Max's story

Max had an owner. Like most dogs, he adored his owner and would do whatever he could to be with him, wherever he was. His owner lived alone and worked in an office within reasonable walking distance of his home. Although never actually being allowed to enter the office, Max would accompany his owner to the office door and sit outside until “home time” when he would then make the journey home at his master’s side. Sounds like a fairly normal dog/human relationship doesn’t it? Well, yes it does until you see the following photograph of the dog!
 

Max had a tumour in his head which you will see from the photograph was almost the same size as his actual head. The “owner” had carried on his normal routine whilst the tumour had grown, taken over one complete side of the head and face, forced an eye out of its socket and eventually started breaking through the skin. It doesn’t take any great effort to imagine the horrific pain and suffering Max was going through. Not once did the owner do anything to help him, no visit to the vets, no pain killers, no medication, no treatment at all. The poor animal was left to continue life as best he could.

 

Max lived in Beirut, Lebanon and I leave it to you to decide if because of the security situation in Lebanon, the political unrest, the daily hardship experienced by the people and the already large number of animals living on the streets, if this could be considered any kind of mitigation on behalf of the owner for his dreadful neglect of Max.

 

The group I work with in Lebanon, Beirut for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (BETA) were contacted by a concerned resident when they had seen Max on a number of occasions walking on his own to the office in the mornings and returning to the house again on his own in the late afternoon. BETA volunteers went to investigate, not of course expecting to find anything like what they found when they saw Max. Not only was his dreadful condition apparent but it transpired that due to the security situation in Beirut, the owner had moved out of town and left Max behind. So, the ever faithful Max trotted up and down the streets morning and evening, looking for and waiting for his master. Never able to get into the office or the home, foraging for food and water where he could, and suffering abuse from people who didn’t like dogs anyway and certainly didn’t like anything that looked like Max.

 

BETA approached Max and he happily went with them to their shelter/clinic where the vet very quickly made an assessment that the poor dog was in great pain and clearly the tumour was inoperable. He was hardly able to walk properly and his head was always hanging down and to one side. It was just not possible for him to carry his head in the normal position.

 

Max was of course given sleep as quickly and as peacefully as possible.

 

Tinsel’s story

 

 

Tinsel is a donkey, born in the Holy Land in Jordan. During a visit to Jordan in December, just before Christmas I was travelling along one of the long hot dusty desert roads when I spotted what I though was the body of yet another dead dog, run over by the speeding traffic.

 

This would not be unusual in Jordan or indeed many parts of the Middle East. Stray dogs are a huge problem in the region, not only for the people but for the dogs themselves of course. It is a very hard life for a stray dog in the deserts. In addition to the very obvious problems concerning availability of food and water, they also have to deal with the inherent dislike of dogs by the local population which can and does include shooting and poisoning but also the traffic on the busy roads which has little compassion for a stray dog hugging the sides of the roads looking for food.

 

Given the number of bodies I have become used to seeing, I merely slowed down to see if there were any signs of life and immediately realised that what I was looking at was a baby donkey. She was clearly still alive and very distressed, so of course I pulled over to see what had happened and to see if I would be able to help.

 

I was horrified by what I saw, this little donkey which was only about 3 weeks old was covered in cuts around the bulk of its little body and had a large piece of wood protruding from its vagina. The donkey was very weak but still able to move around.

 

Much to the surprise of my driver, I scooped Tinsel (well it was nearly Christmas!) up in my arms and gently put her on the back seat of our car. The driver looked at me as if I had gone totally mad. We drove her to the shelter of the Jordanian animal welfare group which I was working with at the time.

 

On arrival at the shelter, the manager and the veterinarian came to meet me and immediately took Tinsel away for assessment and treatment. It was touch and go for a while with the major problems being infection at the rear end and the associated shock. Following a general aesthetic, the wood was removed along with a number of awful looking splinters but it was clear that the infection was going to be a cause for concern. The other cuts on her body were superficial and looked much worse than they actually were and were relatively easily cleaned up.

 

I had to return to the UK at this point and I was very unhappy about leaving this little donkey (which I had become very attached to – surprise, surprise, says Yvonne) behind but she was in good hands.

