AN INBRED LION, HENCE NOT A GOOD WORKER.
CIRCUS MEN CAN’T BEAT THESE THINGS, SO THEY “JINE ’EM”.
Her breeding, slightly inbred, was a part of the cause, it was true. But another was enforced idleness. The symptoms took the form of a constant scratching against the floor of the cage, not noticed until the animal had worn the pads of her paws bare, and, in a sudden excess of agony, had rolled to her back, as if, by holding the bleeding paws aloft, to cool and soothe them. The menagerie superintendent went close to the cage and for a long time studied the beast, her nervous twitchings, the spasmodic reversion to that frenzied digging and scratching, then the return to the position on her back, the pain-ridden paws stretched above her.
“Only one thing to do,” came the conclusion, and the menagerie superintendent hurried for the harness-maker’s tent.
There he fashioned a set of four shoes, built much after the fashion that shoes for dogs are made. Following which he obtained assistance, bound the beast, carefully bandaged the ragged paws, affixed the shoes and released the big cat.
There was a moment or so of ludicrous skating about, an exaggerated edition of a house cat in paper shoes, then the lioness attacked the trappings with her teeth, tore them off, and resumed her former activities. The menagerie superintendent only sighed and went back to the harness shop.
This time, when he did his cobbling, he inserted sharp tacks, protruding from the inside. Patiently he put the new set of footgear on the lioness and awaited results. Once more she strove to tear them off, but the tacks hurt her mouth. She desisted, and tried again, for the third and fourth and fifth time. During which periods, the insane desire to scratch overcame her. For moments at a time she would forget that the raw-fleshed paws were padded, only to return to her gnawing, and to desist. At last, she ceased to fight the pads, and the superintendent gave a sigh of relief.
“Now let her scratch to her heart’s content,” he announced. “The more the merrier.”