Snow Day
Everyone knows that the zoo is at its best when you avoid the crowds. Three inches of snow usually does the trick.
Last February, after a good snow, we visited the zoo and it did not disappoint. The parking lot was empty which made me sad for the penguins and snow leapoards who get so few opportunities to shine. Just the thought of them, smiling in their habitats, waiting for patrons who would never come; it was enough to make you cry. Luckily, they have me.
There were no footprints leading to the entrance gate and my heart skipped a beat. This was my chance. With no one else in the zoo, I could finally experience the sensation of owning my own zoo.
My very own zoo...
As my daughters and I entered, we saw two young men on a golf cart, towing half-empty bags of salt and snow shovels. Someone must have called them on their radios to let them know we were coming. They smiled at me and I nodded in return. I wanted my nod to convey that I wasn't like the typical, rich assholes who normally buy zoos. I did this for the right reasons.
We immediately set off to see the penguins who were—as I expected—in their element. The average zoo-goer may not notice the change in behavior but when I looked through the netting, directly into their eyes, I could tell: this weather reminded them of home. I felt nostalgic for them.
We walked from one habitat to the next, uninterrupted and undisturbed, soft snow crunching under our feet. Without the crowds, it’s easier to appreciate how big my zoo really is. Two hundred and forty-seven acres! But who cares. A zoo isn’t a zoo without animals. That’s the best part; I own the animals too.
After an hour or so, we went to the reptile exhibit to warm up. I beamed as my girls traipsed around, pressing their faces against the glass. More than once, I saw them lick a window. If this was a public zoo, that would be disgusting, but this is just an extension of our home.
They LOVE to shout out ridiculous names for each animal, monikers like “sugar” and “cinnamon” and other nonsense. I never correct them, of course, they’re just kids and we’re here to have fun. Instead, whenever they say a wrong name, I whisper the correct one under my breath so that each animal knows that I know.
Not a lot of people realize this but I named every animal in the zoo. When I bought it last year, (which was such a funny story) I spent a few days with the head zookeeper renaming each one. I settled on a greek mythology theme but I had to lean on Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter when I ran out of ideas. I had a spreadhseet and everything. The head zookeeper seemed impressed. More than once, she mentioned that she had never, in her entire career, heard of the owner of a zoo changing the names of each animal after a purchase. The primate keepers worried that the chimpanzees might find the name change distressing, but how else could I demonstrate that they belong to me now?
After warming up, we visited the snow leopards. The largest one eyed me, curiously, through the glass as her massive tail twitched behind her. Her face was stained in blood and the carcass of a rabbit was strewn across the red snow. She was so elegant and wild. Powerful but misunderstood. It was like looking into a mirror.
She was happy here. Not most days, of course, but what creature expects to be happy most of the time? A couple good days a year is all anyone really needs. Why else would we brave the elements to visit the zoo on a day like this? To be happy, of course.
I pressed my face against the glass and whispered: “Khione, we’re home.”