Lions and Tigers and Bears!

Yesterday Richard and I brought Willie along on a site visit to the Dutchess County Fairgrounds in Rhinebeck in preparation for the upcoming Country Living Fair.   Streams of melt water from the remaining piles of snow ran toward the drains as Andy, the site manager, led us and the rest of the show production team around the grounds.  It was a bright, blue sky day and Willie, tethered at the end of his lead, sniffed the damp earth and watched geese flying overhead as we humans walked and talked, taking photos and measurements and discussing the position of tents and banners, the placement of sponsors and vendors.

It took a moment for our eyes to adjust as we moved from bright sunlight to the cool, dim interior of the horticulture building loft.  Inside, we were surprised by a collection of stuffed and mounted animals the likes of which I’d never seen outside New York’s Museum of Natural History.  “A taxidermist had a fire in his storage facility and asked if he could keep these things here for a few weeks,” explained Andy, gesturing.  “This will all be gone long before your show.”  I picked Willie up to carry him as we moved further inside and with only a center aisle clear for passage, the loft was literally filled with lions, tigers, and bears in various poses.  There were trophy heads of buffalo and giraffe, of gazelles and warthogs, and there were several vignettes illustrating climactic moments between predator and prey – an alligator with a fawn in its jaws, a roaring lion pinning a hyena with a giant paw.  Suspended in a moment of surprise and wonder, we moved among these things, taking in all the fangs and claws and whiskers, the beautiful smooth and bristly coats, the horns and all the spooky glass eyes.

As we moved further into the loft, surrounded now by all manner of stuffed and startled wildlife, Willie began to cry and tremble in my arms.  Was my twelve-pound pup threatened by all these big, staring predators, or was he disturbed that we were surrounded by so much death?  As my colleagues joked and posed for photos standing beneath snarling bears, convulsive tremors shook Willie’s small body, his crying and shaking continuing even after I covered his eyes with my hand.  When it was clear he couldn’t be comforted, I whispered to Richard, “I’ve got to get him out of here,” and carried Willie back outside into sunlight.

With his feet back on the ground, Willie shook from head to tail as if he’d just been bathed, jingling the metal ID and vaccination tags on his collar.  Then he sat down and stared up at me, tail wagging.  Was he looking for an explanation?  Reassurance?  A treat?  Was the episode, now behind us, already receding into the past, soon to be forgotten?

Or, now that I’d “saved” him, had I become Willie’s hero?