Yesterday I went to an event at my old zoo, arranged for a reunion of zookeepers who all worked together at one time or another. I left the place due to unbearable internal zoo politics (zoos are famous for that, I believe I can safely say) about seven years ago, and haven't been back since (other than a short visit with my daughter a couple years ago). But then a chance e-mail I sent to an old lead keeper thanking her for her help way back when put me on the list to be invited to the Rezoonion.
Not all that long before I left the Phoenix Zoo, my old head keeper, Gene Mohney, died of a heart attack. Until that point I think it was pretty much taken for granted that I would carry on in Gene's place once he retired. I know he said about as much a few times; his wife asked me to give the eulogy at his funeral, which was pretty tough, and the whole place was in tears. He was like the dad I would have chosen, should I have had the chance to choose; no one knew more about the inner workings of animal minds than Gene, and he learned it from the ground up, being the original, one and only, keeper at Phoenix when it first opened as the pet project of the Maytag (washers/dryers, etc.) family in the early '60s. He knew nothing about animals, other than his pets, when someone asked him if he wanted a job -- he told me that at the time he was working as a house painter -- and went on to be a self-taught expert on everything from orangs to big cats to the flagship species of the Phoenix Zoo: the Arabian oryx. This isn't a great shot, but it's a through-the-fence photo of an off-exhibit oryx barn where these animals are mixed and matched, according to optimal genetics, where they can breed and produce more (you can click on the images to enlarge them, if you didn't already know that):
The reason I posted this shot from yesterday is to get a look at the animal, once the emblem of the Phoenix Zoo because Phoenix was chosen to breed the animal, picked over other zoos competing for the privilege, mainly because our hot climate most closely rivaled the animals' natural temperature range. Under the Phoenix Zoo's breeding program, managed by Gene for years, Phoenix took the total world supply of Arabian oryx from around NINE individuals to around 1200 released back into the wild. For those who consider zoos to be nothing more than animal prisons, this refutes that. If not for zoos, the Arabian oryx would be history, viewable only in old books.
One of the reasons I, not primarily interested in hoofstock, took this shot of the old barn for nostalgia's sake, was a memory of helping bloodtest a bunch of oryx. You can see an animal in the left of the photo -- notice those three-foot sharp horns. They can put those easily through half-inch plywood if they're annoyed, so we had to grab an animal by having about six keepers jump on it at once, and each of two keepers would shove a short length of garden hose on a horn to keep the animal from skewering the keeper holding the animal.
For some reason I always got the butt end, which invariably got slammed into the barn wall when the animal tried to back away from the keepers holding it. Once I got slammed a bit too hard, but I didn't know it until we released the animal, and I said, "OK, next!" and reached up for the bar holding the gate closed at the entrance to the barn, and my arm didn't move. The animal had popped my arm out of the socket. I managed to snap it back in, sort of Lethal-Weapon fashion, but whenever I raise it above shoulder level, my arm makes all of these cool popping noises, ten years or so later. I guess this is my keeper souvenir.
You have to love animals to be a keeper, and most keepers don't care for the rest of the human race other than those people who are ALSO keepers. Those, for the most part, they tolerate. Keepers typically aren't all that social, and most of us would just as soon have a zoo to take care of that wouldn't allow the public through the gates. After about the three-thousandth time of having some zoo visitor yell "What kind of animal are YOU?" at you when they manage to catch you out on exhibit cleaning something, you just start wondering if humans are very necessary, or at least if these people who yell this stuff really think they are the very first person whoever thought of such cleverness.
There are wonderful memories from my time as a keeper, and when I went to this reunion I wore Gene Mohney's old zoo shirt with the oryx emblem on it -- a present from his wife to me after he died. For one more time I put on the khakis and went back to the zoo. It was like going back in time, and I could hear the siren song of the zoo calling me, no question about it. At 55, however, could I hack it? When I worked for Phoenix originally, for seven years I was a relief keeper, which isn't the temporary job it sounds like. Relief keepers are born, not made, I think. To work relief, you have to be trained in every area of the zoo, and know every animal's needs as well as the animal's normal keeper knows them, and it's no LESS than 40 hours, and if something escapes at the end of the day, you stay until it's taken care of. You have a key that universally gets you into every building, closet, storage locker, etc., because if there's an animal escape you are the go-to guy who knows where crates, nets, bags, boxes, capture tools, etc., are, and you are ALWAYS included in animal captures. It is one hell of an exciting job. One day you work with rhinos, lions, tigers, giraffes, baboons; the next it might be coyotes, rattlesnakes, and Gila monsters, and the next day it might be elephants and orangs, like my old friend Bessie here with her youngster:
Bessie is a reason why, of most animals kept in zoos, I am somewhat ambivalent about keeping great apes in captivity. I've worked with every animal group on the planet, I figure, but of all the animals we keep in cages or enclosures, the great apes (I've worked with chimps and orangs) know the difference between inside and outside. And they remember you. I worked with Bessie there, on and off, for about 7 years. Once I left the zoo, I didn't go back and peek in on her for five years. Typically after zoo visitors blab away at animals for hours or days straight trying to get them to look at them for pictures, the animals absolutely ignore them. That was the case on the day of my visit, and I walked up through the crowd and said "Hey, Bessie!" in a low voice. She immediately sat up, looked around, locked her eyes on me and threw me a palm branch from her exhibit like she was throwing a spear. The crowd all turned to look at me with wide eyes. I shrugged, and walked away after a while. I've seen a chimp that worked with one of my co-workers about 25 years before, hadn't seen her in all that time, and when the chimp was shipped to our institution and laid eyes on her old long-lost keeper, she stuck her hands out, made cooing noises...great apes are so close to humans in their perception. You just gotta be around them to realize it. You really do get attached to the animals you take care of, no question, even animals like this guy:
You don't get recognition out of animals like this 100+ year old male Galapagos tortoise, but he used to chase me around his exhibit begging until I popped one of those pads off the prickly pear in the background and fed it to him. Their jaw strength is such that they just shear big crescents out of those pads.
As a zookeeper, you don't have to see humans for at least half the day if you don't want to. You're behind the scenes, cleaning, feeding, and observing. It's quiet. No one gives you any lip. And you think to yourself: I get paid for messing around with animals -- doesn't get much better than that.
Anyhow, as it turns out, the whole administration at the zoo has gone through some changes, and the old director is gone. I wasn't a fan of that guy, but the keepers all seem happy with the new one, to whom I was introduced by the staff vet and executive vice president of the zoo, an old friend of mine from my previous keeper days. They told me to keep in touch, and that there just might be something coming up.
I did love my job. Could I do it again? Views like this reminded me of the old days:
That's the back entrance to the old reptile exhibit and aviary -- I often entered via that gate. Since my day, the reptile exhibit has almost been gutted, and drastically needs an overhaul. I hope they do it, and I wouldn't mind being the reptile keeper again, SHOULD they do it. I do figure I have a few good years left in me, I guess. We'll see what happens.
Once a keeper, always a keeper. And to my old friends Laura, Tawny, Terri, Tracey, June, and all the others who passed through my life at the zoo...who knows. I might be dressed up in the khakis all over again.
