8/10/92 
    
For some reason a group of us teenagers had snuck onto an Estate and were 
mucking around some red brick and cement fountains and tiered pools.  While 
wrestling with them one of us inadvertently killed a seven foot long resident
alligator.  About then the Estate owner stepped on top of a cement topped
brick wall across a hundred yards of rolling lawn toward the mansion.  He 
yelled for us to surrender and when we started to turn to high-tail it across
the couple hundred yards to the wrought iron fence surrounding the grounds, 
he shouted, "Look!"  As we did so he released a gate which had blocked the 
road running parallel behind the wall on which he stood.  From behind the 
wall trotted two pairs (male and female) of fully grown lions.  One pair 
headed, leisurely, straight toward us, the other pair raced in a huge arc 
off to our left, turning widely, unmistakably, to cut off our escape route 
back to the fence. 
    
The lions were obviously trained and began rounding up individuals and 
herding them back toward the mansion.  Any sign of resistance was met with 
nerve destroying growls and brutal clawings.  Were we to be dealt with 
mercifully if we cooperated?  Or was it just prolonging the torment and 
bringing it closer to the sadistic oversight of the landlord.  Should we try 
our luck and flee, provoking the chase instinct in the lions and casting us 
in the role of the wildebeest in a thousand nature films?  Or perhaps try to 
creep off more slowly while the lions gathered other less fortunates first. 
This too became nerve-shattering, teetering between flight, determined 
retreat and acquiescence--so much so that I found myself transferred to a 
huge patch of extremely dense brambles, inter-cut with myriad pathways: 
winding, forking, joining.  They were dense enough that neither we nor the 
lions could cut cross lots through them; and they were narrow enough, in 
spots, that we could actually make better time than the lions.  It was 
maddening just the same as we could see for some distance through the briars 
and could watch the lions on parallel paths, we could only hope that there 
was no join a few paces ahead.... 
    
And there was a new threat.  One that caused greater, more intolerable 
fear; but which also lent a measure of courage, or at least resolve: I had 
aged a few years and my son was now in my arms.  This resolve let me set my  
son behind me and face the Beast (almost) squarely when the paths inevitably 
flowed together.  Would I learn the courage and skill of a lion tamer in an 
instant, subduing the animal with an unfaltering verbal command and a simple 
gesture; or would I, contemptuously, just be torn (none too quickly) to 
shreds in the futile defense of my offspring? 
    
    
[Inspirations:  a new TV commercial in which a statue of a lion in a park 
comes to life and catches a softball and runs off with it.  Taking that
Saint Bernard to it's home with my arm in it's mouth (age 14).  Mamont park. 
Prospect Park in Brooklyn.  Nathaniel.  Various TV and movie items. ]