Volume III: Zoochotic
Another essay! This one a little unusual in style. Enjoy. Or throw it in the trash.
Zoochotic
I’ve always loved the zoo. That is, until I read an article in the paper about how all the animals are on prozac. Before reading that I knew zoos must be terrible but I could ignore it because ‘terrible’ is hard to conceptualize until you know the details. This sweatshirt I’m wearing is terrible because it was probably sewn together by children and the cotton of the fabric came from fields where a rainforest used to be and the runoff of the water used to dye the fabric contaminates the reservoir of the village where the factory is, etc. But until I know all that for a fact, when I put it on, I just think, “sweatshirt make me warm.” And before I’d read that article, I’d go to the zoo and think, “elephant make me happy.” I suppose if I were an anarchist (a real one, not a Twitter one) I would reject this society and survive in the woods, tanning hides to make into sweatshirts I myself sew together. The animals I’d gawk at would be the ones I’d eat later. But I’m a reluctant capitalist, or at least a very lazy socialist, one who plods along in America hating nearly every single thing about it but doing nothing at all to change it, just incapacitated by the crisis of perpetually questioning my own integrity.
I took a break from zoos for awhile, thinking that with enough time, I’d forget the information I learned and be able to enjoy them again. Recently, I went back.
As I walk up to the entrance of the St. Louis Zoo, I hear the shrill “toot toot” from a fake train somewhere inside. It’s a perfect day, 75 degrees and sunny, the line in front about 60 people deep. I feel like I’m at Six Flags, strollers everywhere, families, babies crying. A couple walks by, her t-shirt reads, “I <3 My Crazy Husband” and his, “I <3 My Crazy Wife.” A very skinny teen mom with thin, black dyed hair and a choker, pulls her small child by a harness attached to her wrist. A baby wears a onesie that says, “I’m the cutest.” Another one says, “Ladies Love Me.” Another depicts the ‘Blue Lives Matter’ flag.
A war veteran wearing a hat (Desert Storm, 1991) scans the ticket on my phone to let me through.
“Is that it?” I ask him.
“You looking to do something else?” he says.
Each Of Us Looking Uniquely at this Bear
There are about fifty people trying to see the Andean bear. The scene is chaotic, some waiting in line to look through the glass, other people trying to bypass the crowd and move on because “Andean Bear” doesn’t appear in a lot of children’s books.
The Andean bear’s enclosure is very small but fully outfitted with I guess everything he’d find in the Andes–a dirty little pool, a ramp that can take him to a landing ten feet above the ground, and something like a hammock. There are toys in there for him, a couple balls, but I wonder if those are there for our peace of mind instead of his.
The bear never stops moving. His pace is aggressive as he clambers to all sides of his enclosure. When walls thwart his efforts to escape, he bucks his head in the air, twisting it around like he’s trying to break his own neck. He then races to another side, and another, restless, bucking every time.
“Mommy the place we passed is not the kind of ice cream I like. The kind of ice cream I like is somewhere else,” asserts a toddler.
“Uhuh,” says Mommy, bored.
“Hey look it’s a bear, yea it’s the Andean bear!” A dad says, pushing a stroller. An older child walks next to him, looking at his phone.
Next to the bear’s enclosure is a sign that reads, “Look through the masks to see the Andean Bear’s Unique Looks.” There are bear masks you can look through that face a mirror. I don’t know what is meant by “unique looks,” but none of the masks look unhinged like the bear.
After ten minutes of watching the bear race through his enclosure, a low flying plane roars by. He stops briefly to look up at it.
Online, there’s a video of this bear exploring his new home for the first time. Apparently, his name is Ben. His predecessor who recently moved to a zoo in Syracuse, was Bjorn. Ben came from the Queens Zoo in New York in 2021. In the video he’s frantic, getting in the water, getting out of the water, walking in and out of his den, climbing over the rocks. I wonder what he’s thinking–before he got sedated he was comfortably stressed out in Queens and then he woke up in St. Louis. Maybe he’s wondering if he has gone insane.
The zoo posted a picture to Facebook announcing Ben’s arrival last year. Fans left comments:
“Welcome, cutie pie! Now let’s get you a friend,” - Pam
“What happened to Bjorn?” - Jody
“Where’s Bjorn?” - Bonnie
“Sherri K Ben looks like my kinda guy. We should visit him!” - Zak K
“Eric B, you should take your son here soon. Look at the name of this bear.” - Dominic
In early 2023, less than two years after Ben arrived in St. Louis, he escaped. Twice. In two weeks. He had been picking at the mesh in a weak spot of his enclosure, causing a cable to fall, which allowed him to escape. The zoo did not cite a reason for how Ben got out the second time. After tranquilizing him, the Zoo posted on Facebook: “Given this situation, we couldn’t be more proud of the outcome.”
“He was just trying to get his morning coffee!” - Liz T
A moat surrounds Ben’s new Texas home.
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