Zoological Capers

I clenched my teeth tightly, purposely breathing through my mouth so as not to smell the bloody raw meat. Repulsed by the sound of wet flesh and innards plopping from side to side, I held the bucket out as far from me as possible so I wouldn’t accidentally catch sight of its gruesome contents.

The alarmingly young zoo attendant I had been assigned to had a cocky air about him, which  unnerved me as I followed him to the tigers enclosure. I reasoned with myself that he must surely be fully trained, therefore safe and trustworthy.  

Once at the heavy steel walls, he pushed a button to operate a small section of the gate. It rose to allow us to empty the meat into a safety area while another gate sat between us and the impatiently waiting tigers.

Then, with us safely behind the first gate again, the attendant pushed another button to let the tigers get at their food so the tigers could get at their food. It did not feel safe. 

It would only take someone inattentive to press the wrong button, and all hell would be let loose, I thought, relieved to be walking away afterwards with the job done.

I was having an “Experience” day at a zoo. Months earlier, my husband Daniel had overheard me talking with our neighbour, Pippa, who had been to one at a wildlife park near Cambridge. She’d had a lovely time playing with the penguins and feeding the elephants, and was full of fun stories of the baby pandas’ antics.

“Wow, that sounds amazing!” I’d exclaimed. I’d apparently sounded so enamoured that Daniel decided to buy me an ‘Experience day’ as a gift for my next birthday. Managing to keep it a secret, he was almost bursting with excitement when he handed over the voucher. He was certain I’d love it.

Unknown to him, I had faked my response to Pippa for the sake of conversation. Of course, I love animals, but I am not a great fan of seeing them in captivity — it was just too upsetting. 

And in truth, I did not want to go, but not wanting to hurt his feelings, I feigned excitement all over again.

“Oh, brilliant!” I lied, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ll book it now.” I hated having to deceive him but unfortunately it was necessary.

So, he waved me off early one Sunday morning after packing some treats for my lunch and giving me a new CD, another present, for the journey. “Have a wonderful day,” he said with a kiss.

It was an hour’s journey to the zoo in the Lake District. I felt like taking a detour to the coast instead; but knowing I am a lousy liar, I decided to persevere with the day. “You never know,” I thought, “I might enjoy it.”

 I didn’t. But the day proved memorable all the same!

At the zoo, there were three other visitors doing the same “experience”. We each met our guides and prepared to follow them and help complete some duties with the animals on the site.

From the start it was evident that my guide, Tony, would have been much happier working on his own. He only spoke to me to bark instructions. He barely made eye contact and didn’t respond to any pleasantries at all.

Our first task was to chop up some vegetables for the vegetarian animals. “Not hard at all,” I thought. Then we set off to clean out the monkey cages, which stunk of faeces and urine.

I had to scrape the bodily waste off the tree branches with my gloved fingers and — holding my breath for as long as I could, drop it onto the straw on the floor. I then swept up the wet brown mess and loaded it into a wheelbarrow with a spade. It was impossible to avoid its splashes landing on my jeans.

After allowing the spiky little monkeys back in, we walked over to the giraffes’ concrete area and swept the soiled hay into ditches along the side. Tony did allow me to feed the giraffes for a while, but my hands and forearms soon became so sticky with their stringy saliva that I was too revolted to do that for long.

Then came the tiger-feeding experience. It felt so ridiculously risky and, as someone who doesn’t eat meat, I knew it would be a while before I’d forget the sound of the tigers’ guttural growling as they tucked into the bloody flesh.

Our last job was to feed the bats. The trough for their meal sat fastened to the wall about five feet off the ground all around the centered cement block, with viewing windows for the visitors. I poured in the grain from large, battered sacks, and the bats which had been hanging in rows from their branches awoke and flew around my head in a clumsy black cloud to get to the food.

Admittedly, I enjoyed the bats — they were oblivious to us and let me feel their thick rubber-like wings  and see their funny little faces close-up as they ate.

I turned to see Tony scowling, impatient to get on with the next job on his list. I felt like such an encumbrance to him, awkward and unwanted. I’ve had enough of this, I thought. My eyes stung with unshed. angry tears.

“I’m leaving,” I told Tony.

He blinked in startlement, then flushed and looked away with a shrug. I imagined him wondering how he would explain this to his boss, but I didn’t bother sticking around to find out.

It was only two o’clock, but I headed back to the staff building, flung my disgustingly soiled apron into a laundry basket, and scrubbed my hands thoroughly with a coarse brush. I smeared anti-bacterial gel all over my arms and felt the sting of alcohol on the scratches I’d got from struggling to maneuver the foul cages.

Being clean had never felt so good, I headed back to my car. It was too early to go home so I decided to kill some time by driving up to Windermere. No one needed to know I’d left the zoo early. I wandered around the tourist shops, sat by the beautiful lake, and had an ice-cream while watching the swans.

“How was it, Love?” Daniel asked when I eventually got home and opened the front door.

“Oh, it was brilliant!” I cried as I threw my arms around his neck. “It’s been such an amazing day!”

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