Tiger's Curse

by Collen Houck

  It was a beautiful morning. The woods were fragrant, and the dogs were very happy, jumping about and pulling me in every direction but the one I wanted to go. They kicked up rustling pine needles and leaves,

  exposing bare brown soil as they sniffed every square inch of the terrain. Pine needles were often used as

  mulch because there was some kind of chemical they produced as they decomposed that seeped into the ground and prevented grass and weeds from growing, but the dogs still managed to find things that captured their interest anyway and dug enthusiastically in the bare dirt.

  I grinned at them. Feeling their excitement made me feel energetic too. We started walking around the big buildings and then set out on the long dirt path that circled the fairground. I asked Mr. Davis, “Do you

  mind if I ask you some questions about your tiger?”

  “Not at all. Ask away.”

  “Well, Matt said that you guys didn’t know much about the history of the tiger. I’m curious, how did you

  acquire the animal?”

  He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin and said, “Well, our resident tiger came to us when Mr.

  Maurizio purchased it from another small circus. He wanted to liven up the acts. He figured that I worked

  well with other animals, so why not tigers. We were very naïve. It usually requires extensive training to work with the big cats. Mr. Maurizio was insistent that I try. Fortunately for me, our tiger isvery tractable.”

  “How is it, working with tigers?”

  “Well, I wasextremely unprepared to take on an animal of that size. I stayed and traveled with the other circus for a while. Their trainer taught me how to handle a tiger, and I learned how to care for it. Lucky for me, the big cat was even tempered and seemed to like working with me. We hit it off.”

  “Is it ever aggressive?”

  “It’s never tried to harm me, but that doesn’t mean that we should ever let our guard down. Vigilance is the key with the big cats, but, to tell you the truth, our tiger seems bored with me most of the time.”

  “Hmm…what do tigers eat?”

  “Normally?’

  I nodded.

  “A tiger in the wild would hunt deer, buffalo, wild pigs, antelope, and monkeys, and if it gets a chance, it

  would even try to take down a young rhino or elephant. You might even catch a tiger eating frogs, crabs, fish, lizards, or pythons.”

  “Do they eat a lot?”

  “A fully grown cat can eat up to seventy pounds of meat in one sitting, but fifteen to twenty pounds a day

  is about the average, which translates into roughly five percent of their body weight. Tigers in the wild spend most of their energy hunting. They are only successful maybe one time out of every fifteen attempts. However, in captivity, they don’t have to hunt, so they get less food because they aren’t as active.

  “Most captive lions and tigers are overweight, but not ours. Actually, Dhiren doesn’t seem to be that interested in food and is very lean, even though the grub is good here. Mr. Maurizio insists on high-quality

  meat; plus, we supplement it with the vitamins and minerals necessary to maintain good health.” I pondered this information as we silently walked down the trail for a while.

  I untangled the dogs from a tree and asked, “Do white tigers come from India? I thought they came from

  Siberia.”

  He smiled. “Yes, many people think they’re all from the Russian area because the white coat blends in with the snow, but the Siberian tigers have the typical orange coloring. Siberians are also slightly larger.

  They weigh about seven hundred pounds. Our cat is a Bengal or Indian tiger, which are smaller and weigh around five hundred. Dhiren is on the light side of that at about four-forty.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and asked, “Would you like to help me work the tiger today?”

  I smiled at him as one of the dogs ran around my legs, trapping me for a moment. “I would really enjoy that, thanks!”

  After finishing our walk, we put the dogs back in the kennel area. Mr. Davis got a hose and filled a trough full of water. He looked over his shoulder and said, “You know, it’s sad that tigers could be completely wiped out in the next ten years. Researchers estimate that there are only about two thousand left in the world. India has already passed several laws against killing them.”

  “Do tigers kill people? Are they man-eaters?”

