Did you know that, according to the National Geographic: (the baby sloth) slaps at its mothers face. The mother does nothing in return. “They never respond to their babies,” whispers Chiarello, adding that mother sloths neither play nor get angry with their offspring…” (Nat Geo March 2004)

Chilling words. I guess veterinary social workers are fairly rare in the Amazon, but you would think something could be done. Can’t a genetic engineer splice a few playful genes into a breeder sloth? Do they just internalize their anger? It is said that bottling up your anger can immobilize you, and what better evidence of that have we than the sloth?

It is difficult to imagine parenting luminaries such as James Dobson, or Judith Warner clinging to the jungle canopy full of pent up rage, doing droppings onto the dank leafy forest floor. (But I know some will at least enjoy trying to do that). Is a sloth childhood, or cubhood, or whatever an infant sloth is called, a happy one? One could argue that growing up in an unbalanced way, when your life is spent shuffling through dangerously thin branches, is perilous.

Sloths need balance. They need lots of leaves, and could do with a good shampoo, but we anthropromorphicanthropologists may not interfere: we merely observe.

I put it to you: A sloth could hardly be worse off for a rousing game of Monopoly, or Scrabble. ( Yes, another ten points for the word ‘leaf’). Come on, mother sloths!

Note the absent father sloths in the above quote. Are they out gathering foliage, or are they seeing some doe-eyed slothette on the side? Do they get angry? Do they play games? (Naturally ball sports place them at a disadvantage with only three toes).

One can learn many things by observing nature, and today’s observation is:

I may not be the best parent in the world, but at least I am not covered in algae, and unable to get miffed. I am playful, and therefore somewhat better at raising children than a jungle-dwelling creature with no sense of humour.