Cactus Jack
Ready by Suzanne, woman's voice
After the success of Vader's release, I felt encouraged about the state of our collection. Maybe I could train more animals to supply themselves with food and shelter. Soft releases, the term for when an animal is set free into a habitat, but still receives supplemental food and attention from humans, is the only method I can employ. First, the animals here are all hand-reared or captive-bred, unused to fending for themselves. Second, I'm too attached. If I'm methodical and calculating about this, the animals will stay nearby, like Vader, and I won't lose anyone else I love.
But who to release?
Not wanting to disrupt the environment just yet, as it's still clearly reeling from the zombie outbreak, I considered the native Washington animals first. Tahoma, the bald eagle, seemed to be a symbolic and appropriate choice, but with her damaged wing, she would never make it. Yukon, the Canada lynx would be too difficult; I don't want to deal with preventing predation yet.
So I settled on Cactus Jack, the North American porcupine. He's smart, young enough to adapt, and well-defended, covered with 30,000 quills. "Mr. Jack," I announced to him as I slipped on the thick welding gloves I used when I carried him, "we're going on a walk." Cactus Jack stepped onto my protected hands and I carried him with me to the lush foliage by the red wolves' enclosure. I placed him in a flower bed and let him eat the camellia, rhododendron, and clover while I cleaned.
Each day I gave Cactus Jack a little more time on his own in the flower bed, letting him wander a little farther. The porcupine cooperated wonderfully. He vocalized with a little song that can only be described as humming, and seemed generally content to putter around in the plants or doze on a fallen log. Adam and Cory porcupine-proofed the red wolf enclosure where the fence had begun to wear--just in case Cactus got any crazy ideas. Eventually I stopped carrying Cactus all the way to the flower bed and began leading him to it instead, rewarding him with pecans and hazelnuts for walking there.
When he would walk to the flower bed and back on his own and could be left to his own devices for several hours at a time, I stayed with the porcupine overnight. I lay on a blanket in the mulch and Cactus Jack slumped against the trunk of a hefty camellia bush. Before nodding off, he stretched, flaring his quills out on end and yawned.
The next day, I didn't walk Cactus Jack back to his enclosure. I went about my business for the morning and had trouble locating my prickly companion at midday. I discovered him resting on a branch farther up than I'd ever seen him climb.
All this sounds simple enough, but it took essentially an entire month of constant vigilance and slow progress. Now, during my morning rounds, I pass two empty enclosures in the building and encounter two friends in the trees.
