Beloved and Bizarre Betta Fish

Betta fish, also known as fighting fish, are some of the most popular fish in the aquarium trade.  They are brightly coloured, relatively easy to look after, and have a surprising amount of personality.  Betta fish are also complete and utter sociopaths.

Who wouldn’t love them?

Flaring and Fighting

It is extremely rare to see more than one beta fish per tank.  If you do see two or more in a single tank they are either female, breeding, or dead.  Bettas weren’t randomly nicknamed fighting fish.  They earned that title.

In the wild, when two males meet they fight for territory.  The loser swims away.  Once the loser is out of the winner’s territory there is no longer need for pursuit.

In a tank there is no room for more than one territory and no room for one beta to escape the other.  The result?  The betta fish will keep fighting until the  one or the other is dead.

It’s not a good idea to keep colourful fish with a male betta.  Males can’t tell the difference between brightly coloured fish and other male betas.  The result?  Dead fish.

Luckily, betta fish never feel lonely.  The sort of isolation that would wreck a human mind is a vacation for a beta.  However, they can get bored.

Fish owners have many different ways of treating bored bettas.  Changing decorations, releasing live brine shrimp into the tank (beta fish love hunting them), or teaching them how to swim through a hoop.

Some use laser pointers.  Betta fish assume that anything brightly coloured is another beta fish.  Bright red dot?  Must be an intruder!

When faced with what they believe is an intruder, betta fish engage in a behaviour called flaring.  They puff out their gills and spread out their fins, presumably to seem bigger and scare the enemy off before the fight begins.  It’s quite beautiful.

Thinking they scared away an intruder does wonders for a betta’s ego.  Clearly the enemy was overwhelmed by their majestic flare and bravery.  Fleeing from such nobility was the  only option left.

Jumps and Flops

In the wild, betta fish live in the tropics, in shallow waters, like those found in rice paddies.  The water in the area is shallow and low on oxygen.  Gills filter air from the water, but the rice paddies simply do not have enough air to keep beta fish alive.

The solution?  Betta fish can breath.  Like sea turtles or dolphins, beta fish swim to the surface of the water to gulp down air.  Although the gills can provide supplements to the beta fish’s oxygen supply, they cannot survive on gills alone.  

Because of this, betta fish adore what some call ‘hammocks’.  A hammock is anything a beta can rest on, like a tall plant, that keeps them just beneath the water’s surface.  That way, when a beta  fish wakes up in the middle of the night to breath, they only have to tilt their head back before going back to sleep.  

Easier than swimming from top to bottom every time they need to breath.

The ability to breath air can also come in handy for a second reason.  Betta fish are jumpers.  When it is dry, bodies of water shrink.  Sometimes they get too small for the beta fish to live in.

When betta fish believe their pool is getting too small, they jump.  Usually, they land on dry ground.  To get to another pool of water, beta fish flop.  They twist and slap the ground with their bodies until they’re either dead or back in water again.

For most fish, this would be a stupid idea.  Gills work great underwater but not at all in open air.  The odds of flopping to a second paddy before you suffocated to death are one in a hundred.  

Because betta fish can breath air. This gives them time — a beta fish can last hours before drying out.

In aquariums, this instinct, honed by millennia in the wild, does not just go away, though it does go a bit haywire.  Betta fish will jump if the water in their tank is in bad condition.  Some beta fish will jump for no apparent reason.  Others will never jump at all.

A good tank lid (one the air can get through but the fish can’t) is essential.  Otherwise the fish may jump out and flop under your bed.  They might survive, but it will not be a pleasant experience for anyone.

Underwater Romance

Only certain invertebrates have a mating period as bizarre and dangerous as that of the beta fish.  It starts when the male beta makes a bubble nest.  

A bubble nest is, as you might expect, a nest made out of bubbles, floating on the waters surface.  The male then waits, near the nest, for a female to come by.

When a female does come, the male immediately swims over to her, and pesters her to mate.  There are two possible things that could happen next.  Either the female will agree to mate with the male, and fill the bubble nest with fishy embryos, or the female, annoyed by the male’s advances, will decide to kill him.

