Thursday, September 28, 2006
Getting’ Tiggy with it
The Moscovian fauna is rather, how shall we say, minimalist. Initially, it appeared to consist of only two species: the local crow species, of large size, almost of ravenic proportions, and characterized by a hoary grey “hood” around the typical corvine black. Referred to variously as Corvus cornix, vorona, or the Moscrow (the latter epithet being limited in use to myself), it is omnipresent, cawing menacingly both from apartment buildings and trees in the deep woods, waiting for what is inevitable in this city, when it can swoop down to feed. The other major species here is the beardog. No mere feral dogs, these, but a race of enormous carnivores of a distinctly ursine bent, echoing the amphicyonines of old. Beneath their shaggy fur and massive, sloping cranial ridges lie a battery of bone-crushing teeth that could make short work of anything up to and including moose size. Despite their enormous size, they are masters of stealth, and on several occasions I did not realize until the last second that there was a pack of five or six of them lurking in the tall grass around me. That said, they often lounge about in plain sight, fully aware that no one would dare bother them. I believe they have a symbiotic association with the crows, like honeyguides and badgers, whereby the crows call out the location of potential prey and then wait for the beardogs to dispatch it. Happily, none of them has yet considered me worthy enough prey, but walking through the woods at night, with only the full moon for illumination, I became all too aware how easily it would be for them to drag me off to their den, never to be heard from again.
Over the past few weeks, a few other species have been added to the local roster. The coming of rains brought two unwelcome invertebrates: slugs and biting flies. The slugs are a mucosal tan-and-grey Eurasian species of decidedly unpleasant aspect that cover the street I walk to work in the morning, necessitating fancy footwork lest I arrive with a still-writhing mass of the beasts on the soles of my shoes. The flies are yet more horrifying: these consist of midges, mosquitoes, and other bloodsuckers, and their tenacity is unparalleled. Through unknown means they manage to enter my hotel room in sizable numbers, ensuring that each night is a living hell. No larger than our American mosquitoes, they nevertheless buzz at a decibel level orders of magnitude greater, and are perversely fond of buzzing in one’s ear after blood has already been drained. When first they appeared, they woke me up at three in the morning, at which point I found myself covered in itching welts. Attempts to fall back asleep proved futile, as they seemed intent on entering the ear canal proper. Even swaddling myself in the blanket did not elude them, they found ways, oh, they found ways, by which to gain entrance and immediately seek out the ears. An hour and a half later, in desperation, I tried to fall asleep in the bathtub, with the lights on (they cannot abide the light, like many creatures of evil), but it was no use. Finally I completely mummified myself in the covers, but even then I could hear their buzzing, outside the comforter! And eventually I did have to emerge, due to a combination of suffocation and back pains caused by attempting to curl myself within the confines of the short sheets. Just sticking my foot out for two minutes, I incurred four bites. Finally, after five, I enragedly switched on the lights and brought my flip-flop down on a few of the engorged parasites (usually perfectly camouflaged against the decaying, yellowed wallpapers but now visible thanks to their crimson abdomens), leaving satisfying bloodstains on the wall. After this, I was able to get to sleep, though this was far from the end of my encounters with them. Over the next few days, despite a series of purges worthy of Stalin himself, a few kept managing to elude me and torment me in the night. New schemes were formulated; lights were turned off long before bedtime, to lure them out and bring unto them the slaughter: this tactic proved successful. Finally, yesterday, only two of them were found in the room before bed, and summarily dispatched, and the night passed without incident (in the morning, the body was found to be thankfully welt-free.) Though this would seem to be the end, I remain constantly on guard, going so far as to kill insects seen in the hallways that could conceivably enter the room at some future date.
Finally, there have been two animal encounters of a more enjoyable bent. One was the discovery of a roadkilled Russian snake outside the museum. I have not had the chance to identify it yet, but I took pictures so as to do so in the future. The second encounter occurred during yesterday’s walk back from the museum. With autumn progressing, it has now gotten to the point where it is completely dark when it is time to leave work, so the trudge back through the woods is always a bit of an adventure. Going through a narrow path infested with feral cats that I have dubbed “The Gauntlet”, I heard a rustling along to the side, definitely signifying some animal’s approach, but too slight to indicate one of the cats (which are large) or heaven forbid a beardog. Shedding some light on the subject using the flash of my camera, the creature was revealed: a wild hedgehog! And it was quite adorable, curling up into its little spiny ball as I got too close to it. Easily, this was the most pleasant surprise of my trip thus far.