 

I did of course receive regular reports from Jordan about Tinsel and she was making a remarkable recovery. I was back in Jordan early in January and it was just fantastic to see her up on her feet, eating and drinking and one happy little donkey.
 

Whilst I was in Jordan this time, the centre was visited by a member of the Jordanian Royal Family who kept a number of horses and had rescued several from the animal welfare shelter previously. This lady saw Tinsel and just took her home with her.

 

I still visit Jordan fairly regularly and never leave without making a visit to see Tinsel who has grown well, is very happy, and very naughty. Really the perfect little donkey!

 

It does of course lead one to wonder how many instances like this must happen weekly or daily and how many animals are left to suffer following this kind of abuse. Tinsel had a dreadful start to her young life but is now probably one of the luckiest donkeys in the Middle East.

 

Donkey’s generally have a bit of a tough time in this part of the world. Many of them are still used as draught animals as well as personal transportation. So they are truly working animals. There is sadly a lack of respect for the donkey and although you can pay a significant amount of money (by local comparison) for a good animal, they are still generally treated as something stupid and of little value. They are worked extremely hard and sometimes just cast out when they can no longer perform their tasks. Here in the UK it can be difficult to find a donkey to keep as a pet or companion. In the Middle East where I work, you can find them foraging along the roadside or wandering aimlessly around a refuge site.

 

Part of what I do is education of the local communities in recognising the value of a healthy happy animal and to be sensitive to the needs of the animals involved. Working on the premise that once people understand that donkeys are sentient beings just like us, that they will then relate to them in a more sympathetic and understanding way.

Jacob’s Story

Jacob is a Belgian Shepherd Dog (Groenendael) and I met him on the road near an ancient city called Hama in Syria. At the time, he was about 12-18 months old judging by his teeth and his general build and demeanour.

 

Jacob was trying very hard to make his way along a narrow country road between the OrontesRiver and Hama town. His problem as you will see from the photograph was that he had a badly fractured humerus in his right foreleg. The break had been so bad that a large amount of flesh was missing from his leg and the bone was protruding out through the front of the leg itself. Perhaps because of the manner of the break or the pain cause by bending the leg, he was unable to carry it in the way a dog with an injured leg might normally do so. i.e. bent at the elbow and carpus.  So Jacob was basically hopping up the road on three legs with his broken leg kept straight and dragging along the road.

 

This was awful enough to see but when I realised that this was not a recent injury and that clearly the only treatment provided for him was a dirty bandage which had been tied around the open fracture and which had subsequently slipped to below the point of the break. There was clearly a very unpleasant infection in the wound which was currently being attacked by a number of maggots.

 

You will see from the photo that Jacob was not over impressed with being approached or touched and clearly was not going to thank me for helping him. Oh well – it was a Belgian after all…  Somehow I had to try and work out how I could pick him up, get him in the car, and keep him calm until I could get him to a vet and all without hurting him any further. Dream on!!   

 

After a little bribery (half of my packed lunch), and a considerable amount of baby talk, he let me touch him and I managed to get my first good look at his leg. Yuk!!  Try and touch the leg? He didn’t seem to appreciate that and I was getting concerned that we were both about to be heading to hospital. Anyway, I did eventually manage to get this little fellah to let me carefully pick him up with the help of a Syrian I was working with. Needless to say, you can guess who got the sharp end! But I managed to get him on the back seat of the car, lying on his “good” side with a cushion under his broken leg.

 

Just as I was about to close the back door, I saw 3 rather large hairy looking thugs heading towards me and I could tell by their faces and the loudness of their voices that they were not happy bunnies. There was a serious amount of yelling between my Syrian colleague and the 3 gorillas who were apparently not happy that I was trying to steal their dog.

 

The three men were from a gypsy encampment about a mile away which presumably is where poor little Jacob was trying to get to. I asked them what had happened to the dogs’ leg and after being told to mind my own business in terms that maybe only some of you can relate to, they told me in the end that he had been kicked and beaten by a rival “tribe”!!. They were even less polite when I asked why Jacob had not received any veterinary care and I thought I was about to be decapitated when I suggested I should take him. So, after risking life and limb to so carefully get Jacob into the car, I had to stand and watch whilst they hauled him out again like some used rag. They tied a belt from one of their jeans around his neck and off they went. I felt totally inadequate, somewhat of a coward, and so sad to watch Jacob being tugged away.

