Meet Jonathan the Tortoise, the World’s Oldest Reptile and Probably the Oldest Living Land Animal

Jonathan is a Seychelles giant tortoise (Aldabrachelys gigantea hololissa), a subspecies of the Aldabra giant tortoise (Aldabrachelys gigantea). His age is estimated to be 193 as of 2026, making him the oldest known living land animal as well as the oldest verified tortoise in recorded history. He was officially named in Guinness World Records “Icons” list. Jonathan lives on the grounds of the Plantation House on Saint Helena, a British Overseas Territory in the South Atlantic Ocean.

Jonathan, hatched circa 1832, was brought to Saint Helena from the Seychelles (then under the British Crown colony of Mauritius) in the Indian Ocean in 1882, along with three other tortoises at about 50 years of age. He was named in the 1930s by Governor of Saint Helena Sir Spencer Davis and has lived through 31 governors’ terms. He continues to live on the grounds of Plantation House, the official residence of the governor, and is cared for by the government of Saint Helena. His exact age is unknown, but in November 2022 Nigel Phillips, Governor of Saint Helena, granted him an official birthday of December 4.

In December 2015, the Saint Helena veterinarian Joe Hollins said that Jonathan was “alive and well [...] He’s blind from cataracts, has lost his sense of smell, and so cannot detect food ... but he has retained excellent hearing.” In January 2016, the BBC reported that Jonathan was given a new diet intended to keep him healthy and extend his life. Due to his advanced age, Jonathan spends his days doing almost everything with his mate Frederik, another male tortoise he was introduced to in 1991.

To mark Jonathan’s supposed 190th birthday in February 2022, island officials planned to make a series of commemorative stamps and visitors received a certificate featuring a photograph of his first known footprint. On December 4, 2022, local residents arranged three days of Jonathan’s birthday celebration, presenting a cake made entirely from his favorite foods.

See more»

Heartwarming Vintage Photograph Captured a Baby Lamb Snuggling Up Next to a Sleeping Boy, 1940

Taken during the onset of World War II, this image became highly recognized for its depiction of childhood innocence and serenity. Amidst the global turmoil and daily chaos of the era, the photograph provided a brief, comforting escape, reminding audiences of a universal longing for peace and gentle companionship.

It was published during the early months of 1940, just as Europe was entering the difficult years of the Second World War. The peaceful scene contrasted sharply with the anxieties of the era. The composition is unusually tender and natural, making it one of those photographs that has been repeatedly shared in books, magazines, and online collections of historical images.

In rural Britain at the time, children often helped with farm animals, especially during lambing season. Newborn lambs are known to seek warmth and companionship, so the behavior shown in the photograph would not have been unusual on a farm. The photographer simply happened to capture a particularly charming moment.

Nikolai Sverchkov: Master of Russian Equestrian and Winter Scenes

Nikolai Sverchkov (1817–1898) was a talented Russian painter renowned for his masterful depictions of horses, hunting scenes, and atmospheric winter landscapes.

A leading figure in 19th-century Russian genre and animal painting, Sverchkov possessed an exceptional ability to capture the grace, power, and personality of horses in motion. His works frequently portrayed elegant troika rides through snow-covered countryside, aristocratic hunting parties, and lively scenes of rural and noble life.

With rich detail, luminous atmospheric lighting, and a deep affection for his subjects, Sverchkov’s paintings achieved great popularity among the Russian elite and the imperial court. Today, he is regarded as one of the finest Russian artists of the 19th century specializing in equestrian and winter genre scenes.

These atmospheric and beautifully detailed paintings showcase Nikolai Sverchkov’s extraordinary talent for capturing the majesty of horses, the quiet beauty of the Russian winter, and the soul of traditional rural life.

A Troika Galloping through the Snow

A Difficult Journey

A Dog and a Hare

A Horse and a Dog

A Winter's Day in the Village

See more»

The Story of Pickles, the Dog Who Found the Trophy After It Was Stolen Before the 1966 FIFA World Cup in England

Few stories in sports history match the chaotic, stranger-than-fiction drama of the 1966 FIFA World Cup. Months before England captain Bobby Moore would lift the iconic Jules Rimet Trophy, a four-year-old black-and-white mixed-breed collie named Pickles became the absolute savior of English football. Here is how a Sunday morning dog walk saved the beautiful game.

