From the category archives:

Rodents

Four pocket gopher species (click image to enlarge)

Four pocket gopher species (click image to enlarge)


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Forty percent of mammals are rodents, but only 25 percent of Daily Mammal drawings are of rodents. So far! Here’s a small step in correcting that imbalance. Top to bottom, please meet Thomomys bottae, Thomomys talpoides, Geomys bursarius, and Thomomys mazama, also known as Botta’s pocket gopher, northern pocket gopher, plains pocket gopher, and western pocket gopher, respectively.

They represent two different genera (Thomomys is the genus of western pocket gophers and Geomys is the eastern pocket gophers), but all of these little guys are from the same family—the pocket gopher family, of course. Chunky little pocket gophers are burrowers with big, curved incisors; long, strong claws; powerful arms; and external, fur-lined pockets that reach from their faces to their shoulders. They use these pockets for carrying food.

Pocket gophers make two different kinds of tunnels. One is just for finding food, like the roots of plants growing above. The other is for living, and they make separate chambers that serve as bedrooms, pantries, and bathrooms. They’re pretty solitary, and youngsters go roaming off when they’re a couple of months old to make a home of their own.

Although gophers get a bad rap as pests, they actually perform several important functions for humans. They aerate the soil, enrich it with the food they bury but don’t end up eating, and catch snow runoff in their burrows, which helps conserve the soil and water around their homes.

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Norway Lemming (Lemmus lemmus)

by J.R. Atkins on May 26, 2009

in Rodents

Norway lemming (click image to enlarge)

Norway lemming (click image to enlarge)


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Poor lemmings. We should thank them for how generously, if unwittingly, they have lent us their name as a metaphor for the unthinking hordes, who would indeed jump off the Brooklyn Bridge if their best friend did, who blindly follow the rest of the group, make the same bad decisions everyone else makes, and ultimately self-destruct, allowing the rest of us to smirk self-righteously. We’re not lemmings!

But it turns out that lemmings aren’t lemmings, either, in the sense of being brainwashed members of a mass-suicide cult. They don’t rush heedlessly to the sea, and they don’t throw themselves off of cliffs to their drowning deaths. Not exactly. What happens is that the lemming population fluctuates like crazy. A female Norway lemming can begin reproducing when she’s only two weeks old, and after that, she can have a new litter every three weeks. (The average litter size is 5 lemminglets.) So by the time she’s having her second litter, she has already become a grandmother, and by the time of her third litter, she could be a great-great, for pete’s sake.

Faced with harsh Scandinavian conditions and scarce food, lemmings might slow down the childbearing during the lean months. Then, as Ivan T. Sanderson puts it in Living Mammals of the World, “things get out of hand,” and the lemmings make up for lost time by having as many children and grandchildren and great-great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren as they can stand. These legions of lemmings devour all the available roots, grass, bark, leaves, and berries, and then what? They’re out of food, and there are thousands of them, and they can’t just stay there or they’ll all starve.

So they leave. And because they’re social, they leave en masse, but not necessarily solely in one direction. They may kind of fan out, searching for a new place to call home. They’re pretty good swimmers, and they have no problem crossing the occasional fjord or river. In Norway, any dissatisfied lemmings who haven’t found a suitable place to set up shop will, inevitably, come to the sea. And some of them—perhaps thinking it’s just another fjord, perhaps just wanting to keep going—will end up in it, only to drown. So, yes, lemmings have been known to plunge into the ocean and to die there. But it’s not a regular thing, it’s not every lemming, and it’s not in a precision-formation army of rodents on a mindless march to their doom.

The prevailing explanation for why the myth has stuck so well involves a sad story of duplicitous documentarians. In 1958, Disney won the best documentary Academy Award for its movie White Wilderness, which was about the wildlife of Canada. Check out this sequence:

Dramatic, isn’t it? Heartbreaking? Horrifying? Yes. But fake! Fake fake fake! The filmmakers made this segment in a part of Canada where there are no lemmings. They imported the little fellows and made them run around on a turntable they covered with snow. Then they chased them to a cliff and pushed them off of it! All to make you think that lemmings commit mass suicide. Infuriating! (Here’s an article with some more details.)