 

But as you have probably already guessed, the story doesn’t end there. Otherwise, I would still have been inadequate, a coward, and sad (and wouldn’t be telling you the story). 

 

Jacob was on my mind all evening, all night and the following morning I was again resolved to do something for him. So, despite much flapping of the arms and incomprehensible Arabic from my Syrian chum, we headed off to the gypsy camp after breakfast. 

 

Well, they were clearly pleased to see us which was presumably why they all came out to the car and encircled us! My Syrian friend obviously thought this was something I could handle much better on my own as he opted to remain in the vehicle with the engine running. Nice!!   Anyway, through some very broken English discussion and a large amount of creeping on my part, I managed to persuade them to sit down and help me with a bottle of scotch which I just happened to find in my back pack. Lucky eh??

 

I asked to see Jacob and they went and got him without any fuss. No change in the dog, he was just as I last saw him. My request to let me take the dog to the vets was met with silence and one of the men grabbing the bottle of whisky. My request to sell me the dog was met with the bottle being passed to me and a large grin!!  I didn’t “really” want to buy the dog as this was against all of my ethics. They would obviously just get another dog and look after it just as well as they did Jacob. However, this was a suffering animal, more than that - it was a dog, more than that even, it was a Belgian Shepherd! I already knew that approaching the local authorities was pointless as these people were not breaking any laws or regulations.  So, I bought him and whisked him off to a trusted vet.

 

Sadly as you probably guessed there was not much they could do for Jacob’s leg other than to remove it so that’s what we did. I stayed with him during his recovery from the surgery and was there for him when he came around and woke up. If I was the soppy, sentimental, bunny-hugging type, I could swear that he recognised me as the person trying to help him which was why as I sat on the floor in his pen, he put his head in my lap and went back to sleep. But of course, I’m not!  It was at this point that I started thinking about how I might transport Jacob back to the UK. Then I had this sudden vision of Yvonne’s face, a rather large rolling pin and kind of come to my senses! Besides, I guess the divorce would have cost me more than the dog and the veterinary care anyway. 

 

Jacob recovered well from his trauma and on a very happy note; he was adopted by one of the staff from the veterinary clinic I took him to.

 

I returned to Syria in May and of course went to visit Jacob and he was still doing fine. I was very moved because when he saw me, he gave a wonderful Belgian “grin” and dashed across the floor like some kind of motorised tripod and when I got down on my knees to greet him, his one remaining front leg was wrapped around my neck and shoulders in what can only be described as a huge hug.  

 

I only have 2 regrets (1) I never took my camera on the second visit so didn’t get a photo of him when he was looking better and (2) I didn’t just bring him back anyway and chuck him in with the Grondemon’s and hope her indoors didn’t notice one little extra black dog!

Vader's Story

Vader is a beautiful young male horse who is healthy, friendly, and happy. But it hasn’t always been that way for Vader and although for him, hopefully the bad times are just a memory, for many others, the unacceptable conditions in which they live still continue.

 

When I first met Vader at a “Horses for hire” ranch near Tel Aviv in Israel, he didn’t look like this and he was not very friendly with people, which I think was understandable given the way he was being cared for.

He was depressed, skinny, lame, and really quite poorly.

I was with a colleague from WSPA in Israel and had just finished working with a Palestinian group in the West Bank. This group were doing a fantastic job vaccinating and treating sick and injured donkeys near Bethlehem and throughout the Palestinian territories. We had completed 3 days in the field and were now heading from Jerusalem back to Tel Aviv where we were to meet with one of the local animal welfare organisations which we are funding to carry out the rescue and rehabilitation of donkeys and horses throughout Israel.

 

We met with our contact in a small village just south of Tel Aviv where his rescue centre is located and although we had quite a busy agenda with him; his first words were “can we talk on the road as I have a rescue to make”. Clearly, although our meeting was important, we did not want to interfere with his routine or indeed his even more important work rescuing equine animals.

