A Story of Glass, a Family, and Murder

“Mom,” said a little boy startled. “They’re back again.”

“I know honey,” she replied.

“Mom,” said a little boy startled. “They’re watching us again.”

“I know honey,” she replied.

“I’m scared,” said the little boy. “I don’t want to be here mama”

“Someday baby, someday we’ll get out of here. Your father will come for us.”

And so they waited, and waited, and waited some more. But he never came and he never would.

Years went by. The boy was no longer little, the mother was no longer strong, and both of them were no longer hopeful.

“Mom,” said a no longer little boy, “we can’t wait any longer, we need to get out of here.”

“No,” she said, “it’s too dangerous. Your father will come for us.”

But the no longer little boy watched his mom’s once shiny black hair turn to grey and he knew that he could wait for his father no longer.

That day, while his mother lay quietly in the grass resting her tired eyes, he grabbed a rock and walked to the glass.


Children began to scream.


Parents grabbed their kin and began to run away.


The mother of the no longer little boy ran after her son but it was too late.


Three guards rushed toward the scene.


The glass finally began to break.


A bullet went through the no longer little boy’s chest.


A bullet went through the mother’s chest as she ran towards where her son’s body lay.

Two weeks later the glass was fixed, the zookeepers removed all movable rocks, and two new gorillas filled the place of the deceased mother and son.

Photo credit: cincinnatizoo.org

A Man and his Mule

This one will be a lot shorter than the last one I promise.
Nearly two years ago, I was camping with OVS, 15 of us out in the sandstone canyons of Utah, unspeakably peaceful. In fact, I enjoyed the tranquility of that small, isolated river valley so much, I decided to spend the night in my hammock so that I could swing as the whirling breeze carried me to sleep. However, that night was a wild one for me and you’ll soon understand why.
Around 10 o’clock I get into my hammock, laying down as I watch the moon rise over the other side of the valley, a few stranglers dragging themselves into their tents, and I decided to retire as well. Maybe three hours later if I remember it correctly, I awaken to the sound of voices coming from the kitchen area, they all seem to be laughing, having a great time, then I look at my watch and it reads one o’clock. INSTANTLY I freeze- this isn’t right, I say to myself as I peak towards the opening in my sleeping bag, the absence of light confirming my suspicions.
I try to play it off as a dream, my dream continued even after I awoke, I tell myself unconvincingly, the voices are incredibly vivid, I can hear their laughter bouncing against my eardrums, it has to be real. A few minutes pass and they begin to call my name, like the sirens that taunted Odysseus on his travels, I too was being deceived, their welcoming calls making me all the wearier. I am fully awake now.
The minutes crawl by as these voices continue, situations changing constantly, from their beckons for me to get breakfast, to claims of me missing out on a glance at a nearby fox, they become eerier. These voices, maintaining their soothing tones, vary in their distances from me, somethings being five feet away, sometimes their voices traveling for seeming leagues before reaching me. But don’t doubt my account yet, because it only gets worse. After maybe 20 minutes of the voices, I begin to feel something brushing up against my swaying hammock intermittently. This feeling of helplessness consumes me as I can only fumble for the pocket knife buried somewhere in my sleeping bag (I sleep with one while camping now after that first encounter).
My senses take over and my imagination runs wild, the voices grow stronger, and with only the light of my watch reading 2:15 to convince me of my awakened state, I can’t help but feel as if a man is standing over me, watching my hammock sway, letting it brush against him in the periodic gusts. I can’t believe what is happening to me, the winds continue, but they don’t blend with the voices, they still call me to reveal myself, to emerge from my safe place, my empty tent four feet away, but impossibly out of reach. I feel a large round object protruding from the darkness against the left side of my back, maybe a foot away from where the man must be standing, the object stabilizes me, I cannot move now.
Maybe the winds pushed me into a branch, jutting from the sickly tree holding up the feet side of my hammock, further inspection the next morning revealed that there were none near me. I am trapped in my own sleeping bag, unable to find my knife, unable to escape the voices, the man, the fear that’s overtaken me. I lay still in this sweaty hell until 3 am as I remember it, then I must drift off at some point, exhausted by the sheer terror I felt that night.
The next morning I approach my classmates, bemused as to what transcribed the previous night, upon recounting my tale, I am met with blank stares, concerned faculty, and one bright face. One teacher, my advisor, recounts a story of a man and his donkey, this man traveled into this river valley in Utah some 80 years before and was never seen from again. He suggests that this man tried to beckon me out of my hammock for a companion to wander the endless nights of these canyonlands, the voices were his attempts, the brushing was the man standing beside me, and the object jutting into my back was the donkey, standing loyal at the man’s side.
I don’t know what I believe, I don’t believe that I could ever believe that story my advisor told me, but if you ever find yourself in the desert, and you hear the voices of your compatriots, calling you into the night, take heed of my warning, but make your own choice, for if I were to return and hear them again, I may just see what the endless nights have to offer.
Also, I slept in a tent the next night, wasn’t about to lose another nights sleep to a ghost donkey.

