Zoo Stories

I like the concept of the zoo, but reality never matches the picture in my mind. What could be better than a parent and child enjoying a day at the zoo together? Well, plenty of things are better, as I have found out. The last trip ended in disaster and a real fear of chickens. Someone (and apparently it was someone with some pull) thought it would be a great idea to have chickens running loose in the zoo. Loose, where they are free to swarm around me and my screaming children. I finally fed them my ice cream cone so they would stop terrorizing my three-year-old. Not exactly family fun at it’s finest.
Of course, this pales in comparison to my husband’s zoo experience. I would rather be terrorized by chickens than punched by a mountain lion. Luckily, the thing was declawed (or maybe feeling generous) and my husband lived to tell the tale. Not that he tells it. Getting drunk and breaking into a zoo at night seemed like a good idea at the time, but just makes him feel stupid now. No, when people hear the tale these days, it is because I am telling it. I usually pull that story out when I need a “you think that was wild, wait until you hear this!” kind of story.
Apparently after consuming large quantities of beer, my husband and his fraternity buddies decided to break into the local zoo and see what the animals were doing at night. I guess in their drunken stupor, these college students didn’t think that, with the exception of nocturnal animals, they would all probably be sleeping. And, like most sleeping creatures, wouldn’t be thrilled about being awakened by drunk college students. I suppose that I wouldn’t have this great, embarrassing story to tell if that thought had occurred to them.
After getting over an alarmingly-easy-to-climb fence, these future bankers, lawyers and advertising executives staggered around the dark quiet zoo. They visited all the animal exhibits only to discover, yes, the animals sleep at night. As they were getting ready to leave (this was boring even to a bunch of drunk frat boys) my husband decided that he had to stop by and see his favorite animal, the mountain lion. Perhaps he could get it to wake up and talk with him. Jumping over the waist-high railing that kept rational people at a safe distance, Andrew went right up to the cage bars.
“Here kitty, kitty.”
Pacing back and forth, the mountain lion growled at my husband. It growled. At my husband. My husband who was holding on to the bars of the cages (probably to keep from falling down) and calling out to this beast like it was a tabby under his front porch.
“You’re such a pretty kitty.”
Finally, the mountain lion had enough of this idiot. As the cat made a pass by the front of the cage, it quickly swiped a massive paw through the bars, hitting my husband square in the chest, knocking him to the ground. It was then that Andrew discovered two things: the mountain lion was declawed, and yes, it could get a paw between the bars. Quickly, and with the force of a small Fiat. A large ugly bruise right over his sternum was a reminder of this discovery for several weeks.
Now, twenty years later, my children are traumatized by chickens at the zoo. My husband understands their pain.