Few members of the animal kingdom are nobler than the hippopotamus, that valiant champion of great African rivers. This oft-misunderstood creature is possibly the most powerful and ferocious species to be found in the bestiary of the great savannas, more dangerous than any croc or glorified housecat.
As such, I found it inexplicable, during a recent visit to the National Zoo, that the curators of said establishment would confine their two prime specimens of this glorious race to a tepid kiddy pool, with foul bits of leafage scattered about as the sole available foodstuffs. To add insult to injury, the walls of the hippopotami cell were painted to resemble a majestic vista of the Congo, making a mockery of the proud giants confined within.
Or maybe I just couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge that, despite my willful delusions, hippos really aren’t so sexy after all. The stupid things just chilled out underwater like a couple of muddy boulders hung over after a wild night at the watering hole. Even more depressing was the pygmy hippo, whose existence I had been blissfully unaware of, up until that unfortunate moment. It wasn’t so much an animal as a seaworthy lump of dung. Not even the machinations of a backstabbing, thieving elephant determined to hoard the precious hay of its brethren for itself, amusing in a “ha ha, I’m so much smarter than this dumb critter” way, could soothe my disappointment in the Large Mammal House.
My faith in the power of the National Zoo sank even further when I found that while the zoo possesses an ample collection of Golden Lion Tamarins and a breed of squirrels affectionately dubbed “the Nut Seekers,” the small furry animal division overlooks the greatest marsupial in existence: the slow loris.
Slow lori are a sort of bush baby derivative native to the Pacific Islands? Madagascar? I don’t know. No creature is chiller. When provoked they will spring into spastic overdrive, but mostly they just kick back and listen to the sweet music of the Indonesian gamelan. Because I’ve been labeled as a slow loris far too many times to count in the “what animal does this dude look like” game, I feel a special attachment to the species. While I have gazed upon the visage of many slow lori captured on film, I have yet to experience one in the flesh.
Of all the zoos in the United States, one would think that the National Zoo, theoretically the premier animalistic conservatory in all the land, would have a slow loris on display. But alas, the zoo became just one more slip down the slope towards jaded, venal corruption in the four-year loss of innocence that is Georgetown University. Maybe if I try hard enough, I’ll be able to pretend that the black squirrels terrorizing Copley Lawn are hipper than any stupid zoo things.