In March 1966, four months before England was set to host the World Cup, the Football Association agreed to let the solid-gold trophy be displayed at the “Sport with Stamps” rare stamp exhibition at Methodist Central Hall in Westminster.

Despite assurances of 24-hour security, the guard schedule had structural gaps. On Sunday, March 20, 1966, while a Methodist church service was taking place on the floor below, someone forced open the back doors of the building, removed the padlock from the display case, and stole the trophy. Ironically, the thieves completely ignored rare stamps worth £3 million, taking only the trophy (valued significantly lower for its physical gold).

The Metropolitan Police were utterly humiliated. Days later, a ransom note demanding £15,000 arrived. An undercover sting operation led to the arrest of a middleman, but he claimed to have no knowledge of where the actual trophy was hidden. The trail went cold.

On Sunday, March 27, exactly one week after the theft, 26-year-old Thames lighterman David Corbett stepped out of his South Norwood home in South London to take his dog, Pickles, for a walk. As Corbett was getting ready to put on the leash, Pickles wandered over to a neighbor’s parked car and began sniffing intensely at a package hidden under a laurel bush.

Corbett later recalled the moment: “It was wrapped in tightly-bound newspaper and string, laying against my neighbor’s car wheel. I picked it up and it's quite heavy, though not very big... At the time the IRA were at large, so I personally thought it was a bomb. So I put it down. Picked it up, put it down again. Then curiosity took hold. I tore a bit off the bottom and there was a plain disc. Then I tore around and there was Brazil, Germany, Uruguay. I ran back in and said to my wife: ‘I think I’ve found the World Cup!’”

Corbett rushed the trophy to the local police station, where, in classic true-crime fashion, he was initially interrogated as the prime suspect. Once his name was quickly cleared, the nation erupted in pure relief and “Pickles-mania.”

The heroic collie became an international celebrity. Corbett collected nearly £5,000 in reward money (enough to buy a house at the time). Pickles was named “Dog of the Year,” awarded a silver medal from the National Canine Defence League, and given a year’s supply of free food from pet food manufacturer Spillers.

Pickles went on to star as an extra alongside Eric Sykes and June Whitfield in the 1966 comedic spy film The Spy with a Cold Nose. When England went on to win the World Cup that July, both Corbett and Pickles were invited to the official celebration banquet at the Royal Garden Hotel in Kensington. Pickles became the star of the night, famously held by players like Bobby Charlton, though he also reportedly bypassed the prestige of the evening by relieving himself on the five-star hotel’s elevator doors.

Tragically, Pickles’ time in the limelight was short. In 1967, he passed away in a tragic accident while chasing a cat. He was buried in the back garden of the house his reward money helped purchase, where his collar and medal remain highly prized pieces of football folklore (some of his medals are preserved by the National Football Museum in Manchester).

See more»

Photos of Judy Garland and Terry the Dog Posing Together in “The Wizard of Oz” (1939)

One of the most beloved relationships in film history is that between Judy Garland, who played Dorothy Gale, and Terry, the female Cairn Terrier who played Toto in The Wizard of Oz (1939).

During filming in 1938–39, Garland was only 16 years old, and she quickly became fond of Terry. The little dog appeared in many of the film’s most memorable scenes, faithfully following Dorothy down the Yellow Brick Road and helping expose the Wizard’s secrets. Terry was already an experienced canine actor, having appeared in several Hollywood films before landing her most famous role.

Behind the scenes, Terry suffered a sprained foot when a Winkie guard accidentally stepped on her paw. She had to leave production for about two weeks to recover, and during that time she stayed at Garland’s home. The young actress became so attached to the dog that she reportedly offered to buy Terry from her owner and trainer, Carl Spitz. Spitz declined, keeping the valuable movie dog in his care.

Terry’s importance to the production was reflected in her pay. Her trainer earned about $125 per week for her work, more than some of the actors who played the Munchkins received.

After the enormous success of The Wizard of Oz, Terry became so closely identified with Toto that her name was officially changed to “Toto” in 1942. She remains one of the most famous dogs in movie history.

