Tasmanian devils at the Prague Zoo dispel myths about aggressive beasts and show their lesser-known face: they are inquisitive, sociable and threatened with extinction. Report from the place where the devil turns into an ambassador for the salvation of his species.
At first glance, they look like a piece of the night that has come to life. A black body, teeth like wedges and sounds that resemble a chainsaw arguing with a garbage can. Nevertheless, David Vala, the keeper of the Prague Zoo, says of Tasmanian devils: “They are friendly. Indeed.”
We are in the background of the Prague Zoo, a few steps from the Tasmanian devil enclosure. It is these exotic animals that are the protagonists of the second part of our series Treasures of the Prague Zoo, which maps the Prague Zoo’s care for endangered animal species, with which the Zoo is involved in other ways than just taking care of the animals in Prague.
Behind us are seemingly ordinary wooden crates, but they are not so ordinary. “They arrived here in those boxes from Australia,” David Vala points to Recipe. “And according to the rules, the nurse had to come to them first, get to know them, and then escort them here.”
Brothers named Elrond and Dorin
That’s how devils are transported today. Two of them, Elrond and Dorin, are brothers. They were born in Australia, went through quarantine in Tasmania and now live in Prague. “When you start working with them, you find out that they are kind, friendly. They just have a slightly different way of expressing themselves,” the breeder describes the animals, about which most of us have only a very superficial idea, often also influenced by the character of the furious devil Taz from the cartoon stories of the rabbit Bugs Bunny.
We hear the real “way of expression” of Tasmanian devils right away. Growling, chattering teeth, roaring. It sounds threatening, but David points out: “It’s not aggression. That’s their way of talking. When they don’t like something, they snap their teeth. But would they want to attack? Not at all.”
At the same time, the Tasmanian devil could easily attack: it has one of the strongest grips in relation to its body in the world. Stronger than a hyena. Nevertheless, the breeder feeds him from the hand. “He’s never gone wrong and bit us,” she says. “They are careful.”
Tasmanian Wildlife Health Police
The reputation of the devil was unfairly acquired by these cute creatures a long time ago. At night, in the bushes, from where people heard the roar, they saw red ears and eyes reflecting light. “When they’re excited, their ears turn completely red,” explains David. “And when someone saw this for the first time, they just thought there must be a devil there.”
Tasmanian devils were considered pests by farmers. When they found the sheep torn to pieces, they saw about twenty devils and thought they were attacking. But the truth was different. “Devils are the health police,” says the breeder. “They clean up the carcasses. They don’t kill, but they clean nature.”
Today they themselves are victims. Nocturnal animals with black fur often end up under the wheels of cars. And then there’s the disease that changed everything. “Head and neck cancer,” says David. “Since 1996, it has destroyed more than ninety percent of the population.”
Estimates are harsh: roughly ten thousand devils remain in Tasmania. Some scenarios assume that none will live to old age. That’s why the so-called Ambassador program exists. Devils travel to zoos around the world to get the word out – and to raise money to save them.
“All proceeds from the programs go back to Tasmania,” explains David. “For vaccine research, for breeding stations.”
In Prague, this means evening feeding, thematic programs, the opportunity to become their breeder for half a day, or even devil’s beer. But mainly it is about their contact with people.
Feeding from hand and teeth like a vise
We witnessed the feeding and it was really worth it.
“Elrond! Hurry!” calls the breeder, waving a dead chicken in front of the devils.
A black body rushes out of the paddock. There is a roar, a crunch, feathers fly through the air. Devils eat everything. Flesh, bones, feathers. “It helps with their digestion,” explains David. “And if you look at the old devil’s teeth, they’re clean. How they bite the bones.”
When feeding, they tug at each other, “yell” at each other, but it’s not a fight. “It’s fun,” says the breeder. “Just like in nature.”
And then there’s one more thing that makes the devil more streetwise than monster. “They really like to make up stupid things,” laughs David. “They’ll hide in the grass, run out, scream and run. Especially at new people.”
And they also steal… “When something falls into someone’s paddock, they immediately pick it up and take it to their hole,” says the breeder. “One time I opened the shed and there was a map of the zoo in the nest. So I don’t know if they’re planning something.”
So the Tasmanian devil is not a devil. He’s a loud, inquisitive, slightly thieving scavenger who likes to talk – and desperately needs the world to listen to him.
