them both in the head. Weeping, Katherine had asked him why. He had said because he wouldn’t be able to look at them with pleasure anymore. She wondered if she would ever be able to look at the tiger with pleasure.
She sprang to attention. A reporter was asking if the zoo was worried about a lawsuit, if the safety procedures had been sufficient.
“No,” the director boomed. “Our safety procedures are excellent, as good or better than any zoo in the world. There are more accidents in zoos than you are aware of. The work is dangerous. But the Austin Zoo has had only one other fatal accident in our fifty-six-year history and that was more than three decades ago, way before my time. We have an excellent safety record.”
A woman in front yelled out, “Why were you withholding food from that tiger, Mr. McElroy? It sounds cruel. If the tiger hadn’t been starving, maybe this would never have happened.”
The small zoo group had kept up a steady, whispered commentary on the questions. Now the thin older man hissed in a falsetto, “Poor, abused pussy cat. God, these bunny huggers piss me off. Maybe she’d like to go in the cage and comfort poor Brum. How do people get so ignorant?”
“Two fast days a week is standard practice at all zoos,” the director said patiently. “The purpose is to replicate eating patterns in the wild so that our large cats do not become obese in captivity. It is not cruel in any way.” He pointed at a man in the front row. “Yes. Next question.”
“This is a question for Mr. Dieterlen, since he was there when the shooting team arrived. Mr. Dieterlen, I understand and support the reasons for not destroying the tiger now, but why didn’t Mr. Gillespie or”—he glanced down at his notebook—“Mr. Jamail shoot the tiger when they first arrived on the scene? Mr. Renfro might still have been alive when they got there.”
Hans Dieterlen took a step forward and looked hard at his questioner. When he began to speak, Katherine was surprised at the thick German accent. “Mr. Gillespie, who was first to arrive, is an excellent marksman. If there had been any reason to shoot, he would have shot.” He stopped speaking and stepped back, apparently a man of few words.
“But, Mr. Dieterlen,” the reporter said, “why have a shooting team if they aren’t going to shoot in an emergency like this?”
Hans Dieterlen stepped forward again. “All zoos have shooting teams to respond in case of dangerous animals escaping and endangering the public. In cases of any threat to the public they are instructed to shoot without hesitation. But in this case there was no danger to the public and the harm had been done. It was clear Mr. Renfro could not possibly be still alive. You would have known it too if you had been there.” He stepped back and leaned over to whisper something into the director’s ear.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the director said, “we need to limit this to two more questions, please. Go ahead, Mr. Cannon. You’re next.”
“What about the calls and public reactions you are getting here at the zoo, Mr. McElroy? What seems to be the consensus in terms of whether the tiger should be allowed to live?”
“I have no idea, Mr. Cannon. We do not make decisions like this based on public reactions. Siberian tigers are an endangered species. It is against federal law to kill them. We couldn’t do it even if we wanted to. Of course, we are already getting a great many phone calls. The usual mix: some sensible, some crank, some downright scary. Certainly some say the animal should be destroyed. I’m sorry to say we have had some threats against the tiger’s life. That is why we have taken the precaution of removing all the large cats from exhibit for a while.
“Last question. You there, in back.”
A deep man’s voice said, “We’ve talked a great deal about the tiger. But how about Lester Renfro? What sort of person was he? Is the zoo planning some sort of memorial for him?
She sprang to attention. A reporter was asking if the zoo was worried about a lawsuit, if the safety procedures had been sufficient.
“No,” the director boomed. “Our safety procedures are excellent, as good or better than any zoo in the world. There are more accidents in zoos than you are aware of. The work is dangerous. But the Austin Zoo has had only one other fatal accident in our fifty-six-year history and that was more than three decades ago, way before my time. We have an excellent safety record.”
A woman in front yelled out, “Why were you withholding food from that tiger, Mr. McElroy? It sounds cruel. If the tiger hadn’t been starving, maybe this would never have happened.”
The small zoo group had kept up a steady, whispered commentary on the questions. Now the thin older man hissed in a falsetto, “Poor, abused pussy cat. God, these bunny huggers piss me off. Maybe she’d like to go in the cage and comfort poor Brum. How do people get so ignorant?”
“Two fast days a week is standard practice at all zoos,” the director said patiently. “The purpose is to replicate eating patterns in the wild so that our large cats do not become obese in captivity. It is not cruel in any way.” He pointed at a man in the front row. “Yes. Next question.”
“This is a question for Mr. Dieterlen, since he was there when the shooting team arrived. Mr. Dieterlen, I understand and support the reasons for not destroying the tiger now, but why didn’t Mr. Gillespie or”—he glanced down at his notebook—“Mr. Jamail shoot the tiger when they first arrived on the scene? Mr. Renfro might still have been alive when they got there.”
Hans Dieterlen took a step forward and looked hard at his questioner. When he began to speak, Katherine was surprised at the thick German accent. “Mr. Gillespie, who was first to arrive, is an excellent marksman. If there had been any reason to shoot, he would have shot.” He stopped speaking and stepped back, apparently a man of few words.
“But, Mr. Dieterlen,” the reporter said, “why have a shooting team if they aren’t going to shoot in an emergency like this?”
Hans Dieterlen stepped forward again. “All zoos have shooting teams to respond in case of dangerous animals escaping and endangering the public. In cases of any threat to the public they are instructed to shoot without hesitation. But in this case there was no danger to the public and the harm had been done. It was clear Mr. Renfro could not possibly be still alive. You would have known it too if you had been there.” He stepped back and leaned over to whisper something into the director’s ear.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the director said, “we need to limit this to two more questions, please. Go ahead, Mr. Cannon. You’re next.”
“What about the calls and public reactions you are getting here at the zoo, Mr. McElroy? What seems to be the consensus in terms of whether the tiger should be allowed to live?”
“I have no idea, Mr. Cannon. We do not make decisions like this based on public reactions. Siberian tigers are an endangered species. It is against federal law to kill them. We couldn’t do it even if we wanted to. Of course, we are already getting a great many phone calls. The usual mix: some sensible, some crank, some downright scary. Certainly some say the animal should be destroyed. I’m sorry to say we have had some threats against the tiger’s life. That is why we have taken the precaution of removing all the large cats from exhibit for a while.
“Last question. You there, in back.”
A deep man’s voice said, “We’ve talked a great deal about the tiger. But how about Lester Renfro? What sort of person was he? Is the zoo planning some sort of memorial for him?
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