The Busybody and the Tree Shrew, or How I Celebrated Independence Day

This morning, I was walking one of my dogs when I saw a tree shrew trapped in a wire cage in a neighbour's yard. I know the people slightly, an elderly Chinese man and his younger wife, who keep a nice, if underfed, dog named Ah Fook. The Wongs and I are casually friendly, having met through our dogs.

The tree shrew is a fascinating mammal found only in South-east Asia. It is not, in fact, a shrew at all. Neither, despite its appearance, is it a squirrel. Although the 18 species of tree shrew used to be included in the order Insectivora, they now make up their own order, Scandentia, and many scientists group them with the Primate order. That's right! They are related to flying lemurs and the rest of us primates! They are thought to be primitive prosimians similar to our own ancestors. One last tid-bit: Tree shrews have the highest brain-to-body-mass ratio of any animal, including humans.

Of course, I wasn't thinking of any of this as I peered through the gate at the tree shrew, frantically scrabbling at the bars of the cage. Instead, I was thinking "why?" and "how can I get him out of there?" Maybe, I thought, the people were trying to protect the two small mango trees that are the only touch of green in the expanse of concrete that surrounds their house. (Not that I had ever seen any fruit on the trees, but presumably they were optimists.) Or perhaps they wanted to eat it? Or keep it as a pet? Neither idea seemed likely, but you never knew.

I considered the situation. No car, so they weren't home. Ah Fook penned in the rear of the compound, so he was out of the way. There was just me, the caged tree shrew and a fence between us. I needed a tool, something like a very long stick.

I took my dog home and then I looked around. Bingo! The people next door are doing house renovations. The contractors had left a pile of wood scraps on the side of the street. I found just what I needed right away, a long, slender piece of wood, not too heavy for me to carry but sturdy enough to be useful. Off I trudged, stick in hand.

By standing with one foot on the driveway and the other on the base of the wall on the other side of the drainage ditch in front of the house, I could slide the wood between the bars of the fence. The trap had a loop of wire on top of its door. The stick fit neatly through the loop. I scooted the cage closer to the fence and, after a quick repositioning to stand in the driveway, maneuvered it into arm's reach. The tree shrew was alarmed, of course, and made "keep away" faces and noises at me. I talked to it, explaining that it would soon be free, not that I suppose that helped.

But how to open the trap? I tugged at various pieces of rusted metal on it, but nothing happened. I was, of course, being careful to keep my fingers out of nipping range. The tree shrew, however, although anxious and bouncy, kept to the far side of the tiny cage most of the time. He seemed calmest when, to study the cage from different angles, I levered trap-and-tree-shrew into the air with the stick. I felt rather like a chimp in a lab experiment, being challenged to solve a puzzle to get a banana. Finally, after a few misstarts, I got the darn thing open, and the tree shrew was gone in a flash.

I finished my adventure by using the stick to push the cage back into its original position -- with the door shut. I admit I get a laugh out of thinking of my neighbours finding it that way. Will they scratch their heads and try to figure out how the tree shrew got the bait and escaped, shutting the door behind him?

It must be all that brain mass!