zoo story

The only place more fun than the Old Zoo Picnic Area in Griffith Park is the new (if you consider post-1930s new) L.A. Zoo, where AK, her sister Lori, and Lori’s husband Canny and I went on Sunday.

Like any good L.A. tourist destination, it has celebrity appeal. Reggie the escape-artist alligator greeted us at the front entrance, all green-black scales and unassuming expression. It was clear, though, that he was just biding his time until he could rally his crew and take the whole place down. We theorized that he’d make the goats do all the work, then eat them.

This is just a reenactment.

This is not Reggie, but an older, tougher gator they keep at the back of the park. This old warrior doesn’t even need prove himself anymore. He’s all, Reggie, shmeggie. Did I ever tell you about the zookeeper I ate in ’65?

Even the zebras were violent. (It’s hard to tell from the picture, but I swear that’s a fight, not hot zebra lovin’.)

But I’m a girl. I can’t help liking the pretty animals. Also the ugly-but-not-in-a-badass-way animals. I wish my pictures of the endangered pigs from the Philippines had come out better. Such funny, muddy little noses.

I like nicely designed signs too. For example, this sign informs me that the Contact Yard is not the place where inmates have their conjugal visits.

Despite the signs, we were a directionally challenged group.

Sometimes it’s better to just give in and chill.

Or do your Gorillas in the Mist impression.

Or pose a question to a wise guru: Oh great goat, where are the giraffes?

Answer: They’re not the only attractive hoofed animal in this place, you know. And tell Reggie he better watch his back.