It's a Jungle Out There

by Gary Richmond

God has designed thousands of ways for members of the animal kingdom to come into existence, but in my estimation the birth of the baby giraffe is out of all births the most impressive. See it once and you'll never forget.

The zoo health center was called at 9:30 A.M. and we were informed that the female Angola giraffe was giving birth. If the veterinarian and I wanted to watch we could. Neither of us had ever witnessed a giraffe birth before, so we headed quickly for the giraffe barn. We parked and walked quietly to a spot where about seven of us were afforded an earthbound view of an elevated event. I sat on a bale of hay next to Jack Badal, a man considered by most of us to be the greatest animal keeper alive. He was a man of a few and well-chosen words, and when I sat down, he only nodded and continued to suck the sweetness from the alfalfa stem he had pulled from the hay bale on which we sat.

I noticed the calf's front hooves and head were already visible and dripping with amniotic fluids. I also noticed that the mother was standing up. "When is she going to sit down?" I said to Jack, who still hasn't said anything.

"She won't," he answered.

"But her hindquarters are nearly ten feet off the ground. That calf might get hurt from the fall," I said. Jack just gave me that look that told me I had probably said something that revealed my ignorance.

I wondered why no plans were being made to procure a fireman's net to catch the baby, so I asked, "Listen, Gary," he said. "You can go try to catch the calf if you want, but remember that its mother has enough strength in her hind legs to kick your head off, which is what she'll do if you get anywhere near that calf. Giraffes have killed lions that tried to get their calves."

I was able to sit quietly for a while and observed the calf's journey down the birth canal. Its neck and front legs was fully extended and dangling freely, ten feet above the hard ground on which it was soon to fall. It seemed unbelievable to me that in just a few minutes this newborn was going to be introduced to such a trauma. Ten feet! To the hard ground! ( It had taken me twelve years to get up the nerve to jump off a high-dive about ten feet into clear deep water. This giraffe calf was going to top that during its first 30 minutes of visible existence. )

The moment we had anticipated was not a disappointment. The calf, a plucky male, hurled forth, falling ten feet and landing on his back. Within seconds, he rolled to an upright position with his legs tucked under his body. From this position he considered the world for the first time, shaking some of the last vestiges of birthing fluids from his eyes and ears.

The mother giraffe lowered her head long enough to take a quick look. Then she positioned herself so that she was standing directly over her calf. She waited for about a minute and then did the most unreasonable thing. She swung her pendulous leg outward and kicked her baby so that it was sent sprawling head over heels (or hooves in this case).

I turned to Jack and exclaimed, "Why'd she do that?"

"She wants it to get up, and if it doesn't, she'll do it again."

Jack was right -- the violent process was repeated again and then again. The struggle to rise was momentous, and as the baby grew tired of trying, the mother would again stimulate its efforts with a hearty kick.

Finally amidst the cheers of the animal care staff, the calf stood for the first time. Wobbly, for sure, but it stood. Then we were struck silent when she kicked if off its feet again.

Jack's face was the only one not expressing astonishment. "She wants it to remember how it got up," he offered. "That's why she knocked it down. In the wild it would need to get up as soon as possible to follow the herd. The mother needs the herd, too. Lions, hyenas, leopards, and hunting dogs all would enjoy a young giraffe. They'd get it, too, if the mother didn't teach her baby to get up quickly and get with it."

Jack then waved good-bye with his alfalfa stem and returned to his section of the zoo to care for his animals, something he did better than anyone I have ever known.