. Hypnotized by
these tireless drones, I watched for several minutes until a voice
snapped me out of it.
"What the hell are those
things?" asked a fellow spectator. "Huh," I said,
awakening. "Why they're Sisyphus dwarf hamsters, of
course," I replied, and left to find my wife.
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