the gate with a paper clip. Now it says: Warning, Keeper in Area: Authorized Persons Only. Wow! This is pretty great. I’ve never been an authorized person before.
“Step in the bleach,” Mary-Judy commands, pointing to a plastic basin half filled with liquid. “I lost a lion to leptospirosis, I’m not taking any chances.” She glares at us as if she is sure we are germ carriers. And just as I slap my boots into the basin, Harrison presses something into my hand. It’s a Milk-Bone. I can tell by the shape. Only Harrison would have this in his pocket. He doesn’t even have a dog. It worries me, though, because if he’s figured out Pistachio’s in my pocket, then maybe Just Carol and Mary-Judy will, too. I look at Harrison. He smiles his goofy smile.
Mary-Judy opens another lock and unwinds a heavy chain from around the door of a low cement block building. “During the day, the lions are out in the exhibit,” she says, “unless it’s pouring down rain,then I take pity on ‘em and let them in. But at night, they stay in here.”
It’s cool and dark in the night house, and it reeks of bad meat and urine and mildew. I can feel Pistachio smells it, too, because he’s scrambling in my pocket, trying to get out.
Then I see the lions. They are in chain-link cages along the back wall. One male and three females. They are so big! Their backs are as tall as my chest, each paw is as large as my head, each of their heads is the size of half of me.
Pistachio is twisting and squirming, trying his best to get out. I ease the Milk-Bone into my pocket. It doesn’t help. Pistachio is too excited to eat.
The lions are pacing back and forth in their cages, making strange noises, almost like dog barks. This surprises me, but I’m glad about it. If Pistachio makes a noise, everyone will think it’s the lions.
A female lion jumps up on a low wooden bench in her cage and then down again. Her paws strike the cement with a velvet thump.
“Stay here,” Mary-Judy barks as she walks down the row.
Don’t worry, I think.
“Hi, Peggy,” Mary-Judy says to one of the lionesses, who is standing on her hind legs, her front paws resting on the chain link. She is taller than Mary-Judy, yet she doesn’t look scary. Her posture is friendly. She is rubbing her cheek on the chain link. She looks as if she wants to rub her face on Mary-Judy. She is saying hello to her, I realize, half expecting Peggy to openher mouth and give the top of Mary-Judy’s head a big lick. Now, all of the lions seem like giant house cats and I want to pet them really bad.
Suddenly the male roars and lunges at the chain-link cage. My heart jumps in my chest. I hop back. He bellows deep and loud. The sound fills the small building, like music turned unexpectedly loud. He throws his weight at the fence, determined to bring it down.
“All right, Junior, that’s enough,” Mary-Judy says. “For goodness’ sakes! Why the dominance display? I’m just trying to see if you ate your supper last night.” Mary-Judy walks in the empty chain-link cage next to the one where the male lion lives. She is even closer to him now. Is she nuts? Isn’t she afraid? Mary-Judy is leaning over, looking for something.
“God, I need glasses,” Mary-Judy says as the lion roars again and lunges at the fence, which bows with his weight. Mary-Judy is still leaning down. Why doesn’t she get out of there?
But suddenly the male lion seems to lose interest. He turns and paces the distance of the cage. He sniffs the ground. He looks at us. He licks the fence—the tip of his big pink tongue curls through the chain-link diamond and he rolls his cheek against the mesh. He is easy now, content, sweet almost, as he swings his hind end toward us, lifts his tail high, and then I feel something wet. My hands fly to my face. Harrison pushes me. His elbow pokes my collarbone.
“Honest to God, Junior.” Mary-Judy shakes her head.
It seems like the lion just sprayed us with pee, butI
“Step in the bleach,” Mary-Judy commands, pointing to a plastic basin half filled with liquid. “I lost a lion to leptospirosis, I’m not taking any chances.” She glares at us as if she is sure we are germ carriers. And just as I slap my boots into the basin, Harrison presses something into my hand. It’s a Milk-Bone. I can tell by the shape. Only Harrison would have this in his pocket. He doesn’t even have a dog. It worries me, though, because if he’s figured out Pistachio’s in my pocket, then maybe Just Carol and Mary-Judy will, too. I look at Harrison. He smiles his goofy smile.
Mary-Judy opens another lock and unwinds a heavy chain from around the door of a low cement block building. “During the day, the lions are out in the exhibit,” she says, “unless it’s pouring down rain,then I take pity on ‘em and let them in. But at night, they stay in here.”
It’s cool and dark in the night house, and it reeks of bad meat and urine and mildew. I can feel Pistachio smells it, too, because he’s scrambling in my pocket, trying to get out.
Then I see the lions. They are in chain-link cages along the back wall. One male and three females. They are so big! Their backs are as tall as my chest, each paw is as large as my head, each of their heads is the size of half of me.
Pistachio is twisting and squirming, trying his best to get out. I ease the Milk-Bone into my pocket. It doesn’t help. Pistachio is too excited to eat.
The lions are pacing back and forth in their cages, making strange noises, almost like dog barks. This surprises me, but I’m glad about it. If Pistachio makes a noise, everyone will think it’s the lions.
A female lion jumps up on a low wooden bench in her cage and then down again. Her paws strike the cement with a velvet thump.
“Stay here,” Mary-Judy barks as she walks down the row.
Don’t worry, I think.
“Hi, Peggy,” Mary-Judy says to one of the lionesses, who is standing on her hind legs, her front paws resting on the chain link. She is taller than Mary-Judy, yet she doesn’t look scary. Her posture is friendly. She is rubbing her cheek on the chain link. She looks as if she wants to rub her face on Mary-Judy. She is saying hello to her, I realize, half expecting Peggy to openher mouth and give the top of Mary-Judy’s head a big lick. Now, all of the lions seem like giant house cats and I want to pet them really bad.
Suddenly the male roars and lunges at the chain-link cage. My heart jumps in my chest. I hop back. He bellows deep and loud. The sound fills the small building, like music turned unexpectedly loud. He throws his weight at the fence, determined to bring it down.
“All right, Junior, that’s enough,” Mary-Judy says. “For goodness’ sakes! Why the dominance display? I’m just trying to see if you ate your supper last night.” Mary-Judy walks in the empty chain-link cage next to the one where the male lion lives. She is even closer to him now. Is she nuts? Isn’t she afraid? Mary-Judy is leaning over, looking for something.
“God, I need glasses,” Mary-Judy says as the lion roars again and lunges at the fence, which bows with his weight. Mary-Judy is still leaning down. Why doesn’t she get out of there?
But suddenly the male lion seems to lose interest. He turns and paces the distance of the cage. He sniffs the ground. He looks at us. He licks the fence—the tip of his big pink tongue curls through the chain-link diamond and he rolls his cheek against the mesh. He is easy now, content, sweet almost, as he swings his hind end toward us, lifts his tail high, and then I feel something wet. My hands fly to my face. Harrison pushes me. His elbow pokes my collarbone.
“Honest to God, Junior.” Mary-Judy shakes her head.
It seems like the lion just sprayed us with pee, butI
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