
The octopus exhibit has always been a favorite destination at any aquarium that I visit. More often than not the beast is crammed up into one corner of it's "cave", looking completely, indignantly bored with it's life through unblinking eyes... and unlike most of the simple fish, robotic crustaceans, and literally brainless jellies and sponges that surround it, the octopus, I know, is sincere in it's expression.
Cephalopods in general (including cuttlefish, squid, and octopuses) are known for their intelligence, and octopuses specifically are some of the most crafty - their spacial learning skills, navigational ability, and tool use has been well documented. Similar faculties have been lauded in many mammal species, but are somewhat even more remarkable coming from creatures without a backbone (for comparison, fellow invertebrates include oysters, snails, and slugs...). The NEAQ actually takes pride in the story of a legendary octopus that would escape it's tank each night, crawl across the floor and hunt and consume members of a single fish species in a neighboring tank (once discovered, a heavy weight on the top of the tank lid was enough to keep the critter in). On account of this propensity for mischief, some aquariums provide their 8-legged wonders with "enrichment" puzzles: elaborate, maze-like, or well latched containers requiring thoughtful, or just amazingly dextrous, solutions to obtain food rewards. The recent story of Paul, the World Cup oracle, contained a perfect example of "themed" octopus enrichment, albeit with somewhat higher stakes...

The drawing at the top of this post is of the NEAQ's Giant Pacific octopus, Athena, during a rare moment of affection with a keeper - the disembodied hand reaching down from above is that of a staff aquarist. The suction cups on an octopuses tentacles contain chemical receptors akin to a nose or mouth (in addition to their obvious tactile reconnisance) - they're so sensitive that they can distinguish between individual humans. Athena clearly had good rapport with whomever was giving her back scratches that day, clamoring and squirming at the surface of the water when the hand was removed, then sinking into blissful suspension with it's reappearance.
Unfortunately, the life span of most octopuses, even the largest, and even in captivity, is only between 3 and 5 years. At 3 years old, Athena is getting on in cephalopod time... but she's a sight to behold, no less. Click here to read more about the wonders of suction cups, and see a GPO from the Georgia Aquarium using it's well suctioned tentacles to maneuver across the glass of it's tank.
And now for your moment of aquarium zen...
