developed.  They    routinely   test    the birds   for lead    poisoning—condors   that
scavenge    deer    carcasses   often   ingest  lead    shot—and    they    have    treated
many    of  them    with    chelation   therapy.    Several condors have    been    taken   in
for chelation   more    than    once.   The effort  to  save    the whooping    crane   has
involved    even    more    man-hours,  most    provided    by  volunteers. Each    year,
a   team    of  pilots  flying  ultralight  aircraft    teaches a   new cohort  of  captive-
raised  crane   chicks  how to  migrate south   for the winter, from    Wisconsin
to  Florida.    The journey of  nearly  thirteen    hundred miles   can take    up  to
three   months, with    dozens  of  stops   on  private land    that    owners  give    over
to  the birds.  Millions    of  Americans   who don’t   participate directly    in  such
efforts support them    indirectly, by  joining groups  like    the World   Wildlife
Fund,   the National    Wildlife    Federation, Defenders   of  Wildlife,   the Wildlife
Conservation     Society,    the     African     Wildlife    Foundation,     the     Nature
Conservancy,    and Conservation    International.
Wouldn’t    it  be  better, practically and ethically,  to  focus   on  what    can
be   done    and    is   being   done    to  save    species,    rather  than    to  speculate
gloomily    about   a   future  in  which   the biosphere   is  reduced to  little  plastic
vials?  The director    of  a   conservation    group   in  Alaska  once    put it  to  me
this    way:    “People have    to  have    hope.   I   have    to  have    hope.   It’s    what    keeps
us  going.”
NEXT    door    to  the Institute   for Conservation    Research    there’s a   similar
looking,    dun-colored building    that    serves  as  a   veterinary  hospital.   Most    of
the animals in  the hospital,   which   is  also    run by  the San Diego   Zoo,    are
only    passing through,    but the building    has a   permanent   resident,   too:    a
Hawaiian    crow    named   Kinohi. Kinohi  is  one of  about   a   hundred Hawaiian
crows,  or  `alalā, that    exist   today,  all of  them    in  captivity.  While   in  San
Diego,   I   paid    a   visit   to  Kinohi  with    the     zoo’s   director    of  reproductive
physiology, Barbara Durrant,    who,    I’d been    told,   was the only    person  who
really  understands him.    On  our way over    to  see the bird,   Durrant stopped
off at  a   commissary  of  sorts   to  pick    up  a   selection   of  his favorite    snacks.
These    included    mealworms;  a   hairless,   newborn     mouse,  known   as  a