Norfolk Zookeeper is scientist, mother, nurse, housekeeper

By Lia Russell

The Virginian-Pilot

Rufus leans his head in for more ear-scratching from his caretaker, his limpid eyes silently begging her not to stop.

"He thinks he's a lap dog," Denise Luckey says of the 4,500-pound white rhinoceros she oversees as a keeper at the Virginia Zoo.

Fellow zoo-mate Alfred, the zoo's only other rhino, watches enviously from his indoor pen 15 feet away.

It's an animal encounter most of the zoo's nearly 350,000 annual visitors don't get to see.

"Since these guys are both picky eaters, we use petting as their reward for responding to commands and for training," says Luckey, 41, who has worked as an animal keeper at the 53-acre zoo since 1990. "It's what they like best."

Making such connections with wild animals is part of the appeal and mystique of a zoo-keeping job. But a day in a zookeeper's life is more than pats and ear scratches.

All in a day's work

A keeper's job is an 8-1/2 hour workout five days a week that follows the mail-carrier motto: Neither snow nor rain nor heat... stays these couriers from the swift completion of their... rounds.

Luckey is a combination scientist, mother, nurse and housekeeper for the animals in "string 6," a zoo grouping that includes the rhinos, two tigers, four lions, three kudu, a zebra, and two ground hornbills.

Her string is coveted among the 15 full-time and four part-time keepers who care for nearly 350 animals.

"I know there are a few people watching out for this job," she says mischievously.

Luckey previously cared for the zoo's elephants and giraffes, as well as the farm animals, the least favorite job among keepers.

"If you work in a zoo, you want to work with zoo animals," says Luckey, who has a biology degree from Old Dominion University.

Her days begin early - usually before 7 a.m., when she starts rounds in a white utility truck she loads with wheel barrows and buckets of feed.

First stop is a "kitchen" adjacent to her office behind the Africa exhibits.

She takes a bag out of the freezer and dumps some lumpy-looking tidbits into the sink to thaw. From a distance they look like frozen shrimp.

Closer inspection reveals otherwise.

They're baby rats and day-old quail, which later will be fed to the hornbills.

Without bothering to wash her hands, a nonchalant Luckey fills a half-gallon container with water from the same sink and drinks from it above the dead, frozen prey. "I need my water," she says.

For this dedicated animal keeper, it's just another day on the job.

A real "cat lady"

Next stop - the lion exhibit, where the big cats and their two offspring, born last August, converge to their indoor habitat when they hear their keeper's voice. She locks them in two pens - mom with cubs and dad by himself.

"He needs some time alone," says Luckey. "The cubs annoy him."

After feeding the other animals on her string, Luckey returns to the lions, where she separates the family into four pens so they can eat non-competitively and to control their diets.The lions growl and pace while awaiting their meals, the youngsters as vocal as their parents, though at a higher pitch.

Granby, the 80-pound male cub, has just started getting his mane - a fluffy little halo surrounding his innocent-looking face. He and his sister, Neka, still have that "baby" appearance that induces "oohs" and "aahs."

All the animals in Luckey's string are handled in "protected contact," meaning there is always a barrier separating the keeper from the kept. Inspection of their sizeable teeth and claws is explanation enough for the policy.

Luckey opens 5-pound plastic bags of fortified meat she has hauled from the adjacent room. She tears off chunks with her hands and commences training.

"Target," she commands, holding a stick with a yellow tennis ball on one end up to the cage. The lion must place its nose on the ball, at which time it receives food.

She rewards the lions by pressing chunks of beef through the bars with plastic-gloved hands, careful not to lose any fingers in the process. Commands of "sit" and "down" also are practiced.

During training, Luckey visually examines the lions to ensure they are healthy.

Each adult lion is fasted once a week, getting only a meaty bone to chomp rather than a full meal.

In the wild, Luckey explains, lions don't eat every day. "It's not natural for them to have food in their digestive system all the time."

The tigers fast themselves, she adds, "they're not big eaters."

Luckey knows thousands of facts about her charges.

The ultimate pooper-scooper

As the animals eat, she cleans their outdoor exhibit, squeegeeing Plexiglas panels and shoveling waste into wheelbarrows.

Luckey is the ultimate pooper-scooper, collecting about 200 pounds of animal waste each day - a feat which takes strong arms... as well as a strong stomach.

Once the exhibits are clean, animals are released outdoors, ready to wow the certain crowds that assemble on sunny spring days.

Luckey makes the whole process seem easy, but the system of cage doors, locks and pulleys would challenge Houdini.

All carnivore pens have red gates that proclaim "no access without keeper." Safety for the animals, keepers and visitors is a primary concern, says Luckey, who admits a preference for her charges over most humans.

"All of the animals have very definite personalities when you get to know them. I recognize each individual animal - they're almost like friends," she says.

Despite the physically demanding and somewhat unsavory aspects of her work, Luckey thrives on interaction with the creatures of string 6.

Worst part of her job?

"Losing an animal," she says without hesitation.

Luckey is offended by criticism of the zoo for animal losses in recent years.

"When we lose animals on this string, because they're the larger, more charismatic and popular animals, it usually becomes a public nightmare," she says. "Besides the tragedy of losing an animal, you have people who have no idea what they're talking about saying bad things. It really compounds the tragedy."

In the past six years, string 6 has lost a rhino, a zebra and a lion in fatal incidents.

"Every living thing dies eventually," says Luckey. "And every zoo has losses from disease, accidents and old age. It's just what happens when you have a lot of animals."

Precautions are taken whenever safety concerns are identified, she says.

Male rhinos Rufus and Alfred, for example, are never displayed together or with April, the zebra. These three animals rotate use of a shared outdoor exhibit.

The zoo's two tigers, Shere Khan and Shaka Khan, sisters rescued in 1992 from the illegal pet trade, occasionally wrangle, "but nothing major," says Luckey, who is always on the lookout for trouble.

The Khan sisters "are not food-motivated at all and sometimes I can't lure them inside so I can clean their exhibit," says their keeper.

On this day, however, they are compliant and show the same healthy appetite as the lions. Both species are fed only once a day - the rest of the string is fed twice.

Once all the animals are outdoors, Luckey cleans their indoor pens, scrubbing concrete with disinfectant and hosing it off with water.

"Of all our equipment, I probably go through more hoses and plastic rakes than anything," she says.

Luckey's final task of the day is her least favorite - paperwork - "a necessary evil."

She completes three sets of daily reports, recording all animal interactions and observations. Another keeper brings the animals indoors in the evening - except for the lions and tigers, which, except in inclement weather, have indoor-outdoor access.

As she removes her sloshy boots, wipes mud off her shirt and washes her hands, it seems Luckey would be anxious for a nice, hot shower. But surprisingly, it's not the first thing she does when she gets home in the afternoon.

"I take a nap."

Lia Russell, 222-5829, lia.russell@pilotonline.com