  “Tigersare responsible for between two hundred and four hundred deaths per year in India, but the government still fiercely protects them. They’ve even been known to relocate entire villages if a tiger moves into the territory. If that number of deaths occurred in America, the tiger would have been extinct a long time ago. As far as man-eaters go, only a tiny percent are considered man-eaters, and those are usually shot when found. Though tigers do kill many humans in India, they don’t typically eat them.

  There

  are only a few reasons a tiger would ever kill a human for food. One, he is hungry and can’t find anything

  else. Two, a female may need to feed her young, and humans are easy prey. Three, the tiger may be wounded and unable to hunt prey that’s difficult to catch—like I said humans are easy. Or four, tigers might learn to hunt humans if they have fed off human corpses somewhere before.”

  I shuddered.

  He looked over at me, “But, again, it’s very rare. Most tigers avoid humans.”

  We finished removing the last of the leashes, and the dogs all rushed over to greedily lap up the water. I watched their pink tongues darting up and down for several minutes while thinking about what Mr.

  Davis

  had told me. He got out a small bucket and began scooping dog food into a couple of dishes. I picked one up and carried it into the kennel. Of course, the dogs jumped all over me until I put the dish down.

  Mr. Davis gestured that I should follow him. We walked around the corner of the big building and entered a tall building that was painted white on the outside with blue trim like the others. He opened the wide doors and we went inside. The floor was made of aged, weathered wooden boards and was covered with hay.

  Wide beams rose high overhead and arched across the top. I glanced up at the tall ceiling and saw some old skylights. The sun filtered in and warmed the area, spotlighting the dust particles that flew around as Mr. Davis and I walked past. Gently, the dust settled back down to the wooden floor, and the beams of light shone clear once again. The building was about two stories high. A loft ran the length of both sides of the building. One side of

  the loft was empty, but the other side had hay bales stacked to the ceiling. There were little stalls around the inside walls, each with a clean trough inside. Wooden ladders near the stalls were placed every so often to allow people to climb up to the lofts. I guessed that this was probably used to house animals during the fair and 4-H events, but it looked like a barn.

  Matt’s father flicked on a light switch, and I was surprised at how much light shone in the building despite there being no windows. I followed him, and we approached the beautiful animal wagon that had been a part of the performance. He picked up a large jug of liquid vitamins and said, “Come here, I want to show you something.”

  We approached the cage, and the tiger, who had been dozing, lifted its head and watched me curiously with bright blue eyes. Mr. Davis moved to the side of the cage and pulled a lever. A panel slid down separating the cage door from the tiger, leaving about a foot of empty space inside. He opened the cage door, filled up the tiger’s water bucket, added about a quarter cup of vitamin liquid, and then pulled the door back down again and locked it.

  “Now I’m going to do some paperwork. I want you to get the tiger’s breakfast. Head back to the main building and go back behind the boxes. There’s a large refrigerator there. Take this red wagon with you and load the meat from the fridge into the wagon, then take another package out of the freezer and put it in the fridge to thaw.”


  I grabbed the wagon handle; it was the same kind I’d had as a kid. “No problem,” I said over my shoulder as I headed back to the door. I found the meat quickly and was back in a few minutes.

  “Now, go ahead and open the door the way I taught you, then use these tongs to place the meat into this clean dish and take out his old one to clean. When you’re done, don’t forget to lock the door again.

  After the door is secured, you can pull the lever, which will retract the safety panel, and breakfast will be served.”

  I dished up the raw meat and slid it carefully into the cage. I kept a wary eye on the tiger, but it just sat there watching me.

  “Mr. Davis…is that a female or a male tiger?”

  A noise came from the cage, a deep rumble from the tiger’s chest. I turned to look at the tiger. “What are you growling atme for?”

  Matt’s dad laughed. “Ah…you’ve offended him. He’s very sensitive, you know. In answer to your question,he is a male.”

  “Hmm.”

  After I’d cleaned the bowl for Mr. Davis, he asked, “Would you like to watch me work with him a bit? I always try to go through a short workout before we go in to a performance. He’s often cramped up in his cage, and I like to let him out every day and give him a chance to stretch out a bit.”

