As for other “freaks,” there are many of them: the zebra, for instance, which seems to have been born only for lion meat, and which, when a baby, is abnormally strong, only to weaken as it grows older; the kangaroo, which isn’t born at all, as a real living thing, but which comes into the world a mere lump of inanimate flesh, to be lifted by the mother to the sac of her stomach, and to develop there, until such time as it is able to shift for itself and to feel the effects of vanity. For there is no vainer animal living, not even the monkey. A kangaroo or “wallaby” will remain quiescent all day, until a crowd gets around its cage. Then like any youngster, it will “show off” until absolutely worn out.
But to get back to the subject of orphans, there are such things even in the realm of elephantdom. The prize one was Baby Miracle, the daughter of Mr. Snyder and Mrs. Mamma Mary. But there seemed to be something wrong about it all. Because when Baby Miracle, all two hundred pounds of her, came into being one spring day in winter quarters at Denver, Colorado, Mamma Mary took one look at what she had brought into the world, and promptly kicked it across the menagerie house.
Which was hardly the way to treat a newcomer. The animal men talked it over, chained the peevish mother fore and aft, and sought a compromise. They brought Baby Miracle forward to where the mother could get a good look at her offspring, and by gentle words tried to assure her that this was her baby and should be treated as such. Mamma Mary took a good survey this time, then broke her chains and smashed a hole in the side of the brick building as she made her get-away. By now it was more than evident that Mamma Mary wasn’t pleased with what she had done. Nor was Baby Miracle terribly interested. She merely rolled her eyes, wobbled her bit of a trunk, and squealed in a fashion which might mean anything.
So, while half the menagerie force went forth to corral Mamma Mary, the other half hid Baby Miracle and decided what should be done. The most important thing, of course, was food. Fred Alispaw, the superintendent, got an idea, rushed for a telephone, called the biggest dairy company, and ordered a milking machine. In the meanwhile, Baby Miracle had given a squawk or two of disgust and flopped to a pile of canvas, where it tried to die while three animal keepers massaged it to keep up circulation and a veterinary gave it a strychnine injection.
BABY MIRACLE, A FEW WEEKS BEFORE SHE DECIDED TO LEAVE THIS TEMPESTUOUS WORLD.
LION TRIPLETS.
By this time Mamma Mary and the milking machine had arrived at the menagerie house almost simultaneously. The contraption was brought forth and hooked on, while Mamma Mary rolled her eyes and appeared to wonder what it was all about. When the thing began to work she evidently came to some conclusion, celebrating her discovery by kicking over the machine, knocking down the three men who were endeavoring to manipulate it, and for good measure overturning a tiger den. Which added to the general celebration.
In the meanwhile, Baby Miracle was having another sinking spell and things were becoming serious. The rest of the herd was called into action to save the baby’s life. Mamma Mary was chained fore, aft, and sideways to other elephants, each with his trainer to hold him in place, and the milking machine once more was installed. This time enough milk was obtained to give Baby Miracle a little confidence in this turbulent existence into which she had entered, and infant elephant stock ran higher.