Animal Planet ran a segment in its Most Extreme series about the lemming-suicide misconception:

So that’s that. Some “documentary.” A blight on the Academy, if you ask me. Anyway, Norway lemmings are about five inches long, cute as heck, shaped somewhat like tribbles, and active year-round, both day and night. So they have difficulty controlling themselves sometimes. Who doesn’t?

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Indian Giant Squirrel (Ratufa indica)

by J.R. Atkins on May 6, 2009

in Rodents

Indian giant squirrel (click to enlarge)

Indian giant squirrel (click to enlarge)

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While I was researching yesterday’s Indian palm squirrel, I ran across this gorgeous species. I was going to save him to draw later because he’s so colorful with such crazy ears, but then today, it got late and I was going to just go to bed but then I thought, no, I have three days in a row, need to keep it going, so I decided to draw somebody really fun, and thus, your Indian giant squirrel.

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Indian palm squirrel (click image to enlarge

Indian palm squirrel (click image to enlarge)

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The Indian palm squirrel is a funambulist of the palms! Thinking of the words somnambulist or ambulatory, you can almost come close to figuring out what that means: a fun walker! Sort of. A funambulist is a tightrope walker (funis is Latin for rope; the word fun, on the other hand, comes from the Middle English fon, meaning fool, and this squirrel is no fool).

Indian palm squirrels are endemic to India and Sri Lanka. In a Hindu legend, the god Ram was searching for his beloved wife Sita, who had been kidnapped by a demon. At one point in the epic that tells his story, he must build a bridge across a sea, and he is aided by an army of monkeys and bears. But monkeys and bears aren’t the only animals that help him. This is from a version of the story on the India Times website:

The entire army of monkeys promptly got to work, under the supervision of Hanuman and Jamvant. Ram sat under a tree thinking of Sita and the days ahead.

After a while, he noticed something that moved him to tears. A little squirrel, who had been watching the monkeys carry huge boulders and rocks to build the bridge, began to do her bit to help the Lord. She began carrying little pebbles in her mouth and her tiny hands from a little mound near the tree to the site of construction.

A much amused and pleased Ram picked up the squirrel and petted her, running his fingers from her head down to her tail. The squirrel was blessed and forever marked with stripes—the mark of Lord Ram and a trophy of love.

A while back, a commenter suggested that the Daily Mammal could function as a sort of horoscope, where your personality can be compared to characteristics of the mammal I draw on your birthday. So if you, like me, were born on May 4, you resemble an Indian palm squirrel: you’re agile, fearless, hardworking, and willing to wreak minor destruction to get what you want.

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Rats Three Ways (Neotoma spp.)

by J.R. Atkins on March 26, 2009

in Rodents

The Daily Mammal Book Club is discussing My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell. Join in!

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Here are three rats for you! They’re in the wood rat or pack rat genus, Neotoma. Clockwise from the top left, we have N. cinerea (bushy-tailed wood rat), N. floridana (eastern wood rat), and N. lepida (desert wood rat). Wood rats are also sometimes called trade rats. Mammalian Species quotes a 1946 guide to the mammals of Nevada:

“It is supposed that when one of these rats carrying an object of its fancy comes to another more attractive object, it drops the first and continues on its way with the second. If the second object be the watch of a camper, who in the morning finds a piece of old bone where the watch lay when the camper went to sleep the evening before, he will think the name trade rat appropriate.”

Just, you know, hypothetically, right?

There are two words related to wood rats that you may not know. Both could prove useful in describing, say, someone’s housekeeping. Middens means a pile of bodily waste or a dunghill. Amberat is a deceptively beautiful word meaning crystallized rat urine. (I don’t know if it’s a portmanteau from amber and rat, but I hope so. I really love this word.) Here, in a book about the Grand Canyon, is a chapter all about amberat, and here is a photograph of it at UtahCaver.com. Apparently, it has a red-gold color and can be built up to several inches thick. It may or may not have a sweet smell.

