Terry Traveller – The Zoo

Terry is filling in while the staff is on vacation. – Editor

It was a sunny Saturday in March that I first visited a nearby, world famous zoo.

It is a private pastime of mine that has amounted to a unique collection of postcards and key chains featuring lions, fish and sloths.

Someday my executor will be tasked with determining who is most worthy of these priceless items- the best of luck to him in this daunting search.

I like visiting the zoo for its oddities- the mixture of foreign habitats amongst cornfields or skyscrapers with the crazy hoards of running, screaming children becoming an exhibit of their own. I always start with the butterfly pavilion, mainly because I find it frightening. Each zoo seems home to the largest, ugliest, vampire bat like butterflies that were cast as stand-ins for that Alfred Hitchcock movie about the birds. But at the price of admission I feel obligated to walk the full square footage available.

From there I move to the large cats and other four-legged friends, watching them lie listlessly in the sun. I have seen so many of them in their natural habitat; sans metal bars and organized mealtimes, and can tell you these cats play the part just as well.

It was on this momentous occasion that I experienced something unlike any of my travels. In a large trapezoid-shaped enclosure, lined with glass walls lived a trio of great gorillas. Crowed around each wall were dozens of families of all ages, watching our close cousins interact. Today the gorillas were battling for supremacy.

Two males fought, throwing one another against the glass as the female did her best to stand in the middle and mediate a truce. The adult onlookers commented to their children about the nature of nature and tried to answer the onslaught of questions that flowed from young mouths. Some laughed away the situation while others tried to justify the violence I found deeply upsetting. It happens in the wild too, but the selling of popcorn is frowned upon. I turned from the exhibit intent to find the tranquility of the aquarium. But this required me to walk past the remaining displays of primates.

These animals were boxed into closet-like rectangles to showcase their silly antics of hanging upside down and such. Funny that the bonobos- selected by psychologists to be our closest social equivalent- seemed to be the best performers playing to the crowd. Suddenly I found myself staring into the eyes of a large, old orangutan.

He filled the small space he was offered from wall to wall. Unlike the others he sat quiet and still. He looked me up and down, possibly wondering if my orange coat signified a kindred family line, and then settled his gaze with mine. I stood and stared back into his expressive eyes and imagined I saw a distinguished air with knowledge beyond his genome. I felt honored to see him, yet guilty for his captivity. This was the leader of the pack, a great warrior of the jungle reduced to a sideshow. He let out a hrumph, shrugged his shoulders and turned from my gaze, as though dismissing a lower being. It made my head spin as I walked to the aquarium.

Here I witnessed the greatest oddity of all the zoos I have visited when I stumbled upon the penguins. As a fellow Arctic nomad, I find a great kinship to these adorable fowl. I immediately took note of the least plausible environment for a penguin. There were vents in the ceiling that operated like a third-rate motel ice machine and large grates in the floor that spewed rhythmic blasts of cold air. Atop a man-made iceberg underneath the most functional vent, stood a lone penguin making occasional noises. Arms extended, head cocked to the vent, he seemed to be holding court to a crowd of penguins below that stood in an equally prone position. Every few minutes a chunk of ice would fall, first on the head of the judge, then tumble across the heads of the onlookers. Between falls the penguins stood in wait, as the leader cawed. I looked around and no one else seemed to notice this weird display of captivity.

It was a freakish day at the zoo, and my last. I could not cover the remaining square footage my admission had purchased. Instead, I stopped in the gift shop and sought out a keepsake unlike the others in my collection. Amongst the dozens of identical stuffed animals, rubber reptiles, puzzles and more, I found a collection of framed photographs. Hanging in the corner, obscured slightly by inflatable trees, was a portrait of the great orangutan staring directly into the camera with an exasperated look. It now hangs in my study and inspires me to walk outside, to travel the world, and respect all the freedoms afforded to me.

This is Terry Traveler saying, it may not be true, but it might as well be.

Terry Traveller
Email: terry@discoveradel.com
Facebook: facebook.com/DiscoverAdel.TerryTraveller?fref=ts