We checked the events for the day and decided to head in our usual direction. It is always a fine strategy we devise when we go, because sometimes we run into large groups and have to decide whether the animal is worth seeing enough to be held up by the large group. Today we did a lot of "We'll see that on our way back through" kind of looking. That is the benefit of having a zoo pass also. We can catch it the next time around. We heard that there was free giraffe feeding for zoo members, so we headed there with great haste and conviction only to find that it was not happening. At least not at that time. The boy wanted to get on with things and go to the newer exhibit, so we hoped for a later feeding and moved on down the path. Little did I realize that we were headed right into my worst nightmare. For those of you who don't this about me, when I have a dream I can remember, it is one to remember. Like the time I dreamt that Michael Musto, former reporter for The Village Voice followed me home from Kroger and wanted to know why I wouldn't read his column(I had no access to the Village Voice at the time):
I still get a little anxious when I turn on "E" and see him talking about a particular celebrity. So when we walked into the next exhibit, I had to channel my relaxation breathing from childbirth to get through it. The dream I had involving this animal was so terrifying, I woke up screaming and in a cold sweat:
Baboons. Holy moly are they terrifying, especially when they look you dead in the eyes, walk over to the window where you are standing and proceed to unleash every bit of urine they have stored with the pressure equalled only to that of the machine we use to clean off our patio every Spring. And right at you, like if they could cut through the window and hit you with it they would. Of course, the boy thought that was hilarious. They were interesting to watch during their training session and were only slightly less terrifying as they sucked down bottles of apple juice. After we escaped, much to my relief, we found ourselves at the blue monkey pen, just in time to watch them introducing a new female to the group. Several vets, volunteers and zoo officials were all armed with hoses and fire extinguishers, ready to distract the male if he got too rough. The boy decided he wanted no part of a live performance of animal on animal violence, so he moved on quickly. And then it happened. We went to see the African Wild Dogs. Oh how I wish I had just said, "That's where the cheetahs used to be, but since the all died they haven't put anything there." But I could not lie to my child...especially with their big picture right in front of his face. So with the wild dogs, just like in the famous silly children's book, everybody poops. One of the poor dogs was having a particularly hard time passing whatever rope-like stuff it had ingested earlier. If you have ever had a dog, you know they strain and scoot and walk and strain and lather rinse repeat. In the spirit of dogdom and friendship, its companion in the exhibit was assisting the dog by biting the offending feces and pulling it out...and then having it for a snack. I WARNED YOU...NO CAUTIONED YOU!! I stood there somewhat frozen, looking at my boy and thinking, "What would Walt Disney have said about this in a documentary?" when the boy readjusted is stance, looked a little closer and said, "Well, that's odd. Never thought of doing it that way." Then he took his glasses off, cleaned them, took one more look at the situation and said, "Moving on." It took everything I had not to laugh right at him. He acted like he was about 45 during the whole process. After seeing that, seeing various animals in acts of reproduction didn't much ruffle him. He even tamed a nasty gator:
To those who are offended, I am sorry. The zoo is never dull. Ever. Just ask the hub sometime about the giant tortoises. He is scarred for life.
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