The Capybaras Aren’t All Right

My 7-year-old daughter got me into capybaras a few years ago. Cute and quirky-looking, they are the internet’s favorite chill giant rodent. Erick Trickey’s Slate piece complicates that image considerably. Roughly 1.2 million capybaras have migrated from Brazil’s wild habitats into its cities, swapping its natural predators like jaguars and anacondas for a new set of dangers: cars, dogs, humans, and river detritus that can injure and strangle them. But Trickey also finds people who are doing good, from local vets to volunteers who look after the capybaras living along the Pinheiros River, cutting trash entangling their necks. The story is a sober one, and a reminder that internet fame offers wildlife zero protection.

But traveling with Aidar in her truck (which has a “Capy On Board” sticker on the back), I saw plenty. We spent about an hour driving up and down the riverbank, and pretty quickly, she found a group of capybaras sunning themselves at one of their favorite spots, a narrow strip of dirt and mud right at the water and near a tall cable-stayed bridge.

We counted nine capybaras: an adult male, four adult females, and four medium-sized pups. She pointed out one pup with a piece of trash encircling its neck. The storm drains of São Paulo, population 12 million, empty into the rivers, carrying all sorts of trash from city streets. Capybaras spend most of their time in the water—they’re sort of the penguins of the rodent world—so they can easily get entangled in that storm-drain trash. That’s especially bad for young capybaras. If plastic gets stuck on their bodies, it can dig into their skin as they grow.