The photographs of Garland and Terry together are especially charming because their affection was genuine. What audiences see on screen, a lonely Kansas girl devoted to her little dog, wasn’t merely acting. Garland truly loved Terry, and Terry’s calm, intelligent presence helped make Dorothy and Toto one of cinema’s most enduring partnerships.

See more»

Dogs of the Civil War: Loyal Companions in a Time of Conflict

During the American Civil War, dogs played a surprisingly significant and emotional role on both Union and Confederate sides.

Soldiers brought their beloved pets from home, while many others adopted stray dogs that became regimental mascots. These dogs provided companionship, comfort, and a sense of normalcy amid the brutality of war. Some served practical purposes: acting as messengers, guards, or even informal scouts; but most were valued simply for their loyalty and ability to boost morale.

Their stories highlight the deep bond between soldiers and their dogs, offering touching glimpses of humanity and devotion during one of America’s darkest periods. These touching vintage photos capture the deep bond between soldiers and their dogs, reminding us that even in the midst of America’s bloodiest conflict, loyalty and affection endured.

7th New York State Militia, Camp Cameron, D.C., 1861.

7th New York State Militia, Camp Cameron, D.C., 1861

22d New York State Militia near Harpers Ferry, Va., 1861

Group of Co. A, 8th New York State Militia, Arilington, Va., June, 1861

Centreville, Va. Confederate fortifications, March 1862

See more»

The Heartbreaking Story of Palma, a Faithful Dog Who Waited for Her Owner for Two Years at a Moscow Airport From 1974

In the autumn of 1974, a passenger was boarding an Ilyushin Il-18 flight from Moscow. He was traveling with his German Shepherd, a dog he called Palma. However, upon reaching the steps of the aircraft, the crew refused to let the dog board because the owner lacked the proper veterinary health certificates.

Faced with a choice between missing his flight or leaving his dog, the owner made a heartbreaking decision. He took off Palma’s collar, unleashed her on the tarmac, and walked up the boarding stairs. Palma, thinking it was a game or a temporary separation, ran along the runway after the accelerating aircraft until it disappeared into the sky.

Palma didn’t leave the airport. Instead, she set up a daily routine near the runway, surviving on scraps given to her by sympathetic ground crew and airport staff. What made Palma’s story extraordinary was her memory. She didn’t just wait for any plane; she specifically watched for Ilyushin Il-18 aircraft, the exact model her owner had boarded. Whenever an Il-18 landed, Palma would trot up to the mobile boarding stairs, carefully scanning the faces of the passengers descending to the tarmac.

For two years, through scorching summers and bitter, freezing Moscow winters, she kept this precise vigil. Airport security initially tried to catch or remove her, but she was incredibly clever and elusive. Eventually, the airport staff grew to love and protect her, building her shelter and ensuring she was fed.

In 1976, a journalist named Yuri Rost from the prominent newspaper Komsomolskaya Pravda heard about the dog. He visited Vnukovo, witnessed Palma’s routine, and published a moving article titled “A Dog on the Runway.”

The story exploded nationally. The newspaper received thousands of letters from citizens offering to adopt Palma, sending money, or expressing outrage at the anonymous owner. The article also included a plea for the owner to return.

The owner actually did see the article. He wrote a letter back to the editorial office (wishing to remain anonymous due to the immense public shame), explaining that he had been working in the far north and felt too guilty and embarrassed to return for her after so much time had passed. He never came back.

See more»

The Amazing Story of Josephine Baker With Her Pet Cheetah

When Josephine Baker (June 3, 1906 – April 12, 1975) burst onto the Parisian entertainment scene in 1925, she quickly became an overnight sensation, a symbol of the Jazz Age, and the highest-paid performer in Europe. Known for her boundary-pushing routines at venues like the Folies Bergère, Baker loved using her wealth to shock, delight, and construct a larger-than-life persona. Nothing solidified that eccentric, powerful image quite like her companion: a live cheetah named Chiquita.

Chiquita was originally gifted to Baker around 1925 by Henri Varna, the manager of the Casino de Paris, with the explicit intention of incorporating the wild cat into her stage acts. Baker, a profound animal lover who eventually accumulated a massive menagerie (including a chimpanzee named Ethel, a pig named Albert, a snake, a goat, and multiple dogs), fell completely in love with the cheetah.

