John Paul Jones: When lions and babies speak, everyone listens

CBS television network recently aired a new dramatic series entitled “Zoo.” It’s a sort of crazy mix between science fiction and National Geographic gone mad. The opening scenes take place in a national park in Botswana, Africa, where a score of tourists and guides are dead from lion attacks over a three-day period. Animals worldwide, we are told, both wild and domestic, have found a taste for human blood.

Tension builds from the outset. We see the pack of male lions stalking their victims. We quickly learn that alone or in packs, lions are formidable hunters in their natural habitat, and humans are easy prey.

Thinking of oneself as “prey” is not something anyone would do under normal circumstances, but fleeting glimpses can sometimes occur. I can testify to that from an experience at the Fresno Zoo (as it was known then) many years ago. It was a time well before the zoo developed natural living spaces for the animals, such as the environment built for lions in the African Adventure opening in October. The outdoor enclosures then were cages mounted on concrete platforms exposed to the elements.

The structures on all sides consisted of a heavy gauge chain-link fencing, much like fences seen in neighborhood yards. The thickness of metal required was determined by the size of the animal, and how much danger each posed to the zoo’s visitors. The lion cage was likely of the heaviest gauge on the property.

On my visit that Sunday afternoon, a great many of the other visitors were families. So it was that I found myself standing next to a mother holding an infant in her arms. The child was quiet as mother rocked to and fro, cooing and whispering in his ear. She pointed to the lion, quietly explaining about the king of beasts. We both leaned against the metal rail that separated visitors from the concrete base of the cage.

Inside, a single male lion majestically lay some 40 feet from where we stood. He raised his head and leisurely surveyed the children and adults crowded against the railing. Surely he was accustomed to weekend throngs admiring his regal composure. He was untroubled by our presence, that much was clear.

It was then that the lion tilted his head upward and opened his mouth wide. Like a giant bellows, his powerful chest forced the air up and out, ending in a loud, grumbling, growling roar that shook the air. And like a too-loud bass stereo, I could feel my insides tremble when the sound wave reached them.

That was when the fleeting glimpse occurred.

The physiological changes were obvious; adrenaline flowing, increased heartbeat and deeper breathing. I believe others also felt a gut-level impulse to flee. However, those emotions quickly passed and an occasional sigh of relief could be heard.

With our momentary fear dissipated, we no longer considered ourselves as prey for this big cat. There was one among us, though, who was more honest with his feelings. The baby began bawling loudly even before the first roar ended. The most vulnerable in our midst sounded the alarm, and no matter how much his mother cooed and whispered, he could not stop crying.

There was never any real danger, of course; the lion was securely caged, and besides, he never moved from his imperial resting spot. He continued lounging and roaring, reminding his appreciative audience of his royal presence. We moved on to the next exhibit, but not before quietly acknowledging his sovereignty.

I feel as though I’m invested in the script of this television series, so much so that when I watch the lions stalking a helpless tourist through the tall grass, my heart skips a beat. Even though it is not me on the African plains, I still keep one finger poised on the pause button of my remote – just in case.

This story was originally published September 4, 2015 at 9:28 AM with the headline "John Paul Jones: When lions and babies speak, everyone listens."