Summer jobs:

Aileen Donnelly | Aug 4, 2012

Darren Calabrese/National Post

Summer employees, like Aileen Donnelly, work with mischievous, but not dangerous, animals.

In this summer series, the National Post reporters and photographers bring us tales of that annual Canadian rite of passage for young people taking their first dip in the labour pool: The Summer Job.

Holding a smelt in my left hand, I gingerly fold back the head with my thumb, and — lo and behold! — a small hole appears right beside its gill. I gently slide a multivitamin into the opening, then release the head.

I pause to marvel at the convenience nature has afforded penguin keepers who want to ensure their charges receive optimum nutrition (the smelt’s a feeding fish). Then I pick up a second fish, flip back its head and pop in another pill.

Darren Calabrese/National Post

A penguin possibly ponders its escape while Aileen Donnelly ponders hers.

I am spending the day as an undercover Toronto Zoo employee, arriving here at 7:45 a.m. — almost two hours before opening. I’m led through the entrance, past the merry-go-round — sorry, conservation carousel — and through one of the “Do not enter” gates.

We board a golf cart, essential for employees who need to travel across the back roads of the vast 287-hectare zoo.

At the horticulture building, I’m greeted by Alicia Tymstra, a young, vivacious horticulturist dressed in the official zoo gear: tan khakis and olive green golf shirt.

This is Ms. Tymstra’s second summer here. The Toronto Zoo employs about 200 year-round full-time employees, almost double that in the summer.

“A lot of people come to just look at the animals,’’ the third-year UBC Kelowna student says of the horticulturists’ role. ‘‘But if we weren’t here, grass would be sky-high.’’

The hort staff always carry a water bottle, sunscreen, gardening gloves, safety glasses, headphones (for noise reduction) and, of course, a pair of gardening shears in their khaki-coloured zoo-edition shoulder bag, Ms. Tymstra said. And, an edible plant book.

“Wait, what?” I ask.

She picks a few wild raspberries and hands them to me to try. The shrubbery abound with currants, raspberries and serviceberries, Ms. Tymstra said. This year, squirrels made it to the native garden wild strawberries before she could.

The first lesson every budding horticulturist must learn is the difference between a weed and a plant. The second: how to remove the unwanted greenery.

I’m told to dig my fingers deep into the soil, grab the root, twist and pull. The soil is damp so the job should be easier than usual, Ms. Tymstra said.

I slip on my gardening gloves, and confidently grab my first weed. I give it a firm yank and, snap. I look down and the root is still firmly embedded in the soil.

It takes me 20 minutes to amass a small pile of — mostly rootless — weeds. I clearly lack a green thumb.

Darren Calabrese/National Post

Toronto Zoo penguins untie the laces of National Post reporter Aileen Donnelly's sneakers.

So I head over to the South African penguin enclosure, where I’m greeted by zookeeper Brandon Wyatt, who stands tall in a knee-high pair of rubber boots.

Mr. Wyatt has watched over the penguins for a year and a half, but he plans to write his exam to become a Keeper Grade Two so he can take care of dangerous animals: lions and tiger and bears. (Oh, my!)

“A seasonal employee would never be able to work with lions,” he says. “I think the same goes for reporters.”

So that’s why I’m feeding vitamin-stuffed fish to flightless seabirds.
Colby, by far the most prolific eater of the colony, eats 25 fish a day. DJ prefers to retreat to a private area of the enclosure and eat in secret.

I hold out a smelt for one of the chicks, adjust the angle ever so slightly and gently ease the small fish into the bird’s beak until it disappears out of sight.

I pick up another fish, and just as it starts to slide down to throat of a hungry seabird, I experience the worst-case scenario for any penguin keeper: I’m nipped.

I jump up, toss the fish and scare the penguin in front of me. I turn to find the culprit, Eldin, staring at me blankly.

I wander over to the poolside, to have a go at feeding the pelicans. As I try my best to throw the smelt far enough so the large birds can catch the fish in their long, narrow beaks, two of the penguins go to work untying my shoelaces, successfully.

The penguins that live in the Toronto Zoo’s African Savanna are a mischievous group. Pedro — he’s one of the “gay” penguins that drew so much attention to the zoo earlier last fall — is obsessed with doors, and seems ready to make an escape at any moment, Mr. Wyatt said. It seems like they all are and when we exit the exhibit, the colony makes another mad-dash attempt at freedom.

My mock shift ends and I leave Mr. Wyatt to clean the birds’ overnight enclosure. It looks like they had an eventful night.

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