When most of us are crawling into bed for a little shut eye, many other creatures are just rubbing the sleep from their eyes and preparing for another night's work. We rarely observe these creatures of the night on the job - hunting and scavenging. Creatures of the day, we often misunderstand and fear these night workers who move under cover of the dark. Working the nightshift can be lonely and, sometimes, a bit spooky.
That hyperkinetic, whirling dervish Looney Tunes character is not just the figment of a demented cartoonist's imagination. There really is a Tasmanian devil. The pint-sized native of Tasmania has quite a reputation as a bloodthirsty nightstalker and vicious predator. The nocturnal demon was rarely seen, but a pair of wild gleaming eyes accompanied by demonic growls and screams is generally enough to send most accidental intruders on their late-night orgies packing fairly quickly.
A good look at the little devil in the light of day isn't likely to improve anyone's opinion, either. With a powerful pair of jaws and a sharp, jagged set of teeth designed to efficiently rip the flesh off bone, the Tasmanian devil resembles an oversized, mutant rat in a very bad mood.
Not that he doesn't have a lot to be annoyed about. Once ranging in large numbers throughout Australia as well as nearby Tasmania, the misunderstood mammals have been wiped out entirely Down Under and brought to near extinction in the country whose name they took. Though farmers exterminated them to protect their cattle, the devil's famed ferocity is really nothing but a sham. He generally prefers to feast on animals that are already dead. Those bloodcurdling snarls and screams are actually effective warnings to keep rival predators away from his food and avoid a physical confrontation, and for all his fearsome posturing he's too slow and clumsy to be much of a hunter.
Those stiletto teeth and powerful jaws, however, can shred and crunch virtually every part of their prey. One family of devils is known to have eaten an entire horse, leaving only the skull and tail.
In their native land of Madagascar, they were killed on sight for years. In fact, no sensible person would even venture out at night for fear of encountering the dreaded aye-aye. Not that the tiny, shy, nocturnal lemur was likely to attack, but it was an accepted belief that just seeing one would bring death.
The myth, unfortunately, was all too true for the unlucky aye-aye who has been nearly exterminated by farmers and villagers in fear of their demonic powers. Their fears don't seem so far-fetched, considering their unearthly appearance, which zoologist Gerald Durrell describes vividly in "The Aye-aye and I":
"In the gloom it came along the branches toward me, its round, hypnotic eyes blazing, its spoon-like ears turning to and fro like radar dishes, its white whiskers twitching and moving like sensors; its black hands, with their thin fingers, the third seeming terribly elongated, tapping delicately on the branches as it moved along."
The bizarre appearance and behavior are all easily and logically explained. The oddly tapping finger is locating the aye-ayes favorite meal of tasty grubs, who live just inches below the branch's surface, and the radar-dish ears are honing in on the hollow sound that gives them away. Chisel-sharp teeth will then tear away the layers of wood, and the long, bony middle finger is used to fish out the mouth-watering delicacy.
With a wingspan of nearly five feet, acute night vision, and virtually silent flight, the great horned owl has earned its reputation as the tiger of the air. By the time a hapless field mouse, rabbit, or small pet out alone on a dark night catches a glimpse of his shadow, it's already too late for escape. The spooky "hoo, hoo, hoo" of the great horned lends an air of menace and foreboding to the night.
Known as the fiercest, most powerful and most aggressive of all owls, the great horned strikes fear in the heart of other night creatures. Even full-grown hawks at the Avian Ark in Canada trembled in fear at the mere sight of a baby owl perched on a rehab volunteers arm. Still, the presence of three adult owls wasn't enough to intimidate one wily skunk dad who broke into their aviary every night to swipe dead mice and eggs for the wife and kids as the fearsome trio watched benevolently from above.
Master of all he surveys, the mighty cockroach fearlessly stalks those dark, dank, dirty recesses of the city where humans fear to tread, especially without shoes. With a 300-million-year track record, these creepy crawlers know a thing or two about survival.
Few city neighborhoods seem to be free of the resilient insects. Many are firmly entrenched in even the most upscale apartment buildings, but actually only 1 percent of all cockroach species cohabit with humans. Most prefer the quiet country life, living under stones, in trees and plants, and even infesting the family dwellings of industrious ants and termites - talk about poetic justice!
Human wanderlust has benefited roaches, who've traveled 'round the world at our expense, hitching rides in our ships, trains and planes. As they've followed our trade routes and settled in our communities, they've thrived on our garbage, other insects and poorly protected food supplies. Our pathetic attempts to exterminate his race with increasingly lethal insecticides has only made the cockroach stronger. They quickly mutate into superstrains while we contaminate our environment with the deadly poisons.
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