The Moscovian fauna is rather, how shall we say, minimalist. Initially, it appeared to consist of only two species: the local crow species, of large size, almost of ravenic proportions, and characterized by a hoary grey “hood” around the typical corvine black. Referred to variously as Corvus cornix, vorona, or the Moscrow (the latter epithet being limited in use to myself), it is omnipresent, cawing menacingly both from apartment buildings and trees in the deep woods, waiting for what is inevitable in this city, when it can swoop down to feed. The other major species here is the beardog. No mere feral dogs, these, but a race of enormous carnivores of a distinctly ursine bent, echoing the amphicyonines of old. Beneath their shaggy fur and massive, sloping cranial ridges lie a battery of bone-crushing teeth that could make short work of anything up to and including moose size. Despite their enormous size, they are masters of stealth, and on several occasions I did not realize until the last second that there was a pack of five or six of them lurking in the tall grass around me. That said, they often lounge about in plain sight, fully aware that no one would dare bother them. I believe they have a symbiotic association with the crows, like honeyguides and badgers, whereby the crows call out the location of potential prey and then wait for the beardogs to dispatch it. Happily, none of them has yet considered me worthy enough prey, but walking through the woods at night, with only the full moon for illumination, I became all too aware how easily it would be for them to drag me off to their den, never to be heard from again.
Over the past few weeks, a few other species have been added to the local roster. The coming of rains brought two unwelcome invertebrates: slugs and biting flies. The slugs are a mucosal tan-and-grey Eurasian species of decidedly unpleasant aspect that cover the street I walk to work in the morning, necessitating fancy footwork lest I arrive with a still-writhing mass of the beasts on the soles of my shoes. The flies are yet more horrifying: these consist of midges, mosquitoes, and other bloodsuckers, and their tenacity is unparalleled. Through unknown means they manage to enter my hotel room in sizable numbers, ensuring that each night is a living hell. No larger than our American mosquitoes, they nevertheless buzz at a decibel level orders of magnitude greater, and are perversely fond of buzzing in one’s ear after blood has already been drained. When first they appeared, they woke me up at three in the morning, at which point I found myself covered in itching welts. Attempts to fall back asleep proved futile, as they seemed intent on entering the ear canal proper. Even swaddling myself in the blanket did not elude them, they found ways, oh, they found ways, by which to gain entrance and immediately seek out the ears. An hour and a half later, in desperation, I tried to fall asleep in the bathtub, with the lights on (they cannot abide the light, like many creatures of evil), but it was no use. Finally I completely mummified myself in the covers, but even then I could hear their buzzing, outside the comforter! And eventually I did have to emerge, due to a combination of suffocation and back pains caused by attempting to curl myself within the confines of the short sheets. Just sticking my foot out for two minutes, I incurred four bites. Finally, after five, I enragedly switched on the lights and brought my flip-flop down on a few of the engorged parasites (usually perfectly camouflaged against the decaying, yellowed wallpapers but now visible thanks to their crimson abdomens), leaving satisfying bloodstains on the wall. After this, I was able to get to sleep, though this was far from the end of my encounters with them. Over the next few days, despite a series of purges worthy of Stalin himself, a few kept managing to elude me and torment me in the night. New schemes were formulated; lights were turned off long before bedtime, to lure them out and bring unto them the slaughter: this tactic proved successful. Finally, yesterday, only two of them were found in the room before bed, and summarily dispatched, and the night passed without incident (in the morning, the body was found to be thankfully welt-free.) Though this would seem to be the end, I remain constantly on guard, going so far as to kill insects seen in the hallways that could conceivably enter the room at some future date.
Finally, there have been two animal encounters of a more enjoyable bent. One was the discovery of a roadkilled Russian snake outside the museum. I have not had the chance to identify it yet, but I took pictures so as to do so in the future. The second encounter occurred during yesterday’s walk back from the museum. With autumn progressing, it has now gotten to the point where it is completely dark when it is time to leave work, so the trudge back through the woods is always a bit of an adventure. Going through a narrow path infested with feral cats that I have dubbed “The Gauntlet”, I heard a rustling along to the side, definitely signifying some animal’s approach, but too slight to indicate one of the cats (which are large) or heaven forbid a beardog. Shedding some light on the subject using the flash of my camera, the creature was revealed: a wild hedgehog! And it was quite adorable, curling up into its little spiny ball as I got too close to it. Easily, this was the most pleasant surprise of my trip thus far.
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