Orcas vs. Horses?

Orcas, or killer whales, have been kept in captivity since 1961, and there have been books and movies made about them and how cruel it is to use them for our entertainment. As I read Death at SeaWorld (and watched Blackfish), I started to think about the similarities between horses and orcas in “captivity.”

Both are large, potentially dangerous, and used for entertainment and sport. Both have caused injury, both have caused death, and both are highly intelligent and (seem to) experience emotions and moods.

The only difference I see is that horses have been domesticated for 5500 years, which is far more than the 50 or so years that orcas have been kept captive. Somehow, I feel like the domestication, and perhaps usefulness, is what’s saving horses from being “liberated.”

Our horses, like the orcas, are kept cooped up in small stalls, while feral horses can travel 65-80 km daily for food, water, and shelter. To rid their energy before riding, we make our horses run in circles around us in a little pen.

Horses can get “moody” and “off.” Sometimes they’ll refuse jumps, buck for no reason, or refuse to slow down while trotting or cantering. So we blame the rider, trainer, or the weather. Orcas can be like that too, refusing trainer orders or protesting in their guttural language.

After I was flung off my pony and broke my clavicle rather terribly, I couldn’t do much of anything but sit in my room all day. I still can’t ride, but I can lunge and groom as long as I’m careful. The pony that bucked me off didn’t seem crazy, guilty, or dangerous whatsoever, and I felt no fear or trauma while looking at him. I was injured so severely that my bone was in danger of impaling through my shoulder and I required a two-hour surgery, and something like that sticks in your mind.

Huge controversies came up and multiple rules were put into place when the first orca injured its trainer, yet when I was injured by my pony my friend was instructed to keep riding him because he “shouldn’t be allowed off that easy.”

I don’t think my pony’s intentions were to hurt me, just like I think that killer whales don’t really want to kill us. But if I were stuck in a cubicle, working for hours with little to no rewards, I would probably go a little nutty and stir-crazy.

Just sayin’.

ASITs, attention! ASITs, begin! Watch the children, watch the children!

During my first session as an ASIT, which was two weeks long, the Juniors from Tennessee fell in love with me. Or rather, with my tail.

They were aged six to seven and were very, very tiny. I’m rather small myself, so it’s always a strange experience being in close proximity with people smaller and shorter than me.

The first few days were chaotic, as both species (the children and my ASIT buddy and I) had to adapt to each other. Once the children discovered that I had a furry, gray wolf tail, they went crazy chasing me around the cabin while the other ASIT’s sat and chatted with the counselors.

There were 16 little girls and 4 counselors in the cabin, but there was maybe four or five of them that really got attached to me. One in particular, Lucy, that always insisted on holding my hand or hugging me whenever we saw each other during the day.

In all my 17 years, I’ve never had such an experience with children before. The strange innocence they have, the unintended ignorance, and the pure annoyingness they have from time to time. In the weeks I was an ASIT, I’m pretty sure I erased dozens of children’s fears of snakes and arachnids. I had to make sure kids didn’t run on the pothole-ridden field, teach them the safe way to hold a snake, and to make sure nobody turns a turtle upside down.

While my group of Tennessee girls left and new girls came, my job as an ASIT stayed the same. Watch the children, watch the children.

ASITs, attention! ASITs, begin! Cry a lot, cry a lot!

A 14-hour workday is not easy for anybody, especially not for teenagers aged 15 to 17. You have to, have to, follow the rules, or risk either being asked to leave camp or be demoted back to being a camper, which, speaking from experience, is a rather sad experience.

Being an ASIT gives you a lot more freedom. You don’t have to sign in and out during free time whenever you want to walk around camp, you’re allowed to have your electronics (phones and/or laptops), and you don’t have to be under constant Counselor supervision.

