Local wildlife

We discovered there is an animal sanctuary just outside Cambridge so decided to explore it. It was a lot of fun, especially seeing the excitement of the little kiddies. The animals were all in large pens thankfully - and are clearly very very well treated and well loved. They are all sanctuary animals rescued from ill run zoos or private collectors. The only mishap was when I got a little close to a Llama and it sneezed all over my face - just like it did to Captain Haddock in Tintin's "Prisoners of the Sun". Much to Ally's delight and continued mirth. Oh well, at least now I won't fall for the same trick in South America.

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright...

I don't like seeing Tigers in cages but these fellows looked happy enough in their big enclosure. Tigers are officially my favourite cat (yes, I know it's not very patriotic being African and all that) and it has long been a life goal of mine to see one in the wild. I came so close in Nepal- actually heard one roaring in the long grass just 20 metres from where I was - but the fellow never showed himself.

My favourite poem at school was "The Tiger" by William Blake and I always think of it when I see a tiger in any form - even if these particular tabbies didn't quite live up to their fearsome reputation.

In case you haven't read this poem, here is is:

The Tiger

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

(William Blake 1757–1827)