 

Once we were under way, he told us that he was contracted by the government to confiscate 13 horses from premises which had been under investigation for some weeks by the Ministry of Agriculture. Although the police were to meet him on site and they had secured 2 horse transportation vehicles, they had little if any experience in handling horses and our contact was quite clearly expected to manage this alone. But, you guessed it – we were suddenly enlisted as un- paid labour and were about to get involved in moving 13 horses from their stables, into 2 lorries, driving them to the rescue centre, unloading them, and getting them into a holding paddock. Does that sound easy?  If so, you have not met my dear friend Vader!

 

Vader was one of 22 horses which the owner of the premises hired to people for whatever reason they might need a horse. This could be for riding of course but could equally be for pulling a cart, farm equipment, local village equivalent of the Grand National, or perhaps for entertaining the children. 13 of the horses which included 2 foals had been identified for confiscation and the others, which were deemed as “OK” by the authorities, were to remain with the owner. Needless to say, the owner of the horses was not very happy to see us and met us at the gate with what looked like a couple of volunteer heavies. Confronted however by the three of us, the 2 drivers of the horse transporters, and 2 heavily armed police officers, they had little choice but to cooperate.

 

Our initial look around the so called stables and at the condition of some of the horses was quite awful. The smell coming from the waste and old straw which was knee-deep in places was overwhelming. I could only assume that those people who actually hired these animals were never permitted to enter the stable area or got such a cheap deal, the state of the horses or their environment did not matter to them. Most of the horses we were authorised to confiscate where similar to Vader, i.e. sick or injured, under weight, and very depressed. Not to mention being filthy and smelly. The mares which had the foals did not appear too bad but we assumed this was merely because they were providing the owner with additional stock and perhaps therefore warranted food and veterinary care. To think that people were actually hiring some of these animals to work made my blood run cold and in my opinion should have joined the owner of the stables in court.

 

We identified the animals which we were to take and began the process of deciding which to load first and how we should go about this exercise. At this point, Vader was in a stable on his own with his rear end pointing towards us and with his head facing the corners of the stable and hung very low. The noise he made when I entered his stable and the look he gave me was more like a brief encounter with Satan rather than a horse, so I tactically withdrew to the safety of the stable corridor!

 

We elected to lead one of the mare’s with a foal onto the lorry first and although she was not totally happy with us entering her stable, once we were in and had a lead on the foal, she was happy to follow. We made the mistake of trying to load her onto the lorry first and her hind legs almost decapitated my colleague. Then we had the bright idea of getting the foal up the ramp and into the rear of the lorry first. Sounds like a good plan – but the baby kicked and wriggled like an eel and mum was getting more and more agitated. So, in the end we picked the foal up like a large dog with one of us at each end. So, the foal was on and to our satisfaction, mum came up the ramp unaided and stood calmly next to her foal. She did give us a look which reminded me of the first time I tried to get one of my Belgians to stand nicely in the ring. But, we soon had the pair of them confined in their section of the vehicle. Phew! Two down and only 11 to go.

 

Most of the others were loaded without too much difficulty onto the 2 vehicles. Some of them need a little persuasion as in ropes passed around the rear end to provide some leverage up the ramp but in general the loading went well. We learned our lesson well with the first mare and foal and the second combination went according to plan. I actually thought these 13 animals would be so pleased to get away from the stables that they would dash up the ramp and be happy to get into their allocated areas. But you know what they say about working with animals and children!

 

We now had 12 horses loaded safely and we were really hot, sweaty, tired, and visualising a nice long cold pint of Fosters lager!  However, we still had Vader to deal with. We had left him until last as he was quite clearly in no mood to be forced into anything and we didn’t want to upset the other animals. But, he had to go, so we returned to his stable where he was muttering and huffing like some confined demon. We entered his stable with ropes, leads, head collars, and trembling knees. With me trying to distract Vader with indescribable noises and hand signals, my colleague did his best to get a head collar onto the horse. Suddenly the stable was full of black limbs lashing out and flying around the ever decreasing room in the stable, teeth flashing and snarling, and a noise which sounded a little like the girl who was possessed in the Exorcist when she was levitating at about 10ft and screaming venom at those trying to help her. Without saying a word, we found ourselves back in the corridor having a major re-think about our plans. How on earth anyone ever managed to hire this horse and get him to work was totally beyond me – perhaps they didn’t!