But with great power comes great responsibility. We, the ASITs, know more than campers, and often know more than Counselors too. During Morning Rounds, it’s our job not only to clean and water the animals, but to check for sick or dead animals. It’s usually and ASIT that discovers a dead or dying animal first, even before any Animal Specialists. Following that job is having the responsibility to not let any campers (or gossipy Counselors) know that an animal had died. Usually, a short “oh Dallas went to the vet” is enough to quiet a kid down.

ASITs are aged 15-17, so often times campers that are 17 years old won’t want to listen to a 15-year-old ASIT. “Threatening” them with a Counselor works most of the time, but some campers can be stubborn. Some rules are tough, annoying, or seem meaningless to the Camper and the ASIT too, but it’s there for a reason and ASITs do everything they can to keep campers and our animals safe.

The most frustrating part of being an ASIT may not be the hard physical work but dealing with animals and people who just don’t understand why things are they way they are.

Then there’s our mold problem…

The Bear

mossy trees

We were hiking across the Yukon on what was only a five-day trip. When I got lost and separated from the group, it was already day three. While searching for them I heard things splashing in the river – it was a large group of salmon flopping up the stream. But that wasn’t all. There was a bear standing there with his mouth opened, catching the fish in his mouth.

I was spotted. The bear set down the freshly caught fish on a rock and ran off. By that time the sun was setting and I had to set up camp. After making the fire, I remembered that my food was in Joe’s pack. So I decided to go and grab the fish the bear left behind. It was enough to hold me over for a while.

In the morning I packed up and continued hiking to the final destination, hoping I would run into my friends. I hiked five miles noticed something in the fields. It was the bear again. I knew it was him from his whitish fur. You could tell he was old and his face seemed strangely welcoming. I sat from a distance watching it until it got distracted by a bird and he chased it around, running off into the woods. As I was hiking, I decided to make a detour and go see what he was doing in the fields before he left. I discovered he was eating at a bush of berries. I didn’t know what the berries were, but I knew the bear lived after eating them and I would die if I didn’t. I didn’t eat them right away. Instead, I collected them in case I had no alternative food options.

Shortly up the trail I ended up in a third encounter with the bear. But this time the bear was hurt. He had a long deep gash along his neck – he was dying. I sat down next to him and began petting him and gave him water. I ended up giving him all of my water. Most of it I used to clean the dirt from his wound. I pulled out my first aid kit and used everything I could. I had to bandage him with ankle wraps because he was too big for anything else. Rather than finding my friends, I felt like it was my obligation to help this bear.

The only thing I did to take care of myself was make a fire. I gave every scrap of food and drop of water I could to this bear. From my little knowledge of bears I was able to determine that he was a grizzly bear. I never realized how peaceful and beautiful they really are. They have soft fur, pointy ears, wet black nose and solid brown eyes. They’re magnificent creatures, far from a beast. But that didn’t change the fact I could become its meal any second.

The next morning, day five, was the worst of them all. The bear was on his final hours and was mad. He wouldn’t let me help him at all. He just lay there ghoulishly and moaned. I had to just watch and hope that somehow he would push on. As it became afternoon he stopped moaning, just breathed heavily. I walked over and hugged him. I didn’t let go for hours. Not until I heard dogs barking and lights coming from several places. It was a rescue group. Before I could say anything I was in a helicopter.

I woke up in a hospital and there was a Alaska state trooper sitting next to me. The first thing he said was “You know, you saved that bear.” I smiled. That was the first thing that I wanted to know. They said they were bringing him to a zoo in San Diego. That was his new home, because he was too old to be in the wild. My face lit up. I looked back at him and told him “I live in San Diego!”.

ASITs, attention! ASITs, begin! Put ‘cho shoes on, put ‘cho shoes on!

A full day of being an ASIT starts at 7:15am and goes to, on a bad day, 9:30pm. Which is nearly 14 hours of work and “work.”

Morning rounds are the first thing we do every day, even before eating breakfast. After breakfast we clean our ASIT lounge and then head off to morning courses and classes

An ASIT tradition is that we take about 10 minutes to put on our shoes.

Courses are week-long commitments that can range from Riflery to Adopt-an-Animal. Classes are just for an hour. Seniors (ages 12-17) have courses in the morning and Juniors (ages 7-12) have classes in the morning, and ASITs are split up to assist with classes and courses.

Sometimes, assisting can mean you’re an extra pair of eyes and you get to join in with the class. Sometimes, assisting can mean teaching the campers how to be safe with the animals.

ASITs usually help with Junior classes and courses, as younger children in general need more supervision. Some classes and courses, like the Jungle or the Habitats, require more supervision because of special animals.

