The Lions Den

Sadly today on the news is a story about a young woman who was mauled to death by a lion.  She worked at a private zoo in California.  Apparently, “Investigators believe the 5-year-old male African lion used a paw to lift a partially open door that was meant to keep him in a cage and out of the enclosure while Hanson  (the young woman) cleaned (the enclosure).” The lion rushed the young woman, breaking her neck.  Sherriff’s Deputies had to shoot the lion to get it off the dead girl’s corpse.

I cannot begin to fathom the sadness her family must be feeling at this moment, nor would I even presume to guess at the series of events that lead to such a violent and tragic end, but it did bring up memories, feelings and questions for me on the subject of wild animals.

I’ve never enjoyed the zoo.  To me it’s like paying to visit an immaculate classic auto stored in a junk yard, or a Steinway Grand in an empty church....they just doesn’t belong there.  I guess I can understand the notion that without zoos and animal sanctuaries the populous would never have the opportunity to view these creatures first hand in their “natural habitat,”… but it’s not natural…not really.  I also completely understand and admire the ambition, motivation and passion that specialists in the field have dedicated their lives too, in study and in conservation.  But still I wonder if the purpose of a zoo isn’t in fact self defeating.  I think one could argue that a zoologist might very well place a higher value on the life of an animal than even a human life…but would he agree to sit out his own days in a cage or “natural habitat?”  The very thing we as a society want to eliminate, animal cruelty, is on display for the price of admission and a bag of peanuts.  Like so many things in our lives today, the contradiction is secretly obvious.

When I was about 14 yrs old my family and neighbors became entertained by our whispered suspicion of the man who lived across the street.  His house was always dark.  Blue tarps lined the windows.  An old brown Monte Carlo sat three legged in the driveway propped up by a jack stand at one corner, waiting for brake parts that never came.  When he arrived home at night he would habitually wrestle with the task of opening the screen door without putting down his armloads of grocery bags. Rumor and conjecture was the neighborhood game, but no one was even close to the truth hidden behind those blue tarps.

One Saturday morning we were alerted to police activity across the street.  We all stood on our lawns like spectators at a race, still in our dressing gowns, trying to catch a glimpse of the quiet man’s face as he was lead out of his home in hand cuffs.  Several animal control vehicles lined the street and multiple agencies were on scene.  Eventually the plywood garage door was dismantled (it had been screwed shut) and removed.  A massive, and I mean massive, crocodile was removed from a makeshift enclosure, its jaws bound with yellow polyester rope and its feet duct-taped to its body.  It was carried out by policemen and animal control officers. 

I will never forget the crocodile man’s face, his cheeks streaked with tears.  He was held by his elbows on either side by law enforcement, his head was back on his neck with his face in the air.  He was screaming in the very same way someone might receive the devastating news of a lost one and trembled as though he faced his own execution.  He was not in fear for himself though…..he was worried about his crocodile.  He called it “Baby” and cried out for the neighborhood that he was sorry.  “I'm sorry Baby..I’m sorry!”  His personal anguish was both unsettling and frightening.

I get chills when I think about it but it does underline just how connected people, animals and our fascination with them can be.  The crocodile guy was clearly a danger to himself and the community.  He followed not even one protocol to support an animal like that, but his passion was all consuming.  I guess that’s the lure with the creatures of the wild.  We identify our inner strengths with their metaphysical qualities.  We align their mystical attributes as crutches for our own weaknesses and failings. They can and do cast a spell on us that makes us want to love and connect with them in a way that often leads to danger and tragedy, both for humans and for the wild animals.  A lion is no more a domesticated pet than a humpback whale.  I would rather spend a little hard earned money, or a great deal of effort to properly and safely wittness a lion in Africa, a penguin on Ice, or a whale in the ocean than loose the majesty, respect and sense of wonder by easily walking through a concrete animal prison in any local city.

We have enslaved the rest of the animal creation, and have treated our distant cousins in fur and feathers so badly that beyond doubt, if they were able to formulate a religion, they would depict the Devil in human form. ~William Ralph Inge, Outspoken Essays, 1922