 

This is the point where everything changed and for some unknown and unexplainable reason, Vader decided to wander over to the stable door and huff some kind of horsey bad breath down the back of my neck. Our initial reaction was to duck and jump like a couple of giant toads out of the way and that did nothing to reassure our equine charge who was quite startled by our reaction.

 

I decided to pass the various ropes and gadgets I was holding to my colleague and walked again to the stable door. Vader carefully approached, still huffing and puffing and twitching his to lip in a kind of snarly grin. I didn’t know whether to move away again or if it was his intention to bite or head-but me. In the end, he deemed to calmly hang his head over the stable door and stared straight at me. Oh well, in for a penny – in for a pound, I confidently (that’s what you think) put my hand onto his forehead, between his eyes and gently rubbed up and down whilst trying to stop my knees rattling on his stable door. He just stood there and looked. He stood there quite calmly whilst I slipped the head collar over his head and into place and managed to clip the lead onto the collar. Got you!!  I thought. Yeah right!

 

With Vader’s new found peace and our new found confidence we carefully opened the stable door to take the lead. He immediately reared up on his hind legs and lashed out at us with his fore legs and then kind of ran backwards on his hind legs to the rear corner of the stable. Hmmmm!  I suddenly remembered my dart rifle with which I could load up a pleasant little surprise for Vader, and pop him off to sleep in his stable. Quite how I would then have got him from the stable to the transporter was another story but given that the rifle was in my safe in London, it didn’t really matter anyway.

 

Then just as suddenly as he reared up, Vader was calm again and I made a further attempt at moving towards him. Incredibly, he stood still and calm and I managed to hook his lead from the floor and into my hands. He just stood there as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and we managed to lead him from his stable to the rear of the transporter with very little effort and no further incidents.  You just know what happened when we tried to walk him up the ramp so I won’t go into detail. Just take the above scenarios, multiply by 10 and add about 45 minutes. Many attempts to “encourage” him into the transporter eventually resulted in him cooperating and we finally had him penned, safe and secure.

 

We transported the 2 lorry loads of horses back to the rescue centre and almost without incident, managed to off load them all into a corral for eventual assessment.  The mothers and babies were moved into separate stabling areas and for the time being, the others would remain in the corral together until the veterinary assessment had taken place and they could be moved to the appropriate areas within the rescue centre for treatment. Vader came off the lorry and down the ramp like a steam train which believe it or not was much easier to deal with than getting him on board.

 

I had 4 days left in Israel and I went to visit Vader every day until I had to return home. Like the others, Vader was assessed by the vet the day after we brought him to the rescue centre. He was diagnosed as being grossly under weight, a ligament injury to one leg, various sores and lacerations, and a large dose of worms.

 

Vader seemed to interact with the other adult horses well and was quite obviously enjoying his own food, minerals, water, and personal care. To my great delight he would allow me to come into his stable, brush him, feed him, and of course cuddle him. As usual, I wondered how I might get him home to Lincolnshire and then smiled at my own inability to do my job without wanting to take everything home with me.

 

Well, I was back in Israel in June this year and there he was:

His care and treatment were both having the desired effect and he looked like a completely different animal. He had put on weight, was walking well and seemed relaxed and happy. He was still under veterinary care and therefore could not be moved or rehomed for the time being but that was good for me as I was able to see him again.

 

Sadly, the owner of the horses managed to convince the courts to allow him to have some of them returned. Others which had detailed veterinary and welfare issues highlighted in court were removed permanently and could be offered for rehoming. Vader is one of these and I so much hope that he finds a good home and someone to love him.

Marjan’s Story

 

 

It was about minus 25 degrees Celsius when I landed in Kabul, Afghanistan and I had been flying for what felt like a lifetime on an ex soviet transporter cargo plane from Turkmenistan. (Don’t even think about trying it). Although myself and my colleague were privileged enough to be offered seats in the cockpit with the pilot and co-pilot, it was still a little like stepping back in time about 70 years, with all kinds of cables and pipes flying around and the noise was probably comparable to having your head in a spin dryer.

