Marijuana Bear

I saw a tweet recently that said, ‘They should make a Cocaine Bear prequel called Marijuana Bear where he’s just kind of experimenting and swears he’s not going to try anything harder.’

Funny idea, awful television. What’s to see? Momma bear tumbling around having the time of her life, eating honey by the gallon, letting campers pet her cubs and take her salmon. Where’s the conflict? If Leo’s character in the Revenant ran into Marijuana Bear instead, he would still be without an Oscar.

And so it was that at the Fort Worth Zoo last weekend, it appeared that every last animal had consumed a tray of edibles first thing in the morning. Of course it could’ve also been the heat. And maybe it had to do with the kind of lethargy that only a creature who has realized their entire life might be pacing back and forth between a half-court sized turf/Bermuda lawn enclosed by glass walls can experience, walls that allow for toddlers to pound an incessant ruckus and press their lips to the glass, when all the monkey wants to do is trip off some brownies.

I think I am more of a fan of the circus. At least carnies don’t pretend anymore to be on the side of the animal. And you sure as hell won’t run into as many babystrollers at the circus. The guy in a black tuxedo pokes and prods the animal and probably gives the thing all sorts of drugs so that it can be ready to jump through fire. Kind of like what Elvis’s team had to do to prop him up for his concerts just before his death. The morality of the idea notwithstanding, at least the circus’s entertainment is worth the price. $20 to see a lion jump through some hoops and chase after a guy in a tuxedo with murder on his mind? Ok, I can give you $20 for that.

Do we need the zoo? The specials I watch with Jack that are on Netflix, showing animals in the wild, are a hundred times better than seeing a leopard sunbathing on a plastic rock. At the Fort Worth Zoo right now they are advertising it as a “Predators”-focused period, with a picture of all the cats posed most fearsome—squinty eyes, scowling, teeth bared.

And yet, the lions weren’t even there that day—on a Saturday no less. Are you sure, Fort Worth Zoo, that you couldn’t have taken the lions to Petco on a Tuesday instead of on the weekend? Is the lion on a load-management program?

And the one visible tiger was a teenage tiger, who, like a true teenager, was killing time doing absolutely nothing. He never moved. He staid more still than even the crocodile, and I thought the croc was fake for about 45 seconds, until he finally blinked and we had to go.

I’m thinking zoos should start setting up obstacle courses for the animals. Something to get their juices flowing. This could be not unlike the skills challenge at the NFL Pro Bowl, or during NBA All-Star Weekend. Imagine, an orangutan drills a three-pointer from his perch on his manufactured playground, or bounce-passes a ball through a net ten feet away before climbing on the backboard for a windmill dunk. Show me that and then I will give you $10 for ice cream.

The zoo has a semi-noble end purpose, through albeit questionable means, to allow children to come see wild animals, in person, that they otherwise would never get to see in their lifetime. I think the premise goes something like: seeing the real-deal animal will stoke the child’s curiosity enough that they become grown-ups who appreciate the animal kingdom, and their importance in the great Circle of Life (Mufasa voice). I’m thinking too of this circular arrangement: seeing animals in captivity at a young age will cause those children as adults to speak out against the harms of holding those very animals in captivity. Like a Twitter Park Ranger. See: Sea World.

But I also understand that you cannot discount the sheer happiness of the experience in the mind of a child. You can see it all over their face the moment they walk into the Zoo and see that first animal. That alone might be worth the price of admission. Barely, but OK.

Let’s get back to the experience, however. If you can get through one day at the zoo without ten-point turning your child’s stroller at least seven times, I applaud you. Extra points if you don’t lose the stroller down a steep ramp. Your reward in these situations is fitting just inside a double door, with one of them locked (they’re always locked), not knowing what’s inside, only to bust your wheels through to get a large whiff of penguin shit, and then bask in that aroma for a good 15 minutes while you wait for the strollers to exit in front of you, in single-file formation.

And for God’s sake, spare me the birds. There were no less than 1,000 birds in that zoo. I saw a crow, likely from Lake Worth, eating the parrots’ food. “Oh you’re from West Africa?” asks the crow. “Well, I’m from the hood, sweetie, just up I-35. Let me show you how we do it around here, you redfeather—give me your lunch money.”

Putting birds in a zoo is the biggest space-filler since the Beard episode in Season 2 of Ted Lasso. I don’t care if it’s a blueheaded crane or a redheaded crane. I never, ever, went to the zoo to see a crane.

Oh what a day it was. Did I mention it was hotter than Africa? That was the most realistic part of the whole experience. Pass me that bong, chimp, it’s hot out here. I am trying to get lost in the rich color of a blue macaw.