By Roxanne Reid
It’s hard not to love meerkats, or suricates, as they’re otherwise known. With their sharp snouts and dark eye patches, they’re attractive little guys. But what I love about them most is that they’re endlessly entertaining.
It’s hard not to love meerkats, or suricates, as they’re otherwise known. With their sharp snouts and dark eye patches, they’re attractive little guys. But what I love about them most is that they’re endlessly entertaining.
In the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, they’re certainly the smallest mammals to attract the same kind of prolonged attention from visitors as the much bigger lions, leopards and cheetahs.
On our recent 12-day summer visit, we were lucky to see them on every day but two. Of course, it helped that the rains hadn’t come yet, so the land was dry, the grass sparse and short. Given that meerkat are only about 28 centimetres long (not counting their tails) they’re much harder to spot when the grass is long, even if they’re standing tall on the lookout for birds who might be thinking of bombing them.
On our recent 12-day summer visit, we were lucky to see them on every day but two. Of course, it helped that the rains hadn’t come yet, so the land was dry, the grass sparse and short. Given that meerkat are only about 28 centimetres long (not counting their tails) they’re much harder to spot when the grass is long, even if they’re standing tall on the lookout for birds who might be thinking of bombing them.
A family we watched near Rooiputs waterhole soon after sunrise was fairly typical.
At first there were just two of them, standing side by side next to a bolt hole with military precision, scanning the skies. Then another popped its head out from the den, and another. One or two yo-yoed up and down before finally deciding to emerge. Slowly-slowly more meerkat joined them until 17 were above ground. Most of them just warmed up, tummies to the sun, but a few of the smaller ones practised scratching and jump-running from one hole to another.
At first there were just two of them, standing side by side next to a bolt hole with military precision, scanning the skies. Then another popped its head out from the den, and another. One or two yo-yoed up and down before finally deciding to emerge. Slowly-slowly more meerkat joined them until 17 were above ground. Most of them just warmed up, tummies to the sun, but a few of the smaller ones practised scratching and jump-running from one hole to another.
After ten minutes, the number of scratchers started to increase and a silent signal went out that it was time to forage. They used their acute sense of smell to find hidden or buried prey like beetle larvae, crickets, scorpions and spiders. Once they had a target in range, sand would fly as they used their long claws to dig, dig, dig. So frantic and hyperactive that it was bad luck for anyone in range; they would just get a face-full of sand. They kept in contact with each other through soft chittering sounds, and if one moved off it didn’t take long for the others to follow. This irresistible urge to tag along helped to keep the clan together.
Another day, another clan
Another day. Another clan. Bouncing along and digging happily. But it was mid-morning and very hot, pushing 40 degrees Celsius. Those who had already filled up on yummies took to the shade of six-inch-high bushlets. Which isn’t as daft as it sounds: here in the Kalahari the difference between the temperature in the sun and the shade can be around 20 degrees. They wriggled into the shade and scraped away the hotter surface sand to uncover fresh, cool sand. And they spread out at full stretch on their tummies, legs splayed to the side like spatchcock chickens. Bliss.
Another day. Another clan. Bouncing along and digging happily. But it was mid-morning and very hot, pushing 40 degrees Celsius. Those who had already filled up on yummies took to the shade of six-inch-high bushlets. Which isn’t as daft as it sounds: here in the Kalahari the difference between the temperature in the sun and the shade can be around 20 degrees. They wriggled into the shade and scraped away the hotter surface sand to uncover fresh, cool sand. And they spread out at full stretch on their tummies, legs splayed to the side like spatchcock chickens. Bliss.
One of the not yet full-grown family members was still very much in the market for grubs. It found a huge millipede, about 12 centimetres long and fatter than a man’s thumb. Pulling down with its claws while holding the snack in its jaws, it pulled up to tear off a bite-sized piece and chewed with its mouth open, showing the pink tongue and needle-like teeth.
This should have been a moment to savour, but a bigger meerkat darted in and tried to grab the prize.
This should have been a moment to savour, but a bigger meerkat darted in and tried to grab the prize.
Meerkat 1 sent off Meerkat 2 with a brief show of aggression that saw the millipede left untended for a few seconds, so Meerkat 3 – a great opportunist – tried to snatch it for his own. But little Meerkat 1 was back as quick as a bullet to reclaim his prize, tearing off another three big bites before a ground squirrel nearby chirred an alarm and everyone scattered for their burrows.
But the squirrel had been panicking for nothing, and before long it was business as usual. Scratch, dig, jump … chew, scratch, dig … just another day in the life of a Kalahari meerkat.
Copyright © Roxanne Reid - No words or photographs on this site may be used without permission from roxannereid.co.za
But the squirrel had been panicking for nothing, and before long it was business as usual. Scratch, dig, jump … chew, scratch, dig … just another day in the life of a Kalahari meerkat.
Copyright © Roxanne Reid - No words or photographs on this site may be used without permission from roxannereid.co.za
