This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Nov. 24, 2011 - Regular readers are no doubt aware of my long-standing opposition to private ownership of the hippopotamus. While never presuming to preach to the audience, I nonetheless feel a moral obligation to caution the unsuspecting that large and rapacious feral swine tend to make less than ideal house pets. Alas, it has now become painfully obvious that the late Marius Els was not a regular reader.
Els was a 40-year-old army major who owned a 400-acre farm in South Africa. Several years ago, he bought a 5-month-old hippo that had been rescued from a flood. He subsequently named his new-found acquisition "Humphrey" and sought to domesticate it.
While the gentleman farmer acquainted his new pet with the subtle nuances of civilization, the hippopotamus did what his ilk does best, which is to gain weight -- a lot of it. At last count, Humphrey weighed in at 1.2 tons.
In retrospect, there were early signs that Els' quixotic mission may have been misdirected. Humphrey was suspected of killing calves belonging to a business partner and had frequently broken out of his enclosure to chase players at a local golf club. Earlier this year, a 52-year-old man and his grandson spent two hours in a tree after being attacked by the playful hippo. They were rescued by paramedics after Els was able to lure the beast away with an apple.
Regrettably, only hindsight scores consistently at 20-20. At the time, Els dismissed concerns (link incudes video) of alarmed onlookers as groundless. "Humphrey is like a son to me," he said, "he's just like a human." Describing his unlikely pet as "loveable" and a "gentle giant," the erstwhile farmer assured his critics that he could control his charge by "the sound of his voice."
According to press reports, Els' "savaged body" was found two months ago submerged in a river where Humphrey had left his remains after -- well -- biting him repeatedly. As Lance Armstrong once observed under different circumstances, "One day you're the hammer, the next day, you're the nail ..."
Els' bizarre demise is at once both tragic and ridiculous. It is an extreme example of a delusional mindset that contends that the earth was some sort of bucolic paradise of peace and harmony before humans came along and screwed it up. Call it Walt Disney syndrome...
Children learn that Bambi's mom was murdered by the cruel hunters, leaving the adorable waif to mourn her loss. The problem here is that deer don't have names and families, nor do they harbor hopes and dreams for a better tomorrow for their off-spring. And if they mourn the loss of their fellows, they do a good job of disguising their grief. To suggest otherwise is to allow the anthropomorphic instinct to run amok.
Yet, kids are fed a steady diet of hogwash in which the beasts of the field are just like people, only nicer. Note that in earlier fables, the hunters and woodsmen are the good guys and the beasts pose the threat. Thus is Little Red Riding Hood saved from the savage wolf. We've now reversed the roles: The modern wolf emerges as a misunderstood victim while the little girl's human rescuers are seen as gun-worshipping sociopaths.
Like most men, I find Thanksgiving to be the least offensive of the major holidays. You may have to endure renditions of nutty Aunt Sarah's sewing adventures or your rich brother-in-law's latest business triumph, but at least you don't have to buy everybody you know a present and there are no elves, fairies or egg-laying rabbits to provide for.
The essence of the occasion is the ancient and honorable custom of feasting to celebrate good fortune. The Pilgrims gathered to commemorate a bountiful harvest. They were grateful that the Lord had blessed their toils by sparing them starvation during the impending winter.
Today, you are sure to encounter news reports of animal rights advocates campaigning on behalf the turkey. They will offer recipes for tofu drumsticks, gelatin dressing or some other nonsense as humane alternatives to the traditional feast. In doing so, they imply that nature was inherently kind and gentle before humans commenced the slaughter.
Of course, all objective evidence points to the contrary conclusion. Humphrey, after all, was just doing what came naturally when he ate his master. Or to paraphrase Woody Allen, the lamb might lie down with the lion but the lamb won't get much sleep.
Enjoy your turkey. I'll take seconds on the white meat...
M.W. Guzy is a retired St. Louis cop who currently works for the city Sheriff's Department. His column appears weekly in the Beacon.