At that point, breeders will try and remove one of the betta fish from the tank before the male winds up dead.  Of course, the male will likely be injured by the time the female is removed and will have to be given special care until he heals.

If the female agrees to mate, a different problem occurs.  As soon as the nest is filled, the male turns nasty.  Guarding the nest is his job, and he won’t let anybody, even the mother, come near.

In the wild, the mother would just swim away.  Aquariums change things.  The female can’t escape, so the male keeps attacking her until one is either killed or removed by the breeder.

The male will then guard the nest until the fry (baby fish) are ready to come out.  After that, the male stops caring and swims off, never to think of his offspring again.  How heartwarming!

There’s a reason breeding betta fish is considered a job for the experts.

In Conclusion

Every betta fish has its own personality.  Some are energetic, always looking for someone to fight, to the point where attacking a snail seems sensible to them.  Others will happily ignore the dull-coloured snail and focus on building the grandest bubble nests possible.

Betta fish are, and always will be, amazing.

Bizarre Bilbies

There’s a good chance you haven’t heard of a bilby before.  Despite the sound of the name, the bilby was not invented by Dr. Seuss.  The bilby is a rabbit-like marsupial found only in Australia.

Until recently, I had no idea it even existed.

Once there were two species of bilbies; the lesser bilby and the greater.  Unfortunately, the lesser bilby has been extinct for more than half a century.  The remaining species is currently threatened with the same fate.

Bilbies are surprisingly not strange to look at.  It easily be mistaken for an uncommon species of rabbit.  The main differences in appearance are the bilby’s pointed snout and its long tail.

Like a rabbit, bilbies live in burrows, dug by their own paws.  These burrows can extend underground for more than two metres.  The bilby evolved to survive in a desert climate; the burrow keeps in cool during the hot day.

Bilbies have another adaption that helps them survive the desert; they don’t need to drink.  You might think this is a figure of speech.  It’s not.  The bilby’s diet provides all the water it needs to survive. I’m guessing it doesn’t pee much.

(Note that humans must drink water in order to survive.  If you try the bilby diet, you will die.)

Many endangered species are endangered for one simple reason: humans.  Take away the humans, take away the threat.  The trick is persuading the humans to move.

Things are different with the bilby. 

The main reason the bilby is at risk—invasive species.  Cats and foxes over-hunt the bilby.  Rabbits compete with it for resources.  Even if every human on this planet somehow disappeared, the invasive species would still be there.

This leads us to the legendary Easter Bilby.  To raise awareness of the problems facing the bilby, someone had the bright idea of killing off the Easter Bunny (invasive in Australia) and replacing it with the Easter Bilby—an idea I thoroughly believe is, to use a fancy term, awesome.

Can you imagine?  Chocolate bilbies wrapped in golden foil.  Children drawing bilbies in preparation for Easter.  Restaurant windows painted with smiling bilbies.

I may not have known about the bilby for long, but the very idea makes me smile. 

The bilby is an amazing creature.  Just learning about it was a delight.  Our world would be a poorer place without it.  For the bizarre name alone, the bilby is worth saving.

 

Sources

Threatened Species, Bilby

Bilbies in New South Wales

Bilby, Britannica

Bush Heritage Australia, Bilby

Marvellous Moose Watching

The moose is an amazing animal. Watching a moose is every bit as wonderful as watching a giraffe. Moose are also highly dangerous, and, each year, kill more people than bears do.

That doesn’t mean you can’t go moose watching. It just means that you have to be very careful.

Rule 1: Respect

The first item anyone setting out to get close to wildlife needs is respect. Moose are wild animals, and wild animals do not give a crap about what humans want or like. To a moose, nothing is more important than being a moose. It won’t stop being a moose just because you want a selfie.

Moose do not, and never will, like humans. At best, the moose will see a human as mild nuisance. At worst, the moose will see you as a threat. You can’t tell what a moose will decide. Moose are unpredictable, a trait that serves them very well in the wild.

