A Bittersweet Memory

So, where was I? I was in love with the owner and figured if it was meant to be, it would be, and if he was just looking for something to bide his time, he'd have to do it with someone else. That someone else came to the refuge in June/July. She was one of those women with a syrupy Jawja aksaent. Everything she said was saccherine sweet, but the look in her eye was pointed...I saw her for who she was. The wife, knowing the owner was playing around, approached me one day and insinuated that it was with me. I didn't want to get involved in any political schemes so I looked at her and asked, "What are you talking about?!" She commented about certain people spending lots of time there and, well, she knew something was going on.

I'd get there early in the morning and this woman's truck would be there, she'd go into the office for a long while and come out with different clothes, basically announcing her standing in the compound. One day I noticed her clothes change and asked her about it. She said, "Ah speelled some tea." Uh-huh, right.

She knew the owner had feelings for me, so she used every opportunity to make a fool of me in front of the other workers, donors, she didn't care. The owner, when I confronted him with this laughed and said, "Yeah, it was a cheap shot." I begged him to leave me out of the political games, just give me my work for the day and leave me to my tasks. After that, he was on a mission to destroy me, as were the other workers.

I was devastated. Between rumor and innuendo, working conditions went into a downward spiral. The owner was very exacting on certain procedures and the two old guys kept screwing things up, now blaming me for their screwups.

Then one day we had 25 or 30 volunteers come in from the telephone company. The owner's hydraulic hammer wasn't working; he started screaming, throwing fits. In the meantime, these poor volunteers were all standing around him, doing nothing; the owner had to do everything himself. I made the mistake of asking if I should get some hammers from the compound and he turned and screamed at me, tearing me a new one. Even in my worst relationships I'd never been denigrated to such a level. In front of everyone.

When it was time to go home that day, I left quietly. The syrupy bitch was in her car in front of me, and the owner was behind me, right on my bumper. I was hoping he was following me so he could apologize. When I pulled over, he just kept on going, smiling ear to ear, following the syrupy bitch. It was over.

In the meantime, this lion and I had gotten closer and closer...the more alienated from people I became, I spent more and more time with him, we truly loved each other. I felt so safe with him, I knew he would fight to the death to protect me.

In my last days at the refuge I had begun drinking heavily. Here I was, I'd given up my life and friends in Montana to help this "noble" owner in his cause, to be treated so badly and ultimately rejected. I wanted to stay drunk 24/7. There were oak floors in the house I was living in. In the grains of the floor, in my drunken stupor, I would see lions, sad and crying. I knew it was a reflection of my own state of mind, and I resolved to get some help in dealing with this. Working and driving 15 hours a day, six days a week, I didn't have much of a chance to make any friends who could emotionally support me through this. I felt so alone, it was just me and this lion.

In my last days at the refuge, the lion knew something was terribly wrong, he stopped eating. Years later, I found out he died within weeks after my departure. He never ate after I left.

People ask to hear the story of how I got involved with the tigers...now you know why I'm hesitant to share the story; it's a painful one. The upside is I got really good training from a very meticulous refuge owner. I was able to take those skills and dedicate them to my own animals, and I also make sure every volunteer knows how much I appreciate their efforts.

So even though this story is a sad one, because so much good came out of it, it remains a bittersweet memory.

Next story begins on Monday, the second refuge I worked in.