Chuck and the Munching Camels

   What could go wrong with a rascal cat at a petting zoo? 

        After Chuck's almost wild encounter with bison at Yellowstone . . . after the rascal cat's near scalding experience with a baby geyser when he jumped off the boardwalk in protest of a growling girl dog, how could a visit to a local petting zoo be considered dangerous?

        My sisters and I decided one beautiful morning, well, it was one beautiful hot morning this past summer to visit a nearby zoo in the Poconos to see the local wildlife. 

        Chuck loves animals, and I convinced myself that the wildlife advertised obviously wouldn't include bison, wolves, or bears so the danger factor would be considerably less. Nevertheless, I'd learned my lesson on how to be a good mom the hard way. Never underestimate what Chuck will do in any situation. 

        I was on high alert. 

        We arrived, parked the car and as my sisters moseyed on over to "experience" the zoo, I read Chuck the riot act. "Behave yourself. Look don't touch. Most important of all, don't eat their snacks. I've got my eye on you."

        Chuck grumbled. I could see he was hot and hungry. But he's always hungry. 

        The small petting zoo was not very crowded. Good. Enclosed within a fence, the zoo of wildlife was actually a safe assortment of animals. Better yet. I tried to relax. 

        First up was Mr. Turtle, a mellow guy who seemed harmless. He moved at an alarmingly slow speed and was preoccupied with eating lettuce leaves visitors could buy to feed him. Still he was quite charming and larger than the usual turtles you see in the park.

        

        

         I kept my eye on Chucky. He waited on the sidelines. Luckily, he's not a fan of lettuce and had no interest in meeting a turtle. 

       So far so good.

       We moved on to the next exhibit--the cutest rabbit you ever saw. I anticipated big trouble. This was a worst case scenario. At home Chucky loves to chase bunnies and squirrels. This rabbit was called Mr. Einstein. I hoped he was named after the famed genius for a reason. Maybe he'd developed good social skills. If you're one of the star attractions in a petting zoo, surrounded by kids (and the occasional rascal cat) who are trying to pet (or sniff) you, you must have a uniquely calm personality, right?

        Chuck spied Mr. Einstein and glanced over at me. 

        "Don't even think about it." Chasing Einstein, I meant.

         He looked restless. 

        "Remember, look, don't touch."

         My sister Cheryl at that moment noticed the goats in the next pen. "Look how cute they are," she said. I turned to look. Of course. That's all it took. Chuck, who can move faster than a speeding bullet when he wants to, was standing right near the calmer than calm bunny, sniffing. 

        I held my breath. Mr. Einstein didn't move. On his best behavior, Chuck shrugged and walked away. A miracle.

        We visited the goats, the pigs, the donkeys and the horses. All my sisters are fans of the show Heartland on Netflix, and we love to see horses and ride horses. We were having fun. Every time I glanced over to see what Chuck was doing, he was moping around, waiting. 

        My sister Cyndi said, "Maybe he's just hot."

       Or maybe things were building to a crescendo. But after the non-rabbit incident, I had hope that, maybe, this was going to be a good day.

        

 

        Finally, I couldn't take his passive resistance any longer. "What's the matter, Chuck?"

      He let out a plaintive meow. Usually he'd be trying to get closer to the animals. Instead, he ambled over to the one shady spot in the tiny zoo. Maybe it was the weather. Hot and muggy. 

       "Well, I got myself worked up for nothing," I said to my sister Karen. Secretly relieved. "I guess we've seen everything . . ."

        "What about over there?" Caroline, who's always open to adventure, was pointing across the yard.

        I looked over. Two camels. Most zoos in the middle of Pennsylvania don't have camels. Behind a fence. But close enough that you can reach up and pet them. Get right in their face if you want to.

        "Geez." When I was in Egypt a few years back, I went on a camel ride and grew to respect them.

         I couldn't resist meeting these two.

         

    Full disclosure--I find camels quite exotic. They can live up to 50 years and are gentle and friendly animals. They're highly intelligent, smarter than a horse, and have incredible memories. They are also big animals. Camels average between 7 to 11 feet long, 5 to 7 feet tall, and weigh between 900 to 1300 pounds depending on the type of camel. 

    Camels eat grains, grass, wheat and oats. These camels were eating up a storm. Munching, munching, munching.  I have to admit in that moment I was in camel heaven.

      They were wonderful to watch. They looked happy and well cared for. As I was taking a closer look at these fantastic animals, I saw something quite out of place-a long tail of orange and white fur with dark orange stripes running sideways through the entire length of it. 

       "That looks just like . . ." I glanced over to the shady spot where Chuck had been sitting only moments before. No Chucky.

        My gaze shot back to the tail.  

