Page 39 of Tiger Queen

I spent the afternoon planning out how I wanted to redesign some of the larger enclosures. How to move the water source so that animal droppings didn’t run down into them, and ways to help rainwater drain better so that it didn’t leave standing water everywhere.

The panther enclosure was the easiest to redesign. There was already a run-off area along the other side of the enclosure, so all I had to do was dam up one part of the water source and it would flow in the other direction. While deciding how to handle the flow on the bottom, I noticed one of the panthers laying on its side underneath a tree. The shade was receding as the sun moved, and the panther was now half in the sunlight.

That was odd. Big cats, especially ones with dark coats, usually repositioned themselves to stay in the shade. As I walked around the far side of the cage I noticed it was the same panther with the visible wound above one eye. Its eyes were closed and its breathing was shallow.

I pulled my walkie-talkie off my belt. “Can I get some help over at the panther enclosure?”

“On my way,” David said.

All Jake said was, “Busy.” Annoyed, I thought about arguing with him and asking what was more important. But I knew that wouldn’t convince him to help, so I decided David and I could do it ourselves.

“I want to move Ernie to the medical office for an examination,” I explained. “We need to move Bert into the temporary pen, then tranq Ernie.”

“On it.” David retrieved a chicken neck from storage and used it to lure Bert over to the temporary pen. During the whole process Ernie barely even looked up. That was a bad sign.

I prepared a syringe of Telazol, an animal sedative, based on Ernie’s last recorded weight. I affixed it to the end of a jab stick, which I could then use to stick him through the enclosure fence. Yet Ernie didn’t respond to my calls and the chicken neck I tossed into the cage. Another bad sign.

There was a dart gun in the utility shed, but I didn’t like using those. They often scared or wounded the animals, especially big cats. Without any other option, I opened the enclosure and carried the jab stick inside.

David followed with a long catchpole. “Want me to take point?”

“I’ve got this. Stay behind me.”

I expected him to argue, but he listened and followed behind.

We approached Ernie’s resting place. His eyes slowly opened, yellow orbs appearing in his deep black fur, and he watched us approach. I circled around to the side, remaining in his vision the entire time. Letting him know I was coming closer.

“Easy there, Ernie,” I said in a calming tone. “We’re going to take care of you. Make sure everything’s alright.”

When I was ten feet away I held my breath, then leaned forward and pressed the pole into his fur. The pressure of the jab depressed the syringe, injecting him with the Telazol. He flinched and snarled, but didn’t leap up and run away the way most cats did. Bad sign number three.

David and I backed away and waited thirty seconds until the drug took affect. A novice vet might not have noticed a difference in the animal, but I could tell that Ernie’s breathing became deeper and the muscles in his legs relaxed.

David drove the Mule into the enclosure and parked it next to Ernie. We put an animal gurney on the ground next to the panther and then slid him onto it.

“Careful with the head,” I warned. “You need to support it or it will flop around.”

David grunted. “He’s got a gash above his eye. It doesn’t look so good.”

“Yep.”

Ernie weighed over two hundred pounds. David offered to call Anthony for help, but I insisted I could do it. My thighs strained and I trembled as I stood up, but I was able to successfully lift my end of the gurney up and onto the back of the Mule.

“Your form could use some work,” David said as we drove him to the medical building. “Next time take a deep breath, then lock your core. That way you use your legs more than your back.”

I smirked at him. “You sound like you know what you’re doing. You ought to open a gym or something.”

Unloading the animal into the medical building was tougher because we had to carry him fifty feet up the ramp, through the door, and into the examination room.

David watched as I treated the animal. First I weighed him—two hundred and four pounds, which was ten pounds lighter than the last record. Then I used a razor to shave away the fur around Ernie’s wound. As I had expected, the skin was bright red.

“His wound is infected,” I told David.

“Shit. Is that bad?”

“It would have been if we didn’t catch it.”

Next I cut away the scab with a scalpel, then washed the exposed area with a saline solution. I applied an ointment and then covered the wound with an animal bandage. Ernie’s body rose and fell as he breathed deeply, totally unconscious.