Positive lemur
◊ Yesterday Dean and I went to a small, local animal prison otherwise known as Happy Hollow. Though I have mixed feelings about keeping animals in captivity so that humans can stare at them, I had long ago discovered with Dan that it is impossible to ignore the lure of capybaras, even if all they do is sit around looking like hairy pigs.
Dean immediately embraced the joys of meerkats, which mostly sit around looking alternately spooked, alert and lazy. I'd tried to describe the way the sentries look out for danger — standing on their hind legs with their forearms plastered to their abdomens, trying to stare intently at, well, everything at once — but I knew that even my most fervent meerkat impression couldn't live up to the real thing.
But it was the lemurs that we really dug. They were in fine form late in the afternoon, doing superhero-style leaps at each other and brawling while hanging upside-down from the netting on top of their enclosure. Small children would spend 30 seconds in front of the viewing window, squealing and pointing, then bolt off to stare at the next cage of sleepy animals. Dean and I marveled at the kids' minimal attention spans. The two of us probably racked up a good 20 minutes watching the lemurs, which are Madagascar's answer to suger-addled seven-year-olds with ADD, and the kids couldn't even wait long enough to see a lemur pissing?
I fear that I have nothing in common with this newest generation.