Kung Fu Panda

          I like animals.

          A lot.

          I don’t like animals in a gross, illegal kind of way, but I’m certainly more fond of them as a group than I am of people.  People are capable of cruelty; animals simply go on instinct.

          Also, I’ll admit I tend to credit animals with human emotions.  I saw a nature documentary not long ago about animals in Antarctica.  At one point, a seal went after a penguin, which kept backing up until it was cornered.  It raised its little appendages (wings? arms? flippers?) and I could imagine its terror right before the seal ate it.  I could even imagine its final thoughts and the horrible sadness of leaving behind a widow and orphan.  I had to change the channel.

          And that’s the problem.  Animals do not have human emotions, even though we think they do.  Thanks to all the anthropomorphized creatures from Disney and Japan, we often personify animals.  Just ask Liu, the 20-year-old college student in China who jumped a zoo barrier to get a hug from a panda.  “Yang Yang was so cute and I just wanted to cuddle him. I didn’t expect he would attack,” the young idiot told reporters from his hospital room.

          Liu isn’t the first person to enter Yang Yang’s enclosure.  In 2007, the panda mauled another visitor who jumped the barrier during feeding time (because if you’re going to do something stupid, you should really go all out).  The previous year, an intoxicated tourist snuck in to hug a sleeping Yang Yang, who returned the affection with his teeth.

          But pandas aren’t the only animals that humans needlessly interact with.  Have you heard of Mowgli?  Jack London?  How about Sandra Piovesan?  Ms. Piovesan kept a pack of wolf-dog hybrids in her backyard.  She fed them road kill; gave them toys; played with them; she even kept one as an indoor pet.  They responded by mauling her to death after ten years.  Talk about ingratitude!

          Like Sandra Piovesan, Timothy Treadwell spent many years living with animals, but he chose bears instead of wolf-dogs.  Tim, a former drug addict (surprise!), spent thirteen summers living among grizzly bears at Katmai National Park in Alaska.  He credited them with his recovery from drug abuse, and now bear therapy is showing promise for millions of addicts who want their limbs strewn around campsites, which is what happened to Tim and his girlfriend, Annie Appetizer.  (It is my sincerest hope that they were both vegetarians.)

          I’m not immune to this stupidity.  Although I wouldn’t dream of trespassing on a bear’s territory or playing Jungle Book with a pack of wolves, I’ve been known to get pretty friendly with squirrels.  I used to lure them close to me with peanuts or grapes or Little Debbie strawberry shortcake rolls and then hand feed them.  This worked really well until 2007, when one of them, apparently, took offense to my Kashi granola bar.  He swatted the food from my hand, walked right up to my shoe, and began hissing.  When I backed away, he came closer.  At one point, he started to climb on my shoe.

          I don’t hand feed squirrels anymore.

          It says a lot about society that people are looking to members of other species for affection and affirmation (and treatment for addiction).  Why couldn’t poor Liu get a hug from another human?  Why do I get teary when I read about animal abuse but not murder?  Why did it take the bears so long to eat Tim?  Maybe we find comfort knowing that animals aren’t capable of intentionally hurting us (emotionally, obviously).  Maybe we’re just attracted to soft furry things, which would explain why no one has ever tried to cuddle a komodo dragon.

          All I know is:  Liu, if you’re reading this and you still need a hug, you’d better find somebody else.  I don’t like human contact.

Tags: animals, bears, panda