In the game of life, not everybody makes the team, and one of the greatest “bummers” a kid can experience is to go out for a school athletic team, work his or her butt off every afternoon at practice, spending hours every night studying the playbook with dreams of making that big play that wins the championship game only to walk into the locker room one day and get pulled aside by the coach who delivers the news that he or she has been cut from the team. The coach’s speech is always the same, full of sugar-coated realities and atta boy/girl clichés; too slow, too small, not quite enough of this or that but be proud of the good try because all men (or women) are created equal… except when they’re not. The poor kid never hears any of this because his or her senses are completely numbed by the pain and disappointment it brings – the residue of which they carry with them for the rest of their lives.
Hard to say if whooper chicks react the same way. We sure hope not, because yesterday morning we had to give the speech to #9-12 and cut her from the ultralight team. It wasn’t that she didn’t try. I mean, she followed on walks as if on a leash, swam like Ester Williams, stuck to the trike like a piece of Velcro and was healthy as an Olympian. But she just couldn’t overcome millions of years of evolution and play nice with the other chicks. Just the sight of another chick would send her into a rage which only intensified as the encounter continued.
To our great frustration, none of the usual remedies were effective. But then it must be remembered that in the natural world, crane parents usually produce two eggs, hatch two chicks, with only one surviving to fledge. Sometimes one chick out competes the other for food and sometimes it’s even more sinister. Siblicide they call it – Just one more example of what a jungle it really is out there.
An example of how difficult it can be to socialize young Whooping cranes occurred four years ago in an incident with the now-infamous #10-08, who one evening in the enclosure at Necedah, went into a rage which resulted in the deaths of two other chicks and an injury to another so severe it had to be pulled from the project. Number 10-08 was subsequently released with adult whoopers; made it to Florida but wound up in the belly of an alligator after picking one fight too many.
Fortunately for us, we have prepared for just such problem this year and have been training 8 birds, #4-#12, with the intention of picking the best six for the trip to Wisconsin. #9 will remain behind and allow time to mellow her aggression and will eventually join the Louisiana team as did our little #8 last year.
Who knows? Maybe they’ll meet, fall in love, and spend the rest of their lives together trying to control their aggressions…like most couples.
Meanwhile, we’ll continue training and socializing the remaining seven for the trip to Wisconsin…until the next “cut” takes place leaving us with the final six.