  “Definitely! That would be great!”

  “Come back in an hour.”

  I helped Matt for an hour or so and then hurried back to the barn. After I entered the building, Mr.

  Davis asked me to close the door and slide the wooden beam down to lock them in place just to make sure the tiger couldn’t escape.

  “Okay, climb up to the loft and watch us rehearse.”

  I climbed the loft and sat on the heavy, sweet smelling straw with my legs tucked under me. This was very exciting!My own private show!

  He approached the cage, opened the door, and called the tiger out. The cat looked at him and then put his head back on his paws, still sleepy. Mr. Davis called again. “Come!” The tiger’s mouth opened in a giant yawn, and his jaws gaped wide. I shuddered looking at the huge teeth. It stood up and stretched its front legs way out and then its back legs one at a time. I chuckled to myself for mentally comparing this large predator with a sleepy housecat. The tiger turned around and trotted down the ramp and out of the cage.

  Mr. Davis set up the stool and cracked the whip, instructing the tiger to jump up onto the stool. He got the hoop and had him practice jumping in and out of the hoop for several minutes. He jumped back and forth, running through the various activities with ease. His movements were effortless. I could see the sinewy muscles moving under his white and black striped fur as he went through the paces.

  Mr. Davis was a good trainer, but there were a couple of times that I noticed the tiger could have taken advantage of him, but didn’t. One time, Mr. Davis’ face was very close to the tiger’s extended claws, and it would have been very easy for him to take a swipe, but, instead, the tiger moved his paw out of the

  way. Another time, I could have sworn Mr. Davis had stepped on his tail, but again, he just growled softly and moved his tail aside. It was very strange, and I found myself even more fascinated by the beautiful animal and again felt the strong pull to touch him.

  Mr. Davis was sweating in the stuffy barn. He encouraged the tiger to return to the stool. He then placed three other stools nearby in a circle and had him practice jumping from one to the other.

  Finishing up, he led the cat back to its cage, gave it a special treat, and motioned for me to come down.

  “Kelsey, you’d better head on over to the main building and help Matt get ready for the show. We have a bunch of senior citizens coming in today from a local center.”

  I hopped off the ladder.

  “Would it be okay if I bring my journal in here to write sometimes? I want to draw the tiger’s picture in it.”

  He said that would be fine and just cautioned me to make sure that I didn’t get too close.

  I hurried out the building waving at him, and shouted, “Thanks for letting me watch you. It was really exciting!”

  I rushed back to help Matt, and, sure enough, his dad had been right about the seniors. It was completely the opposite from the day before. First, the lady in charge bought all the tickets at once, which made my job much easier, and then all the patrons shuffled slowly into the ring, found their seats, and promptly fell asleep.

  How could they sleep through all the noise? When intermission came, there wasn’t much to do. Half of the attendees were still asleep, and the other half were in line for the restroom. Nobody was really buying

  anything. After the show, Matt and I cleaned up quickly, and I found myself on my own for a couple of hours. I ran back to my cot, pulled out my journal, a pen and pencil, and my quilt and walked over to the barn. I pulled open the door and turned on the lights.

  Strolling down toward the tiger’s cage, I found him resting comfortably with his head on his paws.

  Finding a nice hay bale to sit on and another to use for a backrest, I sat down, made myself comfortable, spread my quilt out over my lap, and started to write. After I wrote a couple of paragraphs, I began to sketch.

  I had taken a couple of art classes in high school, and I thought I was decent at drawing when I had a model to look at. I got my pencil out and looked at my subject. He was looking right at me. Not like he wanted to eat me, it was more like…he was trying to tell me something.

  “Hey, Mister. What are you looking at?” I grinned.

