The thing about three-toed sloths.....

Fishing in the Amazon

When my sister and I were kids we would constantly watch a National Geographic special on the Amazon Rainforest that had been recorded on a videocassette. The show shed the spotlight on array of colorful and crazy-looking bugs, reptiles and plants. It showed nocturnal cats daintily drinking from a stream and tribespeople canoeing through the Amazon River's majestic-looking waters. It was beautiful and fascinating and feed my desire to visit this place that seemed so far away and surreal from our home in Colorado.
Watching this tape, however, also introduced me to an animal that I fear and loathe. It was so creepy that I had to look away from the TV screen whenever it appeared much like others do during gory scenes in horror movies.
Three-toed sloths scare the bejesus out of me. Some shriek when they see a spider or a snake or a cockroach. I can't even look at a picture of a sloth. I've had to turn away from watching a travel commercial that included one. That long-ago National Geographic TV show filmed one swimming and the image still haunts me. It was as though the creature from the Black Lagoon was doing the breaststroke.
Some people have asked me, why? Why sloths? It is because everything about them is so grossly exaggerated. They are not just slow-they are incredibly slow. They wear permanent expressions of sleepiness and dopiness. Their arms are hugely out of proportion with the rest of their bodies. Their fur is forever looking damp and moldy.
Most people don't seem to understand. They just think my fear is funny. My sister, in particular. When she realized I had this phobia of these tropical creatures, she conjured up the "sloth dance." It involves waving your arms around and curling your fingers to represent the animal's claws. I didn't appreciate it.
Now she has her children in on it. Mairen tapped me once with her "sloth fingers;" Connor can make a very accurate sloth-like face. I call it his "sloth smile." They have printed out a slew of pictures with those beasts in them. I won't look at my sister's fridge anymore. There are far too many hideous images taped to it.
Another question people ask me: Have you ever even seen a real, live sloth? My answer is: yes. Years ago, I realized my dream of visiting the Amazon Rainforest when I participated in the Semester at Sea study aboard program. I took a trip though the Amazon that ended around Manaus. We traveled by river boat, stopping at small villages. You could see just how much humans have changed this forest. People kept many of its animals as pets or as sources of income. Children rushed up to the boat whenever it docked, hopeful that we tourists would give them a few dollars in exchange for taking our photo with whatever animal they happen to have on hand. Sometimes it was baby crocodiles. Other times it was a snake. One time, it was three-toed sloths. I've told this story a lot- how I slowly backed away when I saw this group of children with those moldy, limp sacks of fur hanging on their shirts and how I thought, I will pay you to keep those things away from me.
What I don't usually tell is how I felt a stab of sadness. I felt bad not only for the children who worked so desperately for money but also, curiously, for those captive sloths. For once, I didn't see that horrid, dopey look on their faces. They looked hopeless and helpless. Circumstances had given both the children and the sloths a raw deal and this realization was like a kick in the stomach.
So I'll admit I don't wish harm on these animals. They deserve their place in the world and to be given protection. As long as their place and my place are far, far removed, we'll do just fine.

Me with friends by a rainforest tree. Luckily, there were no sloths in sight.