Institutionalized

Believe what you want. These walls are funny. First you hate ’em, then you get used to ’em. After long enough, you get so you depend on ’em. That’s “institutionalized.” — Ellis Boyd “Red” Redding (below)

Red

I’ve never been in prison, but Red’s words can’t be far off the mark. Confinement will have some effect on the confined. Red was referring to humans but I think the same can be said of wild animals who are put in zoos.

A zoo, for all the wonder it generates in children, is nothing more than a prison for our furry, scaly, or feathered friends. Now, I’m not going to go as far as some and suggest that they be outlawed, but last time I visited one, it was depressing.

Check out this vid taken at the National Zoo in Washington D.C.

In the wild, this deer would be lunch for this lioness. Yet, because she’s been fed like a house cat and not allowed to chase live prey, this lioness can’t even put an end to Bambi and thus enjoy her first kill in who knows how long. The deer did eventually die from its wounds, but I doubt that the carcass was fed to the real-life Naala.

You can hear the crowd cheering for the deer but if yours truly had been there, I would have been the only one rooting for the lioness.

About the only thing “wild” that lives on in this lioness is the reluctance to jump into deep water.

Like Brooks, who Red is describing, it’s safe to say this magnificent lioness has been institutionalized.

Here’s the story the vid came from:

Tragic end for the zoo deer who leapt into a lion enclosure

Mr. Buck Meets a Grisly End

Yesterday, my wife took our son to Bear Creek Park to visit some of the animals kept there. Afterwards she related to me that there was a big hubbub there complete with sheriff deputies and the local media’s satellite vans. She didn’t know what all the fuss was bout, well last night watching the local news, we found out.

One of the deer kept there was brutally killed by a trespasser. The buck (below)mr-buck, who went by the name “Mr. Buck”, was not afraid of human beings and unfortunately, this contributed to his death.

Allegedly, Monday night some troubled individual broke into Buck’s enclosure and decapitated the 8 to 10-pointer, presumably to mount the head. Here’s the story from the Houston Chronicle,

Houston park visitors, workers mourn decapitated deer

I’m not a hunter, though if invited, I wouldn’t mind going deer hunting. Obviously what this person did was not hunting, though I know there are many (like the folks at PETA) who don’t see a difference between what happened to Mr. Buck and what happens to some deer who every year find themselves at the wrong end of someone’s .30-30.

While I appreciate and agree with the outrage towards the manner of Mr. Buck’s unfortunate demise, I cannot help but think that the only folks who have a real gripe are those who don’t eat meat and/or consider the consumption of meat as some sort of affront towards Mother Gaia or some other pagan deity or deities.

Seriously though, those of us who enjoy a good steak: Let’s temper our outrage with a little introspection.

How do we think that smoked sirloin (medium) at TXLC gets to play Batman to that loaded baked potato’s Robin?

The folks at slaughterhouse certainly don’t sweet talk the cows to death, now do they?

Smithers, Release the Hounds

The execution of Mr. Burns’ (right) famous command spells certain doom to any interloper foolishly attempting to storm his palatial estate.

Especially when said interloper is one Homer J. Simpson.

However I don’t think that Mr. Burns’ hounds would be very intimidating to the deer in the following story:

Pictured: The orphan deer adopted by a pack of bloodthirsty fox hounds

From the story,
The pack immediately accepted the lost fallow deer when they found him shivering by the Thompsons’ front gate just an hour after he had been born.

Rather than being overwhelmed by the attention of such a large pack of dogs, from the Chiddingfold, Leconfield and Cowdray hunt, the confused little fawn thought he’d found his family.
Here’s a pic of the honorary hound,

One only hopes that the hounds don’t come to their “senses” and rip the poor deer to shreds.