March 14, 2011 was the most eventful day of this last year as it marked the arrival of a baby Dendrohyrax dorsalis into my life. One of my neighbors hunts to make ends meet and that day he killed an adult female Wetsern Tree Hyrax, and bagged the baby that was by her side. He told me, knowing I was curious about the animal that fills the forest (and the village) for miles around with it's screaming call every night aorund nine or ten pm. My neighbor unceremoniously dumped the bag of animals he'd killed onto the dirt floor of his kitchen. Out fell mother hyrax, about the size of a small dog, or small racoon. Out fell a small monkey (don't know what species) and a large bright blue bird with a thick bill (also, I don't know). Then there was a tiny ball of fur that came to life and retreated at the sight of us. My neighbor was afraid of it. No one has ever domesticated a tree hyrax: there are supersitions concerning it (that if eaten it will cause birth defects in pregnant women, because of the stumpy-looking three and four-fingered paws of the hyrax), and adults give a nasty bite.

 The little creature that fell out of the sack was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. After a few seconds' hesitation, I picked her up and we have been inseperable ever since. I raised her on milk with the help of a Q-tip for a nipple and we went on all sorts of adventures in the forest together. She was typically seen riding on my shoulder, one leg hooked around my neck for saftey. She was very well-behaved, potty-trained from birth, coming when called, gentle and loving. When I was upset she would come see what was wrong. A night she would clamber up the bedpost and sleep next to my head most of the night (very adaptable for a mostly-nocturnal animal). After milk, her favorite foods were guavas and guava leaves, beans, carrots, lettuce, eggs, bananas, assorted twigs and leaves, and decomposing tree bark. Her favorite passtimes were climbing, chewing, and sleeping. She was playful too--we'd chase eachother around the house, in and out of hiding spots.

This is written in the past tense for a reason. Baby Ebene, a.k.a Little One, a.k.a. Fatty the Biter was killed by a dog on December 17th when she left the house through an open window. Boris and I loved her very, very dearly and hoped to be with her for many years to come (some say hyraxes live to be twenty or more years old). In memory of her, and in hopes that more people will learn of this wonder of the Congo Basin forest, I'm posting pictures and video clips I have of her.