Close Enough to Touch

My favorite experiences at zoos - working and visiting - are often behind the scenes, when I get to be in the closest of proximity to the animals.  There, I hear their quietest of noises, catch their smells, see the tiniest of details in the patterning, and, in certain conditions, touch them.  Every animal is experienced so much differently at close quarters.   Of course, not everyone gets access to these areas, and if you are back there, either as an employee or as an invited guest, there is an expectation that you will know how to conduct yourself.

Read: there is an expectation that you won't do anything disastrously stupid.

When I read about the spider monkey incident in El Paso, some of the articles stated that the zoo was now looking to make changes to the exhibit to reduce the possibility of future idiotic incursions.  That, inevitably, means more barriers.  I totally understand why they need to for liability reasons.  It just makes me sad.  Every time that a visitor does something malicious or stupid that puts themselves or an animal n danger, that's just about the only thing that the zoo can do.  Short of having attendants spaced at every exhibit to watch people, they can only put up more barriers.

More barriers mean more separation from the animals.  More separation means less connection.  The more people do stupid things, the less of a chance that visitors can have to have really great, meaningful memories of the animals.  We end up having to appeal to lowest common denominators of behavior, which means that visitors are deprived of what could be some great, up-close encounters.

When I was young, my parents took me a zoo in Europe.  I was probably too young to really appreciate the significance of the castles and artwork and other historic sites, but I was certainly old enough to appreciate the zoo, and the hippo exhibit in particular.  The hippo swam up to a low wall just feet from us, close enough that even my short little arms could reach, and yawned.  It was a moment that memorized me - if I'd leaned a little forward, I could have tumbled into its mouth, which was almost at eye level with me.  Of course, I was also close enough that, if I'd wanted to, I could have gotten in and been injured, or thrown a rock down its throat, or done a dozen or so other unpleasant things.   That exhibit's been remodeled since then - safer, but more distant.