The marshmallows were not for us.
We knew the way to the zoo by heart, and our anticipation grew the closer we got. The way the property and streets surrounding the zoo were laid out, we actually had to pass some of the enclosures and the front entrance to get to the parking lot. As soon as our father parked the car, my brother and I would run ahead, down through the pedestrian underpass, yelling at the top of our lungs to hear the echo, and up the other side. At the top of the ramp, on both sides, were concrete cast boulders that were a dominant architectural feature throughout the zoo.
We knew that the farther ahead of the rest of our family we could get, the longer we would have time to play among the rocks. Once our parents emerged from the tunnel, my dad pulling the wagon with the food, and my mom pushing the stroller, we would climb down and go through the turnstiles underneath the large banner that read BROOKFIELD ZOO.
We loved all the animals, even though as kids we thought of them as part of the scenery, and we relished the opportunity to blow off steam out of doors, as much as look at the exhibits. My brother and I would laugh at the baboons' red butts, the big piles of elephant poo, and the rhinos peeing backwards between their legs. We would occasionally be rewarded with seeing an unsuspecting zoo visitor standing too close and getting doused.
I think you'll see a theme developing here. And in between these educational forays, we would bug our dad mercilessly for money for the Mold-A-Ramas.
The highlight of our day would come after a late lunch at the picnic playground, when we would go to feed the giraffes. In those days the giraffe exhibit was constructed so that the public were separated from the giraffes only by a shallow cement shelf with the animals heads at eye level. My mom would open the bag of marshmallows and we would hold them at arms' length. The giraffes would stick out their impossibly long tongues, wrap them around the marshmallows and take them from our hands.
If you tried this today, I believe the park rangers are authorized to shove the flaming sugar you know where.
Many years ago, when I became a parent myself, we were Brookfield Zoo members and we signed our boys up for zoo classes that started before the official opening time. While the boys were in class, my wife and I got to stroll the grounds with no one else around.
One time we went into the Habitat Africa exhibit Savannah House. We stood by the rail and watched a mother giraffe and her newborn. The mother giraffe eyed us curiously and my wife started talking to her and telling her what a beautiful baby she had.
The mother giraffe walked over to the baby and gently nudged him right up to the rail in front of us. We started fawning over the calf as the mother stood there nodding her elegant neck and looking every bit the proud parent.You cannot tell me that this was not deliberate, direct communication between species. One of the most amazing experiences of my life.
These recollections were brought on when my wife posted a story this morning about the last wish of a man dying of cancer. The mentally disabled man had worked for many years at the Diergaarde Blijdorp Zoo in Rotterdam, Holland.
The 54 year old man who goes by the name of Mario, requested that his bed be taken into the enclosure of his beloved giraffes.
Kees Veldboer, founder of the Ambulance Wish Foundation, said, "It's very special to see that those animals recognize him, and sense that he isn't doing well."
One of the giraffes approached Mario, reached down, and tenderly kissed him on the lips.
Mario has little mobility and finds speaking very difficult. "However, his face spoke volumes. It was a very special moment. You saw him beaming," said Veldboer.
I have no doubt that the naysayers will attempt to write it off by saying that the animal was only looking for food, or performing some kind of instinctive behavior.
But that's not how it looks to me.
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