 

 We arrived in the middle of January responding to a call for help from veterinarians in Afghanistan who had lost all of their drugs and equipment during raids by the Taliban and were unable to treat the various animals which the small communities depended upon. In addition to this, we had received very recent news that as the Taliban were fleeing Kabul pending the arrival of the coalition armed forces, they indiscriminately bombed Kabul zoo and there were reportedly a number of dead and injured animals. This was done merely as a means of intimidating the Afghan people as the zoo was a very popular venue.

 

Myself and my colleague, a vet from the WSPA office in London were an advanced party ahead of the veterinary aid which was actively being gathered in London ready for air despatch to Kabul. Our job was to assess the needs and be ready to distribute the aid once it arrived.

 

We initially met with Ministry of Agriculture vets and with local community chiefs and were shown a number of villages where veterinary clinics had been looted by the Taliban with very little remaining. In some cases even the electrical power sockets on the walls had been taken.

 

We very quickly worked out where the first batch of aid needed to go and exactly what the aid should consist of. Then we went off and bought about 30 lorry loads of animal fodder so that at least some of the sheep, goats, horses and donkeys could eat.  A few days later, the plane landed with our veterinary medicines and equipment and we had some very grateful Afghan vets.

 

Whilst we were awaiting the arrival of the veterinary supplies we decided to undertake a needs assessment of the zoo. I was shocked when we arrived to find a number of dead animals still laying where they fell and many dying and injured animals that the three keepers were doing their best to care for without any veterinary treatments and very little food. There were enclosures which had been hit by grenades and mortars which were now insecure and the animals were missing, dead, or cowering in what remained of their homes.

 

The zoo was never very good anyway but now is resembled a pile of rubble and twisted metal with so much misery and suffering. We set to work immediately of course and we estimated that of a population of around 120 animals and birds at the zoo, about 40 remained alive and about half of those were injured. Most of the badly injured we had to euthanize but we were able to treat a number of others. Fortunately for us, some of those were so badly traumatised that we were able to treat them without much resistance.

Our work over the next few days was all about stabilising the injured animals, providing food for all of them, securing (as best we could) some of the enclosures which still housed animals, and disposing of the dead.

 

Then I met Marjan.

 

Majran was a male lion who was living alone in his enclosure which appeared to be relatively undamaged. His keeper was a wonderful Afghani called Omar. Omar asked me to go into the enclosure with him to meet Marjan. I kind of snorted, coughed, looked around me and thought – yeh right, let’s just wander in here, say good morning, and hope Marjan has already eaten! Not bloody likely mate!

 

I could see (from the outside) that Marjan was very old and he appeared to be lame and rather unsteady. Omar went into the enclosure, put his arm around the lion’s neck and was saying something into Marjans ear. Omar waved at me to go and join him and despite all of my instincts (and the strong signals being sent to me from the pit of my stomach), in I went. When I approached Marjan, I could see that he was blind and that his face had suffered some kind of injury, as well as what was obviously once a badly damaged foreleg. He was also very thin, weak, and uncoordinated. My vet came and joined us and whilst Omar and I tried to keep the lion calm and relaxed, the vet carried out his assessment of Majran.

 

Given the information we had already obtained from Omar, and what was gained from the vet, we were able to estimate Marjan as being around 32 years old. This in itself was quite incredible as the normal lifespan for a lion in the wild is 12-16 years and probably around 25 years in captivity. So, this was one old boy!  He had somehow survived in Kabul zoo through 2 civil wars and the recent shelling by the Taliban. However, he almost met his end a couple of years before we arrived in Kabul. Two young Taliban fighters who were apparently brothers visited the zoo and went to see Marjan and his mate who were in the same enclosure at that time. One of the brothers decided to prove how manly he was and climbed into the enclosure and walked towards the female. Majran who was still relatively able to move around then, pounced on him, killed him, and before any real help could turn up, had eaten parts of the body.

