Returning to the Kalahari to work on batties becomes a more daunting prospect when the research project is your own. There are considerations such as whether or not your experiments are feasible in the field and – importantly! – whether the foxes are going to co-operate. My idea was perhaps a tad complex… I designed a series of memory trials that required the foxes to investigate an experimental arena with a bunch of little boxes in which they had to dig no less than three times in the space of 2 hours. And, if they complied on night one, I needed to repeat the feat with the same foxes multiple times. Naturally, I was nervous.
Fortunately, batties are very curious. To my relief, they’ve taken to the task at hand with alacrity and enthusiasm. And to my increasing amusement I am now witnessing the ways in which that enthusiasm manifests itself. For some, they are quite content to sit nearby watching me feverishly setting up the camera and arena, eager to dig up the raisins buried in the little boxes. The fact that they hang around at all is somewhat of a minor miracle – these are wild animals and they have an entire reserve to disappear off into should they so choose. The reactions of others has been a fascinating reflection of their very unique personalities. Our highly intelligent vixen Donna, for example, lacks the patience to ever actually complete a trial, choosing instead to trash the arena like a surly teenager before stalking off, growling, into the bush. Which is why I found it particularly frustrating that Donna, not content with merely making my life difficult when she was in the spotlight, decided she needed to gate-crash someone else’s trial as well.
The fox in question, Bertha, is the mum of our current batch of pups and — despite her efforts at finding “me-time” — a difficult subject to get on her own. Two of the pups (lets call them Bane and Pestilence), have made it their personal mission to interfere as much as possible with the serious business of science. They excel at… er… endearing things like untying my shoelaces as I’m manning the camera, or rummaging through my rucksack in the middle of a trial when I can’t stop to move it. Thus, having accomplished the difficult task of getting Bertha on her own for a trial, the last thing I wanted to see midway through trial 1 was Donna.Donna’s approach was marked by a sudden business-like growl from Bertha. Now, in the past, Bertha has always been submissive to Donna, but with the arena in front of her she wasn’t having any of it. She growled meaningfully in Donna’s direction and stood her ground, one paw possessively placed in a box. Donna, being who she is, couldn’t stomach this affront and came striding towards us, intent on her mission of sabotage. Seeing that she was about to start a fight, I moved to a spot in between her and the arena to block her passage, sporting my best Gandalf-like “You shall not pass” face. Realising that neither myself nor Bertha was going to allow her access to the arena, Donna gave the only respectable response that a highly-strung vixen could give in this sticky situation. She screamed.
She literally sat down, a couple of meters from my foot, and yowled at a pitch that predicted perforated eardrums before the night was through. Now, I know this sounds like a bizarrely traumatised reaction, and I could be accused of meddling unethically with our wild animals’ emotional well-being. However, screaming is a form of self-expression peculiar to Donna. I know this, because she also does it if she happens to be around when one of the pups is getting attention from us, or if you simply aren’t paying enough attention to her directly, or whatever other slight to her person, real or imagined, is underway. I chose to ignore her (and deal with my eardrums later). Bertha too, after casting the other vixen a bemused glance, seemed happy to disregard her wailing, so I resumed filming with Bertha enthusiastically digging for raisins.
Donna continued her tirade of abuse until she realised the tantrum was not affecting us, and then carried on foraging for termites nearby, casting back the occasional disparaging glance. Well, I’d like to think that perhaps she’ll be a bit more enthusiastic about her own trial next time, but likely, she’ll just trash everything like a true drama queen. And the sad fact is, this juicy information will only be a dry blip on my computer screen when I enter the night’s data – “Trial 1 – poss soc interference (DON obs)?”