TRUSTING THE LIONS
By CLELAND
SCOTT eINE of the advantages of living in Kenya is that one V can keep as pets animals that would either be too expensive or too dangerous to have loose half the day in England. People tell you that it is " madness " to imagine that one can trust a full-grown lion: this, or the contrary, I am in the process of proving. At the moment I have a pair of twenty-month-old lions which certainly show more promise of remaining tame than any others I have kept.
The lion is probably more misunderstood than any other animal. He is a creature of character, and thoroughly independent, who does or does not do sundry things because he does, or does not, feel that way at certain times. Further, he is a very great bluffer and is far from heroic at heart. In fact he will always react favourably, from the human point of view, to a show of force, believing completely that discretion is the better part of valour. If you push him too far, on the other hand, or he considers that any situation has lasted long enough, then you have a beast who takes the initiative so that possibly you or he may have to die. A lioness is infinitely more courageous at any time.
This particular pair of lions, Romeo and Juliet, were born in captivity, and from an early age enjoyed motoring. From six months of age they regarded the farm lorry as an amusing toy, and Romeo often seats himself at the wheel as though he had been born a chauffeur. The last month or two Juliet has taken to grunting as soon as the engine is started up: often she is joined by her brother, who synchronises his voice with hers to perfection. They know, of course, that the lorry brings in their food, in the shape of zebra and antelope, and their grunting might be interpreted in a variety of ways: to wish one good hunting, to speed the parting guest, or as a plea not to go away and leave them behind.
As soon as they arrived on the large poultry-farm on which I live they were allowed to roam loose. This worked well for a time until they began to kill young chickens, and later Juliet started on grown hens. After that they were confined to a netting-run part of the day. One could, by a series of fences, safeguard the poultry, but one cannot be sure what the lions might do on some other farm ; neighbours have not the same trust and confidence in Romeo and Juliet that I have. I am quite sure that they would always return, either because they felt like it, or because they were hungry.
A week or so ago they broke out of their rather flimsy bedroom and spent two nights and one day in the " wide open spaces." Having got out they blotted an excellent copybook by tearing a sheet of corrugated iron off the duck-house and killing the seven inmates: they did not bother to eat them, which was pleasing. They had been in no hurry to depart, for their tracks were found outside various bedroom windows and in the flower beds. After that they trekked over two miles and began to chase a neighbour's horses next evening. I got a rope round Romeo, but myself and four boys were unable to hold him. Next morning I found by their tracks that they had returned to within half a mile ; when I located them later they followed me home like two great dogs. Theirs had been a poor week-end, as the only animal to which they had got really close was undoubtedly a skunk, and their effluvium was dreadful.
Romeo is positively touching in his affection for me, but the trouble is he does not realise his own strength nor his weight. When he stands on his hind legs he dwarfs my six feet, and he does not realise that human skin is much more vulnerable than his sister's. He comes and rubs himself against my legs like a giant cat, making little grunts of pleasure, and then he spoils it by nipping me in the calf, or suddenly leaping up on my shoulder. Juliet is on the whole less demonstrative but more reliable. She will get into a rage, or a panic, and in five minutes you can caress her as though nothing had happened.
She adores to be scratched, and when one does this she " fleas " one just like a dog: a favourite ground is the human ear, but never does she bite, just nibbles gently, but nibble something she must to get full value. One theory I have definitely disproved is that the taste of human blood excites lions. Often they scratch by mistake and I have let both lick away my fresh blood ; sometimes they wrinkle their noses in distaste, otherwise the reaction is nil.
In their early days they spent most of their time indoors and one armchair was set aside for them. Then both could be comfortable in it, but as they grew Romeo proved most ungallant and would not let his sister share it with him. Whenever she got in first his procedure was simple and effective ; he just sat on top of her till from sheer discomfort at his great weight she left it to him. Today the chair can only contain him if he parks his hindquarters on one arm, his fat stomach in the seat, and his forequarters on the other arm.
In the past I found that lions disliked natives, particularly strange ones. Romeo and Juliet know the regular staff perfectly, but any stranger is spotted instantly. With the indoor boys they are remarkably tolerant. One in particular seems to like them, and him they treat as a piece of furni- ture ; the other is nervous and it is he whom they like to stalk, a favourite amusement being to flip at his kanzu—a white surplice-like affair—as he waits at table.
Lions are observant creatures, which immediately notice any new piece of furniture or any alteration in a room, and this of course has to be investigated. For a long time they used to love playing in my bedroom, the great attrac- tion being a chest of drawers on the top of which was fixed a big mirror ; they used to jump on to it—lions love to survey the world from a height—and sweep off the contents. This was grand until Juliet once misjudged her spring, landed on the edge, and overtipped it, shivering the mirror into pieces. Their powers of jumping, even from rest, are superb. Every now and then Romeo wakes from slumber during luncheon, and, being an impatient brute, starts rushing about and at odd times puts a foot through a window-pane. When they were smaller one often used to hop out of a window while the other stayed inside ; the one indoors used to rub frantically at a pane with a sort of window cleaner's action ; nowadays no pane can stand much of that.
As regards food, until recently Romeo would eat nothing but raw meat, blood, and water. Juliet has always been keen to try new dishes and thoroughly appreciated cream, butter, and one or two sauces, as well as toying with cooked meat ; she sometimes stands up and removes a joint from the sideboard. Lately they were introduced to raw eggs, and now both will eat a dozen at a sitting. They consume a lot of the shell and lick one's fingers until they are clean: about this they are amazingly gentle and never even break the skin when one's hand is half inside their mouths.
In many ways they are remarkably human and one can tell at a glance the mood they are in. Romeo especially has an unmistakable look in his eye warning you that he is in a playful or naughty mood. More than any other animal they sense the state of mind of anyone who comes along.
Some people they ignore totally, and there is no animal who can look so completely through you as a lion. A few they like on sight and some they dislike. Anyone who exhibits nervousness they at once treat differently. As far as I and a friend are concerned we hope to continue to have them into the house and loose in the garden for always. Time alone will prove if we can.
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