Chiquita quickly became a crucial part of Baker’s public identity. On stage, the cheetah would lounge elegantly alongside her. However, because Chiquita was a live, unpredictable animal, the performances did not always go smoothly. During several shows, Chiquita would suddenly leap off the stage directly into the orchestra pit. While the audience found the sudden escape thrilling and assumed it was part of the exotic act, the musicians were routinely terrified, scrambling to protect themselves and their instruments from a full-grown cheetah.

The spectacle wasn’t confined to the theater. Baker regularly took Chiquita out into the public sphere to maximize the media frenzy. Chiquita was famously fitted with a custom, diamond-studded collar. Baker would casually walk the cheetah on a leash down the high-end shopping avenues of Paris, such as the Champs-Élysées, turning heads and drawing massive crowds of photographers.

The famous fashion icon Diana Vreeland once recounted a hot July afternoon in a Parisian cinema where she sat down in the balcony, only to realize that Baker was sitting right next to her, having brought Chiquita into the theater to watch a movie that featured wild desert cheetahs. When the movie ended, the cheetah bolted down three flights of stairs with Baker trailing behind on the leash, before leaping seamlessly into the back of her custom white-and-silver Rolls-Royce.

Beyond the publicity, Chiquita was a true pet. The cheetah traveled the world with Baker in her luxury cars, ate high-quality meals, and frequently slept at the foot of her bed. Chiquita remained one of the most iconic symbols of Baker’s Roaring Twenties peak, embodying the sheer avant-garde style and untamed spirit of the era's most captivating star.

See more»

Lovely Photos of Marilyn Monroe Posing With Her Beloved Cats

Marilyn Monroe was a passionate animal lover who owned several feline companions throughout her life, stating that animals never lied or intentionally hurt feelings. She once said something along the lines of: “If you talk to a dog or a cat, it doesn’t tell you to shut up.”

Her bond with animals was a constant source of comfort amidst the pressures of Hollywood fame. The following historical photos capture the iconic star sharing moments with different cats throughout her career.

See more»

The History of Canaries in Coal Mines

The use of canaries in coal mines began in the late 19th century as a biological early-warning system to protect miners from toxic, odorless gases like carbon monoxide and methane. Proposed by British scientist John Scott Haldane in 1895, the practice became a legal requirement in countries like the UK, the US, and Canada through the mid-20th century. It officially ended in December 1986 when digital gas detectors replaced the birds.

Before the 1890s, miners relied on primitive methods to test air quality. They used candles or safety lamps; if the flame shrank or went out, oxygen was low. If it flared up or turned blue, flammable methane gas (“firedamp”) was present.

The fatal flaw in this system was carbon monoxide (CO), or “afterdamp.” Formed after mine fires or explosions, CO is completely invisible, odorless, and highly toxic. A candle flame burns perfectly normal in carbon monoxide, meaning miners would walk directly into a lethal pocket of gas without warning.

Enter John Scott Haldane, a brilliant Scottish physician and physiologist (later known as the “Father of Oxygen Therapy”). Following a devastating mine explosion at Tylorstown Colliery in Wales in 1896, Haldane investigated the disaster and proved that the vast majority of the casualties weren’t killed by the blast itself, but by carbon monoxide poisoning afterward.  Haldane began experimenting with different animals to find a biological sentinel that was more sensitive to air quality than humans. After testing mice, rabbits, and various birds, he discovered the ideal candidate: the canary. 

Canaries possess a unique respiratory anatomy that made them flawless biological radar. To sustain flight and survive at high altitudes, canaries require immense amounts of oxygen.

Unlike humans, a bird’s respiratory system uses an intricate system of air sacs. When a canary inhales, it takes in air; when it exhales, it pushes air from its sacs into its lungs. This means it receives a double dose of oxygen, and a double dose of any airborne poisons, with every breath cycle. Because of their tiny size and fast metabolism, a canary absorbs carbon monoxide roughly 20 times faster than a human.

In a gas-laden tunnel, a canary would show visible signs of distress—agitating, stopping its song, and ultimately falling off its perch unconscious—up to 20 minutes before a human would feel a single symptom. This gave miners a critical window of time to evacuate.