Amberat helps fossilize wood-rat middens for later examination by interested parties. Archaeologists have found rodent middens that are 50,000 years old. The rats use the same middens for generations, so there’s all kinds of intriguing stuff in there. At Mesa Verde, they’ve found middens that show signs of exposure to smoke, suggesting that the wood rats coexisted with the Anasazi.

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Darwin Days: Tuco-Tucos Six Ways (Ctenomys spp.)

by J.R. Atkins on February 10, 2009

in Rodents, Theme Weeks

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The day after tomorrow, February 12, 2009, is Charles Darwin’s 200th birthday. (It’s also Abraham Lincoln’s.) I’ve recently begun reading Darwin’s The Origin of Species, and I’ve decided to try to do a little something in celebration of Darwin’s immense contribution. I’m going to be highlighting a few mammals that Darwin discusses in The Origin of Species, and I’ll try to tell you something of what Darwin says about them. Since I haven’t read the whole book, I’m going to be reading the sections that mention these mammals out of order and a bit out of context, but I’ll do my best, and maybe my more Darwin-literate readers can help out where needed. I also am pretty clueless as to where Darwin’s ideas have been expanded or improved upon. Incidentally, the book is actually quite accessible, and I’m sorry I didn’t read it earlier. You can read it online or download a PDF at Google Books.

Chapter Five of The Origin of Species is titled “Laws of Variation.” In a section called “Effects of Use and Disuse,” Darwin posits that the shrunken state of the wings of some birds on islands where they have no predators results from disuse. There’s nothing to fly away from, so generations of birds stopped flying and used their legs more, and through natural selection their legs were strengthened and their wings, eventually, made useless. As another example, Darwin discusses animals that live in underground burrows and caves and have small, furred-over, or absent eyes, thanks to disuse. It’s dark down there, so eyes aren’t very helpful, and gradually, they are selected out, while things like longer whiskers and antennae, which are helpful underground, are favored.

The tuco-tucos, of which there are some 50 different species, live in burrows in South America. Although they spend a lot of time underground, they do occasionally peer out of their homes, and their small but useful eyes allow them to do that without necessarily having to actually exit the premises. It’s easy for them to duck back under if need be. (The amount of time they spend outside their burrows varies from species to species.)

Darwin says that he was told by someone who caught a lot of tuco-tucos that they are often blind. A tuco-tuco that Darwin kept in captivity was blind, he says, thanks to an inflammation of the eye. As Darwin points out, animals that live primarily underground don’t really need their eyes, and eyes are just another thing that can get infected, so why not do away with them? (Eventually. Over generations.)

Genetic analysis of one tuco-tuco species, the colonial tuco-tuco (C. sociabilis) yielded surprising results a few years back. For the past three millennia, the colonial tuco-tuco has had almost no genetic diversity. Usually, a lack of genetic variation means doom for a species, but the colonial t-t has survived pretty well. The reason, researchers think, is that it has evolved a very social way of life, unlike the other tuco-tuco species. If everyone is related, there’s no reason to compete; instead, you can help your cousins breed, since they’re passing on your genes, as well as their own. (In a practical sense, I think I would be more likely to get along with everyone if they were more or less my clones, too, but personality clashes are probably not a significant factor in the colonial t-t’s survival.)

According to Walker’s Mammals of the World, “Systematic understanding of this complex genus is in a state of flux, and it is likely that there will be much change in the number and relationships of species…” In this drawing of the goofy-looking guys, clockwise from the upper right are C. fulvus, C. sociabilis, C. flamarioni, C. talarum, C. peruanus, and in the middle, C. haigi.

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In one sense, I got lazy with this drawing, doing it in sharpie on top of my pencil with no shading, no blending, no colored pencil, and it’s on my tracing paper sketch instead of a nice crisp sheet of vellum. No furry details, no crazy colors. But if you knew how long I researched it and how many times I tried to draw it the normal way, you would know it wasn’t lazy at all. So here are six species of chipmunks from the Tamias genus. Clockwise from the top right: T. obscurus, T. quadrimaculatus, T. speciosus, T. senex, T. amoenus, and T. alpinus. All six species live in California.

Six more rodents! Check ‘em off if you’re scoring at home!

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