Moose are also, perhaps because of their size, unlikely to run. Most likely, if they feel threatened, they will try and stomp you. Did I mention they have hooves the size of warhorses? I don’t say this to scare you, but respecting moose means knowing what they’re capable of.

Rule 2: Distance

No human being can outrun a charging moose — unless the moose is very far away.

Moose are gigantic. You don’t need to be close to one in order to see it. A photograph taken at a distance is just as good looking as a picture taken up close. Cameras can zoom, and most wildlife lovers already have a pair of binoculars.

The moose itself will be happier; keep your distance, and it doesn’t have to deal with us horrible humans.

You don’t have to risk your life to get views on social media.

Rule 3: Ask the Experts

When in doubt, consult the experts. Ask someone who knows wildlife how close you can go. Most national parks have at least one expert at hand, although some people choose to ignore them.

If you receive a pamphlet as you enter the park, please do not throw it out. Read it. You’ll be doing everybody, including both yourself and the moose a favour.

The rules are there for a reason. Please, pay attention.

In Closing

Moose are amazing animals. They’re big, bold, and take no nonsense from anyone. Watching moose is a treat. It’s something everyone should do at least once before they die.

Marvellous, marvellous moose. Have fun watching!

Moose: Majestic Monsters

I remember when my parents took me and my brother aside, and warned us about the two of the most dangerous creatures in the aspen woodlands. One was the coyote. If a coyote attacked us, we were to scream and throw rocks at it. Running from a coyote would convince it that you were prey.

The other animal was the moose. Screaming and throwing rocks was not an option. If we saw a moose, we were to run inside immediately, no questions asked. If there was moose in the yard, we could not go out.

And so began my love affair with the wonderful, monstrous moose.

Some people don’t seem to realize how dangerous moose are. After all, moose are herbivores, right? And herbivores can’t hurt you!

Wrong. The rhino is a herbivore. Would you like to poke one? Or worse — be poked by it? The beautiful elephant is one of Africa’s more dangerous creatures. The trunk, the tusks, the gigantic feet … well, elephants have to keep predators away, don’t they?

Moose are classified as megafauna, just like elephants and rhinos. It means moose are very, very big and very, very heavy. Many people die simply from driving into moose. Why? Because a moose crashing through the windshield is heavy enough to kill whoever is on the other side.

Moose are not the greatest at calculating the odds either — a fact that make them even more dangerous. For instance, if a moose sees a human holding a spear and yelling, it will randomly chose either fight or flight. There’s a 50% chance of it choosing either.

If the moose choses flight, the human will live. But if it choses fight, it will lower its head and charge. The fact it will die when the human spears it does not matter. Of course, the human would likely die as well. When a moose is within spearing distance, it’s going too fast to stop. It will still crush the human, dead or alive.

Lesson? Don’t provoke a moose. It will not end well. And moose, like many other herbivore, are provoked easily. Standing too close could send the moose into a rage.

But moose, though dangerous, are also marvellous creatures. They are very hardy. My brother used to go out on the porch and shoot them with his BB gun. The moose barely noticed. Their hide was just that thick.

Moose also have very thick skulls. Once my dad — on the porch, close to the door — hit one with a basketball. It took the moose three full seconds to realize it had been hit. When it did, the moose turned to my dad, and stared at him. Like it was wondering just who my dad thought he was, being so rude to it.

Sometimes, moose would come straight up to the window, to eat some of the tasty shrubs growing in the garden. That was a rare treat for me. A chance to observe the moose up close, without putting myself in danger.

Did you know that moose have eyelashes? Long black ones. And did you know moose moo? Mooing seems to be how moose communicate with each other.

I’ve heard some people say moose are ugly. But I’ve never seen them that way. To me, moose are beautiful. Bears are the ugly ones.

That said, the next time you see a moose by the side of the road, please don’t get out and start taking photos. Moose hooves can break in the human skull with one kick. No amount of views can bring you back from the dead.