  I started my drawing. The tiger’s round eyes were wide-set and a brilliant blue. He had long, black eyelashes and a pink nose. His fur was a soft, creamy white with black stripes radiating away from his forehead and cheeks all the way down to the tail. The short, furry ears were tilted toward me, and his head was resting lazily on his paws. As he watched me, his tail flicked back and forth sluggishly.

  I spent a lot of time getting the pattern of stripes right because Mr. Davis had told me that no two tigers had the same stripes. He said their stripes were as distinctive as human fingerprints, so I wanted to get this tiger’s stripes just right. I looked down at his paws and didn’t see any claws.Hmm…they must be able to retract their claws like a cat.

  I spoke to him while drawing: “Well, how’s your day been? Did you enjoy your breakfast? You know, you have a very handsome face…for something that could eat me.”

  I sketched some more. “Do you like being a circus tiger? I can’t imagine it’s a very exciting life for you,

  being stuck in that cage all the time. I knowI wouldn’t like it very much.”

  I fell quiet for a while; the only sound in the building was the scratching of my pencil. I shaded in the stripes of the face.

  “Do you like poetry? I’ll bring in my book of poems and read to you sometime. I think I have one about cats you might like.”

  I looked up from my drawing and was startled to see that the tiger had moved. He was sitting up, his head bent down toward me, and he was staring at me steadily. I started to feel a little bit nervous.A large cat staring at you like that with such great intensity can’t be a good thing.

  Right then, Matt’s dad strolled into the building. The tiger slumped down onto its side, but kept his face turned toward me, watching me with those deep blue eyes.

  “Hey, kid, how’re you doing?

  “Umm…I’m fine. Hey, I have a question. Doesn’t he getlonely by himself? Haven’t you tried to, you know, find him a girl tiger?”

  He laughed. “Not forhim . This one likes to be alone. The other circus said they tried to produce offspring by breeding him with a white female in heat at the zoo, but he wouldn’t have it. He stopped eating, so they pulled him out of there. I guess he prefers bachelorhood.”

  “Hmm…Well, I’d better get back to Matt and help him out with the dinner preparations.” I closed my journal and gathered my things.

  As I strolled back to the main building, my thoughts were drawn to the tiger.Poor thing. All alo
ne with no

  girl tiger and no tiger cubs. No deer to hunt, stuck in captivity. I felt sorry for him. After dinner, I helped Matt’s dad walk the dogs again and got settled for the night. I put my hands under my head and stared at the tent ceiling. I thought some more about the tiger. I tossed and turned for about twenty minutes and decided to go visit the barn again. I kept all the lights off in the building except the one near the cage.

  I went back to my hay bale with my blanket. Because I was feeling sentimental, I decided to forgo my novel and, instead, brought a paperback copy ofRomeo and Juliet . “Would you like me to read to you for a while? Umm…what was your name again? Oh yeah…Dhiren…well, I’ll just call you Ren. Now Romeo and Juliet don’t have any tigers in their story, but Romeo does climb a balcony, so you just picture yourself climbing a tree, okay?”

  His tail thumped the wooden base of the wagon. I turned on my side, made a pillow of sorts from the hay, and started reading to him. I could just make out his profile and see his eyes shining in the shadowy light. I started getting tired right after the balcony scene when Romeo says, “Sleep dwell upon thine eyes,

  peace in thy breast!—Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!”

  I sighed. “Ah…they don’t make men like Romeo anymore. Maybe there never has been such a man.

  Present company excluded, of course. I’m sure you’re a very romantic tiger.”

  Hmm…I thought groggily that Shakespeare sure wrote dreamy men. I closed my eyes to rest them a little and didn’t wake up until the next morning.

  From that moment on, I spent all my free time in the barn with Ren, the tiger. He seemed to like me being there and always perked his ears up when I started reading to him. I bugged Matt’s dad with question after question about tigers until I was sure he felt like avoiding me. He appreciated the work I did though.

  Every day, I got up early to take care of the tiger and the dogs, always in that order, and every afternoon I wandered in to sit near Ren’s cage and wrote in my journal. In the evenings, I would bring my