A common misconception is that canaries were treated as disposable, tragic sacrifices. In reality, miners grew deeply attached to their avian companions. They kept them at the pit tops, treated them like pets, and constantly whistled and spoke to them underground.

To protect the birds, Haldane designed a highly sophisticated piece of equipment: the canary resuscitator cage. The cage featured heavy glass walls with an open, grated front door to let the mine air circulate. The moment the canary succumbed to gas and fell from its perch, a miner would slam the airtight door shut and crack open a valve on the small oxygen cylinder mounted to the top of the cage. Within seconds, the chamber would flood with pure oxygen, reviving the canary as the miners carried it to safety. The exact same bird could go back to work the next day.

The practice was formally adopted in British legislation in 1911 and quickly spread to Canada and the United States (though some regions, like the American West, occasionally used wild mice instead due to availability). The birds stayed on the job long into the high-tech era. It wasn’t until December 1986 that the British National Coal Board officially phased out the final 200 pit canaries, replacing them with handheld digital gas detectors colloquially known as “electronic noses.”

Even after they were retired, many mining communities maintained aviaries near the colliery offices as a permanent tribute to the little yellow birds that had saved thousands of lives.

See more»

Australia’s Rabbit Disaster Started With Just 24 Animals

In 1859, English settler Thomas Austin (a wealthy pastoralist) released about 24 European rabbits (a mix of wild and domestic Oryctolagus cuniculus) on his Barwon Park estate near Winchelsea, Victoria, for sport hunting. The rabbits arrived on Christmas Day from his family in Somerset, England.

Rabbits had arrived earlier with the First Fleet in 1788 and in small numbers afterward, but these earlier populations did not explode. Genetic studies (2022) confirm that nearly all of Australia’s feral rabbits today descend from Austin’s single introduction, the wild English rabbits had advantageous genetics for rapid spread in the Australian environment.

A herd of rabbits gathers around a watering hole on South Australia’s Wardang Island. Within 50 years of arriving on an English settler’s estate near Melbourne, invasive European rabbits had overrun most of the continent.

Rabbits have high reproductive rates (females can produce multiple litters per year with 4–12 young each). With few natural predators, abundant food (grasses and crops), and suitable burrowing soil, their numbers exploded. By the mid-1860s, thousands were being shot on Austin’s property alone. They spread at up to 100 km per year. By the 1880s, they reached New South Wales and Queensland. By around 1910, they occupied most of southern and central Australia.

The rabbits caused severe ecological and economic damage. They devoured crops, pastures, and seedlings, leading to farm failures, soil erosion, and abandoned properties. They competed with sheep and cattle for food. Overgrazing stripped vegetation, causing erosion, loss of native plants, and habitat degradation. This harmed native wildlife (e.g., by reducing food and shelter for species like bilbies and bandicoots). They altered landscapes on a continental scale and contributed to the decline of native biodiversity.

Plagues were reported in various regions from the 1870s onward, with populations reaching hundreds of millions (estimates later peaked around 600 million before controls). Desperate colonial governments and farmers tried multiple strategies to halt the plague, though most had minimal impact.

By 1866, hunters had slaughtered 50,000 rabbits on Austin’s estate alone, yet the local breeding population outpaced the harvesting. Farmers deployed strychnine across properties to poison food and water sources, accidentally killing native wildlife. Settlers introduced European red foxes and feral cats to hunt the rabbits, but these predators chose to hunt easier native marsupials instead, worsening the biodiversity crisis. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, states built massive barriers, including the famous 1,700km rabbit-proof fence in Western Australia, but rabbits breached them before completion.

Rabbit proof fence in Australia, ca. 1920.

Major success came later with biological controls: the myxomatosis virus in the 1950s (which initially killed ~99% of rabbits) and later the calicivirus (RHDV).

The rabbit invasion remains a classic cautionary tale about invasive species. Australia still manages feral rabbits (numbers are much lower than peak but still problematic), and the event highlights how a small introduction in a naive ecosystem can have catastrophic, long-lasting effects. Thomas Austin is often blamed, though he was just one of many who introduced animals for “acclimatisation.”

Lorry load of rabbits, Braidwood, NSW, early 20th century.

Bert Mann with a load of rabbit skins, Walcha, NSW, ca. 1905.