Travel

THE BIG FIVE

• Keerti
• 03 September 2023
• 10 Comments

When I look back at my life until now – as I’m about to do – my encounters with animals draw a very clear picture of my weaknesses. PROLOGUE Maybe it was predestined, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I was born into a family with many talents, but a way with animals wasn’t one of them. It’s not that we didn’t have any pets! Even before I could walk, my older siblings’ charges generally met with tragic ends after their brief lives. After giving them to a farmer to look after while we were away on holiday, all that was left of my big sister’s three rabbits were the pelts, hanging from a line in his farmyard (my father argues vehemently to this day that he did not agree to this rather unconventional interpretation of hospitality). The fish in our new aquarium quickly worked out how to play very dead. And Hansi, my sister Steffi’s manic-depressive canary, hanged himself in despair from the bars of his cage. I myself was desperate for a talking parrot who’d stand by me through thick and thin, but sadly it was not to be. Instead my parents gave me first one, then another cockatiel. I called the first one Hugo and the second Adelheid. Although it later turned out that Hugo was probably a girl and Adelheid a boy, the two of them never got around to laying any eggs. Instead they enjoyed snacking on my books and shitting on my head. I liked them. When I was still dreaming of a real parrot. When I was still dreaming of a real parrot. Hugo on my yellow suitcase. Hugo on my yellow suitcase. Hugo isn't alone any more! Hugo isn’t alone any more! ⇐⇒ One fine summer’s day I put the cage out on the balcony rail, as I often did, so that my two feathered friends could get a bit of sun and fresh air. I meant well, you might say. But then, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, disaster struck: when I came back the cage was lying on the floor, broken in two. They’d both scarpered, never to be seen again. I could keep going, telling you stories of ailing mice, gasping guineapigs and other abortive attempts at pet ownership. Of the creeping sense of regret that, after my initial enthusiasm, grew stronger year on year as I stared at the animals at the zoo. But then I’d be getting too far off topic, and somehow I’ve got to find my way back to the subject of this article: a safari. Mit diesem süßen Baby-Elefant leiten wir elegant zum Thema des Berichtes über. It may be that an elephant – to pluck one of the wild animals in this story out of the air at random – has little in common with an ordinary pet, let’s say a goldfish, in terms of care. The same goes for a warthog. Or a crocodile. They don’t want you to feed them or cuddle them. They just do their thing. I get that.