The Great Lemur
Escape
by Brinn Cronin
It’s a different way of life in Ireland. I thought I was a fairly laid-back person—or, at least, it’s within my capacity to be (insert pause here so everyone can stop laughing)—before I came here and discovered that I have nothing on the Irish, and no one I know has anything on the Irish when it comes to the ability to just take everything as it comes.
For example, Fota Wildlife Park.
For those of you wondering what Fota
is, it’s the Irish equivalent of a zoo without fences. Instead, the
animals mostly roam free around the visitors, providing the curious and
not-so-curious alike with an up close and
personal view of themselves and their animal habits. It was amazing, in
one respect: What other opportunity will I ever have to be that close to a
zebra, or a giraffe? All that separated me from the larger, more dangerous
animals, was an electric fence no higher than my elbow. Three thin wires
with a minimal amount of electricity thrumming through them. I couldn’t
even hear the hum.
I visited Fota late in the afternoon with a few of the other people I met here. It was an hour until closing, so we had to hurry through the park and through my child-like marvelling at animals I never knew existed, and could not describe to you as anything other than “badger rabbits.” What struck me as we walked through—besides the lack of fences—was the lack of lemurs. But it was getting towards the end of October, and what passes for winter in Ireland had already set in, so we figured that the lemurs, like so many other animals in Fota, had gone inside for the year.
We left the park just at closing time and headed over to the train station found outside the wildlife park but within Fota’s private grounds. It’s a mild afternoon, just after 6:00, and we’ve spent a long day wandering around. As we stand around the train station, we start to notice a little movement in the trees. At first, there’s just one lemur creeping out of the trees and down towards the train tracks. After the lemur scout sighted the “all clear,” a few more lemurs followed.
According to thewildones.org, lemurs are primates hailing from Madagascar and the Comoro Islands. They represent themselves as vegetarians, but have no qualms about occasionally eating smaller animals. They’re harmless, really, and—as I now know from personal experience—extremely intelligent.
And thus we watch as one by one the lemurs decide this wildlife park thing isn't working for them, and in fact Ireland's climate is probably not working for them, so they're going to try to catch the plane to Bora Bora if that's all right with you.
Because really, what makes life better
than watching 13 ring-tailed lemurs high tail it to freedom across a park, train
tracks, and over a fence to the great beyond that's
probably
just someone's backyard? You'd think that, in a place where they have
several possibly expensive and probably dangerous animals around for the viewing
pleasure of a bunch of stupid tourists and the Irish people who come to laugh at
them, they might be little more prepared for, say, the lemurs to decide, "we
don't have to take this any more," and hightail it out of there.
We attempted to call Fota, but no one answered. We attempted to call the Irish
police to report the escaping lemurs, but they thought we were drunk. Before
the train came, I’d taken half a roll of film of myself surrounded by friendly
ring-tailed lemurs as they hopped their way to freedom.
These lemurs were organized. They had a plan. They had it together. And you know what? They were smart enough to pull it off. Maybe the lemurs just aren’t laid back enough to tolerate the laid-back atmosphere of Ireland. Maybe they were just sick of being gawked at.
But in the end, I just couldn’t stop them.
As of November 2003, these thirteen Ring-tailed Lemurs are still at large.