It's Not a Phobia If It's For a Good Reason...

I heard this story from someone who, to be completely honest, I've often found to be full of manure.  I have no way of verifying its veracity, but I only say that, knowing the temperament of some of the animals involved (if only as species, not individuals), I found it believable.  Take it as you will.

There once was a man, this former coworker of mine told me, who was afraid of animals.  Not just snakes or spiders or bats or rats, but virtually all of them.  The fear was so bad that it required him to see a therapist.  It was the therapist who had a novel idea for getting over this pan-zoophobia.  Work at the zoo.

(I should mention that this was a few decades ago, and in a very small town, where the job applicant pool was a lot smaller.  Even so, I still find it hard to believe that any hiring manager would listen to this applicant's rationale for working there and then say, "Sure, you're hired, when can you start?")

The new keeper worked with a wide variety of animals, some of which he learned weren't so scary.  He also worked with some that were.  Among them was an aggressive male guanaco.

While the females could easily be worked with, free contact, the male had to be locked up securely before the keepers could service the exhibit every day.  This was largely done by baiting him into a corral in the side of the pen (either with food or by offering the possibility of biting one of the staff), then shutting the door behind him so the staff could clean while he was trapped.  It's the same concept, more or less, that zoos use with big cats, bears, great apes, and other large, dangerous animals... which this male guanaco most definitely was.

One day, the hapless new hire made a mistake.  Perhaps he didn't close the gate properly behind the male.  Perhaps he accidentally locked up one of the females instead of the male.  Perhaps he forgot the whole process and walked in with the whole herd.  Either way, he soon found out how bad the mistake was.

The male was on him like a fly on poop.  He barreled into him at full speed.  He kicked at him with his padded hoofed feet, and spat at him with his foul spit.  All of which was forgotten as soon as the teeth came into play.  By the time other keepers, responding to the screams, got to the scene, the poor man's arm was bitten to shreds.  His bicep, my informant told me, looked like it had gone through a meat grinder.

I don't believe that keeper stayed working as a keeper for much longer.  And I certainly doubt that he ever got over his fear of animals.