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Marvellous Moose Watching

Amazing Mosquitoes

I love mosquitoes. Yes, you read that right. Mosquitoes have always fascinated me, from the time I was a kid. I mean, every person on Earth wants to drive mosquitoes to extinction. But mosquitoes aren’t just still around — they’re prospering. How do they do it?

I’ve done various experiments in my own yard. I’ve come up with many theories, unscientific as they might be, and I like to think I’ve learned a thing or two from my studies.

For starters, a mosquito missing two of it’s six legs can function just as well as mosquito with all of them. How do I know this? From counting the legs of mosquitoes who bit me, and by carefully tearing the legs off the mosquitoes with all six. Losing a limb doesn’t even slow them down.

The lesson? Go for the wings, not the legs. Or just squash the insect — that works too.

Mosquitoes evolve fast, much faster than humans. A subspecies of mosquito has been discovered in the New York subways — it lives in the subway tunnels and only in the subway tunnels. A new subspecies — that’s huge.

I think I may have discovered a new subspecies myself — though, not being a scientist, I may be wrong. See, theres a forest near my house. I often go for walks there. There are no paved paths, and it’s not unusual to run into a herd of deer, or an angry moose. The shadiest part of the forest is close to a pond.

Mosquitoes love shady areas. They also love ponds. But one of the mosquitoes there wasn’t like the ones I usually saw — it was huge, by mosquito standards, and incredibly slow — a blow any other mosquito could’ve dodged squashed this dude flat.

It was later that I noticed the swelling on my ankle. What looked — and felt — like a giant mosquito bite, two inches square. I’d never had an insect bite that bad before. I thought of the mosquito I had squashed in the forest. Was it possible another one, just as big, had caused this bite.

It took several days for the swelling to go down. I soon figured out that the giant mosquitoes could only be found in the forest, the place where I’d been walking when I got the bite. Could it be that one of these giant mosquitoes was responsible for the swelling on my ankle?

To test the theory, I let one of the giant mosquitoes bite me. Not a long bite — the mosquito only got a few seconds before it was interrupted. The bite did swell up, and it was unusually large, but no where near the size of the one on my ankle.

What if the amount of time was a factor? A bite that only took several seconds might swell up less than a bite that took an entire minute.

I came up with a plan to find out. I went back to the forest, and waited for a giant mosquito to land. I didn’t squash it, even though it would have been easy. I let it take what I call a ‘full bite’ — as in, when the mosquito finally flew off, it was because it was full of blood, not because it was disturbed.

I’d let the normal mosquitoes give me full bites before. They’d been slightly larger than normal, and slightly itchier as well, so I knew the length of the bite had something to do with it.

The giant mosquito’s bite grew. Within a few hours, it was the size of the largest normal mosquito bites. By the next day, it was two inches square, itchy and raw. Like the first bite, it lasted for several days. I came to two occlusions from this experiment: 1), the giant mosquitoes were responsible for the giant bites and 2) I was never doing another experiment this stupid again — not with the half week of itchiness that followed.

By this time, I was certain that the giant mosquitoes were a separate sub-species. So, being very scientific, I decided to give them a proper sub-species name: ‘beaters’. If I ever discovered another sub-species, I’d call them either ‘chasers’ or ‘keepers’. What can I say? I love Harry Potter.

I have several theories about beaters that I am currently unable to prove.

For starters, their size. It slowed the beaters down, to the point they couldn’t dodge a human. They were easy to spot and squash. How could any species survive like that?

Well, what if it was the forest — or, more specifically, the animals that lived there? Not many humans went to that part of the forest.

But there were deer and moose — I often found their prints along the path. It would make sense if these were the beater’s prey. Deer and moose can’t easily slap a mosquito that lands on them.

Maybe a bigger proboscis helped beaters get through the animals fur? Did it help them carry blood? Or was it just that, with deer and moose as their main victims, there was no reason for the beaters not to be big?

Mosquitoes are horrible. They’re also amazing. The next time I see one, I’m killing it.