Everyone that I know of has seen an animal die. Weather it is a bird hitting a window, and falling lifeless tot he ground, or running over a opossum that is crossing the road. Even if you haven's seen it happen, you've surely seen one dead on the road, hack, there's a raccoon splattered outside of my neighborhood right now! But those animals are small, for every squirrel that is trailed by bloody tire tracks, there's a dozen more in a tree next to the road. What I'm talking about is something truly nasty. Murder in the animal kingdom is not something that is rare, specifically amongst predator and prey. Imagine, an eagle eating a fish. Its murder! But nobody cares because it's the way of life. What is truly unnatural however, is a species killing one of it's own.
It was late August, in my early childhood, probably around 2005. My grandmother lived in Minneapolis, so we frequented her neck of the woods, exploring the Mall of America, traversing the Walter Mondale museum, crawling through the underground aquarium, but nothing pleasured me more than going to the Twin Cities Municipal Area Zoo. The Twin Cities Municipal Area Zoo was one of the greatest I had ever seen, rivaling even the great zoos of Omaha, Fresno, and Providence. One was lucky to see such a zoo, because not only did it have great food, but it also had animals aplenty. At the time, when I was a child, everyone was raging about horses and lions. Not I, however, for I had great taste in animals. I loved three animals more than anything else, elephants, hippos, and giraffes. I always begged my mom to come with me right away to see these three African beasts, and she regularly obliged. This day was no exception, but little did I know, one of my loves would be put to rest on that sunny August morn.
Elephants, more than any other animal, are the best animal. They are nice to humans, have great memories, and were used to crush people in the 1700s. That's pretty cool. Because of these reasons, I would always try to hop over the gate and ride them. Alas, the gate was too tall for my feeble child body, and I was yet again stifled.
For some reason, I thought that if the animal were taller, it would be easier to ride. This sudden realization was incredible to me, and I immediately knew that I must see the giraffes. Little did I know of the horror that would become onto me for this. Arriving at the giraffe pen, there was a new addition to the heard, a young one, born in the Twin Cities Municipal Area Zoo, only months before. As a bit of important information, giraffes walk really weird. They move their legs up and down, but also a little to the side. Another bit of important information, giraffes have the same amount of vertebrae as humans, and they are distributed the same amongst the lumbar, upper back, and neck. One final piece of information, giraffes are very tall. This means that their vertebrae are very far apart, and a large amount of their neck is only supported by muscle, and a thin mesentery, connecting the vertebrae. on that fateful August morn, I witnessed something that I could never forget.
It was feeding time, and as the baby giraffe was much shorter than the mother giraffe, the mother giraffe was getting food for the baby one. In one swift action, the mother reached up grabbed a branch, tore of a swarth of leaves, and began walking to the baby. The baby, unbeknownst to the mother giraffe, was right under her as she began to walk. The mother giraffe kicked the baby giraffe in the neck, and what happened next took minutes to process. More than anything else about this gruesome murder, the noise is what I remember most. First, a horrible crunch, as the leg connected with the neck. It was the sound of a toe slamming against a metal chair on a child tile floor. It was the sound of an old tree falling in two after it was struck by lightning. It was the sound of a mother, breaking the neck of her child. The next thing I heard was a vacuum of silence. No one breathed. No one moved. Not a finger was lifted, not a baby cried, not an animal in the park made a sound. Then, the thud. The thud was the sound of a massive creature, hitting the ground, already dead. The topple of something that was simultaneously so huge, and so small. The silence was broken by a wail unlike anything i have heard to date, the wail of a mother who had just killed her child. Then, nothing. The park remained still. There was nothing that could now be done, nothing to save the baby giraffe, nothing to ease the mother, nothing.
We immediately left the park, and we will not return. read more