 

The brother of course wanted the lion killed there and then but the witness statements saved Marjan’s life. However, 2 days later he returned to the zoo and lobbed a hand-grenade into the lion’s enclosure, killing the female and badly injuring Marjan. As a result of the blast, Marjan had lost his sight in both eyes, his jaw was badly smashed and many of his teeth were blown out. In addition to this he had shrapnel wounds to much of his body and one foreleg in particular.

 

He should almost certainly have been euthanized there and then but Omar the keeper would not permit this and insisted the lion was treated. Although that did of course happen, Marjan would never be the same again and even when I appeared in Kabul 2 years later, the poor thing was still suffering a great deal. This coupled with his very old age and the problems with his internal organs as diagnosed by my vet, Marjan was a very sad and sorry sight.

 

The vet wanted to end Marjan’s suffering but I knew that Omar would never agree to this as he loved the old lion so much. So, trying as I should, to put my concern for the welfare of the animal over the feelings of the man, I decided to discuss this with the zoo Director first. This was a bit of a mistake because he categorically refused us permission to euthanize Marjan because he was so important to the zoo and everyone loved him!!  Really difficult situation and not something we could “officially” do much about. However, we decided that if Omar would agree, we would do it anyway.

 

It fell on me to try and persuade Omar that this was the right thing to do. So, later that day when we were visiting Marjan, I walked Omar away from the lion and we sat down on the ground together to talk. He broke down and cried like a baby and whilst actually on his knees, begged me not to do this thing to his “brother”.   Well, you know me; hard as nails, strong as an ox, no emotions what so ever……!   What was I supposed to do?  No way, could I hurt this man and no way was I going to kill that lion.  When I told the vet, he growled at me, like vets do, rolled his eyes towards the sky, and asked “why do I always have to travel with you?”

 

Plan “B” involved a giant mincing machine, a paraffin heater, and some pills.

 

I could see that Marjan with his broken jaw and missing teeth was struggling to eat his meat, whether that was carcasses from other zoo animals, local chickens, or meat from the market. He was chewing in one small part of his mouth and even that was clearly painful. Enter, one large meat mincing machine purchased from the local market. It was a fantastic sight to see Marjan slurp down his first meal of finely minced chicken and steak much to the amazement and amusement of Omar.

 

I looked around Marjan’s cave and it was as you would expect; very cold and damp and was clearly not doing much for the lion’s limbs or general health. As if by magic appeared the paraffin heather (purchased from the same market). It took us a while (and several more growls from the vet) to erect a secure barrier which would prevent Marjan from getting to the heater, but it did the trick and we would light that in the evenings before he went to bed.

 

As for the pills; well the vet was not keen to give Marjan pills but they did help with his digestion and internal problems and the threat of me turning one grumpy vet into feed for the rest of the poor creatures in that zoo did the trick.

 

Here was a turning point. The vet warned me that what I was doing by changing the lions diet, cave temperature, and medication would probably through kindness kill him. I gulped, looked at Marjan and then towards Omar, and I thought “would that be such a bad thing?”  He was nearly dead anyway and would already be by now if the vet had his way. So perhaps a few days or weeks of kindness was the right thing to do even if it did accelerate the natural end just a little.

 

Sure enough, 5 days later, Omar and I went down to Marjan’s enclosure one morning and found that he was not in the compound and still in his cave area. He always came out of the cave when the sun came up as he loved to sunbathe and feel the warmth on his body. When we went into the cave, the lion was lying on the floor. He turned his head and saw us and tried to get up. He fell over with a thud, huffed a huge sigh and was trying once again. We got to him and managed to get him to stay still. I stroked his head and called him a stupid old sod. Omar sat looking at Marjan as if he knew what was coming. So, we sat there, me stroking a lion, Omar praying until this magnificent animal died at our side.

 

I cried then and so did Omar. I realised that this wonderful animal, this king of the jungle, had survived so many things but could not beat old age. I hugged Omar and he hugged me but neither of us could speak.

 

 

The lion bred by human hand

With instincts wild and bold

Subdued whilst in captivity

But proud whilst young and old

Humiliated, hurt and sad

He draws a final breath

Freedom finds this noble king

Finally in death

 

 

Trevor P Wheeler