        "Chuck." He was inside the fenced in area with the camels, sniffing one of the camel's legs. This was wrong on so many levels. I couldn't believe it. A barage of thoughts raced through my mind. How had he gotten in there? Why was Chuck interested in camels? And then . . . oh my God, danger. My blood pressure spiked through the roof. 

        "Out. Out of there. Now."

         Chuck stopped sniffing and gazed up.

         "Come on. Out. Now."

         Camels are not mean animals, but they can do mean things if provoked. I'd just read an article about a camel who bit, then trampled a worker who punched the camel in the face. Let's call it a revenge trample. What if this nice camel didn't appreciate being sniffed? One lift of a camel leg. The weight of a camel on Chucky and he'd be crushed to smithereens.

          I blamed myself. My obsession with camels must have rubbed off on Chucky and spurred him to get a little closer. 

         Chuck stopped sniffing and let out a big sigh. He then proceeded to wiggle himself under the wire fence, somehow managing to squeeze himself out of the fenced in area. 

        Safe and sound. 

        Later that evening, after the drama of the day had subsided, I looked down at a sleeping Chucky. Was it the camel's incessant munching that had lured him into the camel's den? Chucky loves food, especially snacks. I guess I'll never know.

Chuck Is A Hero-Spots Leopard Up A Tree

Chuck has been getting on my case lately. He thinks I make him look bad. Unheroic.

So . . . in the interest of fairness, and to keep my little or ah, hum, well, he’s not quite so little anymore, my chubby, well, chubby, isn’t exactly the right word--plump? Okay, to keep the “belly boy” happy, I’m blogging this week about the time we were on safari and Chuck saved Stephen’s life and, perhaps, all our lives in the safari vehicle--because of his . . . and I’m not exactly channelling here because the kid is looking right over my shoulder as I type and practically dictating this blog--because of his superior eyesight and extra-sensory sense of smell.

That’s right, the typical meow may only have the intellect of a two year old child, (I am not referring to my Chuck, of course), but the common house cat--not that Chuck is common by any means-- makes up for their childlike intelligence with their natural inborn skills.

Case in point. We were riding along on the plains of Kenya. And if you can imagine miles and miles of open land, with nary a tree in sight, with elephants roaming around us and other assorted wild animals. To stay alive, we were told to stay in the safari vehicle. There would be no hopping out to catch a closer glimpse, say of a baby hyena--if you haven’t had the good fortune of reading that adventure, please follow the link: http://averyolive.blogspot.com and read all about how Chuck has a near death encounter with a babysitter hyena when he impulsively decides he just has to meet two adorable baby hyenas. Anyway, Chuck now understood the dangers involved.

But it was nearing lunch time and Stephen, our driver, knew of a good place to have our picnic lunch--smack in the middle of the plains--under a big giant--what Stephen called a “sausage tree,” because what hung from the branches of this lone tree looked like, yeah, you guessed it--sausages.

So we drove for what seemed like twenty miles and pulled alongside of this “sausage tree.” Now, Stephen does not carry a gun with him. Let me make that perfectly clear. Even though we are on safari, it is against the law in Kenya to kill an animal. We are only there to photograph the wildlife. So, literally on the plains, you take your life in your hands. But Stephen is a professional and as we were driving to the tree, he was scanning the area on the look-out for any living, breathing creature that might cause us harm, because the idea was that we were all going to embark from the vehicle and eat our picnic lunch under that tree BECAUSE IT WAS SHADY.

Stephen believed the coast was clear. He jumped out of the vehicle.
All was well.

But, of course, it wasn’t.

That’s when Chuck sprung into action.

My Chuck.

Because he just happened to be awake and not “cat-napping,” which is what was usually the case on our long safari rides. And he just happened to be intrigued by what looked like sausages hanging from that tree.

Chuck glanced up, and he saw a leopard with his kill--some poor defenseless gazelle which was now hanging limp over a branch. A gazelle that the leopard had dragged up the tree. A big tree. And now that we--seven humans and a cat had arrived below the tree, this leopard could only assume that we were there for one thing--that gazelle.

The time it would take that leopard to leap down from the tree on top of Stephen could be counted in milliseconds. We learned that later.

Chuck growled and pointed his paw at the leopard. Then he let loose a blood curdling screech, which caught Stephen’s attention. Stephen whirled toward us.

Someone shouted, “Leopard in tree.”

Stephen hopped back on the safari vehicle. He was shaken up, clearly aware of what could have happened because in this one instance he’d forgotten to look up the tree.

The leopard crept down the tree, and he waited in the bushes, eager to defend his kill.

Stephen made an executive decision. We started the engine and went to find another tree, but not before Stephen came to the back of the safari vehicle, grabbed Chuck, and gave him a big hug. “Thanks, little man.”

No doubt about it--Chuck was a hero that day.