June 22, 2006
Getting wild at the zoo
What does the Blue- Tongued Skink think of party people?

Jill Brooks
INtake columnist

Last year was my first experience with Indianapolis Zoo's Zoobilation and, sure, I disputed the happiness of the animals.

I ponder such things, and I'm repeatedly armed with a line of questioning.

I care about the Amur tigers' innermost feelings and whether they're getting four squares, or at least some protein from other animals, per day.

Are the African lions allowed to decorate their dens the way they want; does the Blue-Tongued Skink feel comfortable in his skin; will the Aldabra tortoise ever come out of his shell around the Pacific Walrus?

An event like Zoobiliation merely adds to my worries about animals' adaptation to simulated habitats.

Sure, I've seen the band Zanadoo perform a few '70s tunes in my day, but do Kodiak bears get down to Roberta Flack? Does the Gila Monster really need any more mojo?

This year I spent a little more time with the animals, and from initial statistics collected in their community "gallop" pole, I discovered they're OK with fundraisers.

As it turns out, they all have expensive tastes.

The California sea lions lay sleeping the entire evening, across from blaring cover bands and the martini bar, but I'm pretty sure I saw one tapping his right flipper.

And what really causes more anxiety for a Greater Kadu: pedestrians in formal wear sucking oysters on the half shell at a kiosk, discussing the latest venture capital deal whilst splashing about in delicate, plastic finger bowls, or a hungry cheetah that has just targeted you for dinner?

For the passive, vegetarian creatures, a zoo is like being in high school with the bully on your side.

Zoo keepers will get the meerkats' lunch money back and there's nothing the hyena can do about it.

Knowing this lessened my distress and helped me enjoy Zoobilation.

I had no problem mixing alcohol and using bushes as "facilities." (It's the zoo, after all.)

Plastic surgery was rampant, and my friends and I pointed it out like we were playing a game of Slug Bug; this proved fun.

It was my first formal date with my boyfriend, and I certainly didn't mind him checking me out. Every couple should dress up together once in a while, even if only to sit on the back porch at home and count stars.

But in the end, I'm a simple person.

I asked of him: 'Will you please return to Morton's booth and get me another beef burgundy?'

His laugh gauged astonishment in how much one little black evening dress can hide.