Our lemurs and large (4 foot long) lizard enclosures, for example, need extra supervision, as they can be slightly dangerous or more sensitive as, say, a ferret or parrots.

We have lunch and Free Time for about two hours, as well as Leadership Training, which is basically talks about enthusiasm or how (or how not) break up a fight between campers. After Leadership, Seniors have classes and Juniors have courses, and basically the morning is repeated.

Dinner, then free time, then we have Evening Activity. Activities, like the Bug Hunt and the Fashion show, require the ASITs to prep for it, which could be clearing out 20 tables and 200 chairs or simply spreading out around camp and hiding. Sometimes ASITs have to help clean up after Evening Activities, like putting the tables and chairs back or cleaning up water guns and balloon remains.

Curfew can be from 9:45pm to 11pm depending on how many ASITs we have and how well we’re behaving. Though, after a full day, most ASITs want to sleep by dinnertime.

Have You Ever Seen, An ASIT Company

This summer, I spent a grand total of eight weeks at summer camp. Yes, the same summer camp, but this time I was not a lowly camper.

I was an ASIT

An ASIT. Animal Specialist in Training. We, 11-25 of us, wake up at 6:45 a.m. to feed, water, and clean the enclosures of over 300 different camp animals. There are four areas; the Barn, the Animal Learning Center (ALC for short), the Jungle, and the Kennels.

Barn people take care of the Inner Barn, the Back Pastures, the Nursery, the Bird Nursery, and the Creepy Crawly Room.

ALC people take care of the Habitats, the Small Animal Room, the Reptile Room, and the Cat Room.

The Jungle and the Kennels are their own areas.

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I worked (I PAID TO WORK) as an ASIT for 6 weeks, meaning I worked in every area at least once. My pride and joy, where I wished I could sleep at night, was the Reptile Room. I memorized the meals of 7 reptile species in under three days. My greatest moment was walking into the ALC Kitchen and the lead Animal Specialist planted herself in front of me and said “just the person I was looking for! I need you to feed the reptiles!”

Chuckwallas, Mali Uromastyx, Green Iguana, Leopard Tortoise, Plated Lizards, Blue-Tongued Skink, Bearded Dragon, Leopard Gecko. For the sake of my own pride, I listed the reptiles (minus the snakes) that we took care of. For the sake of time and space I won’t write down their meals.

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The Habitats was the next area I memorized. Again, under three days.

Given the time, I assure you I would have memorized all the meals for the animals. I didn’t really try anyways until the last week.


That time you found me on the ground, reaching for my inhaler, you picked me up and tossed me into the car. We drove to the hospital and arrived at 3am, but had to wait until 7am until we could go inside. I struggled with every breath, and with every breath I would think “finally…”

The times I was in a speeding car, watching the door handle, wondering whether or not it would open by some luck of fate. Perhaps the turn would be too sharp, or maybe my dog would jump onto it.

I lived on a tall building all my life. I often liked to look over it and wonder how long I’d feel the pain if I fell down. The window was tall though, and it would be difficult to trip and fall through.

Sometimes I’d walk through my woods. I called it my woods because nobody else bothered to explore it. I saw wolves, bears and mountain lions, but they all ran from me. Why would you run from me? Couldn’t you easily kill me? Wouldn’t you want to?

Old buildings were also fun to explore. The floors were old and rickety, and I often found myself stepping on particularly thin boards hoping to fall through. I was too light, that’s what everyone said, and the boards would creak and moan but I never did fall through.

I kept waiting for accidents. My aim is to disappear off the earth completely with no trace to follow or mourn over.

Guess I’ll have to keep trying.

The little Dolphin that couldn’t


The little dolphin that couldn’t. When he was born his mother was ripped apart by a Great White Shark. Mr. Dolphin now had brain damage. Furthermore, his fins where shredded to pieces he could barely swim, he was slow.

While swimming in the seas of Japan Mr.Dolphin encountered some cold hearted fishermen. Mr. Dolphin was not smart so he approached their vessel slowly and foolishly. The fishermen viciously harpooned Mr. Dolphin inflicting life threating wounds to him. Close to death Mr. Dolphin decided to let the currents carry him westward.

Mr. Dolphin found the coast of Hawaii, where he met an average looking dolphiness, looking for a mate. Mr.Dolphin approached her, Mr.dolphin was instantly rejected by the Dolphiness. The dolphiness would have a child with another dolphin. Mr. Dolphin would swim far out to sea where he would die alone and forgotten.

(this was  experiment made with my friend infamousdolphin to test the power of cooperative creativity.)