Suburban lion safari

The New York Times, June 22, 2016

From Opposing Viewpoints in Context

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
In Ontario, anyone can open a zoo. There are now dozens hidden throughout the
province, and zero rules for owners--making Canada home to some of the worst
animal abuse in the world
It's been 25 years since Wolfram, Klose traded his dog for a lion.
One evening, Klose and his wife Christa visited Ontario's Bowmanville Zoo after
hours. They were friends of the zoo's then owner, Keith Connell, who had spent the
night showing off the zoo's new lion cubs. It was the first time that Klose, then in his
40s, had ever been to a zoo. He fell in love with one of the cubs, and thought he
could train it. He wanted it. He needed it.
The zoo needed a new guard dog, which was Klose's specialty--he ran a kennel and
had been breeding and training German shepherds for years. He and the zoo owner
decided to make a swap. Klose drove home, got a dog, drove back, got a lion.
For years, Pasha the lion was the family pet. It accompanied the Kloses and their
young children everywhere they went, drawing gasps and tentative requests for
photos. The Kloses' living room is plastered with photos of Pasha in the back of the
family car, of Klose readying the lion for a walk down Yonge Street, of Christa and
the cub playing on the beach. The pictures span two decades, showing Pasha
maturing from a cub to a full-grown beast. In most of the photos, one of the Kloses
is draped over Pasha, who's smiling and placid.
As the lion grew, it needed to move outside of the family home and into a bigger
cage. It was then that Klose experienced his first difficulty in keeping a dangerous
pet in Ontario.
Getting the lion had been easy. Getting it home had been easy. Training it and
travelling with it: pretty easy. Now, as he built the lion's massive outdoor enclosure,
Klose realized he felt the same as many pet-owners do--that he couldn't be without
his lion. He told the township about his pet and asked if he needed a permit. They
told him that the only way that Klose could keep his lion was to essentially rezone
his property as a zoo.
So: He started a zoo.
Human beings have always collected animals from faraway lands, and often just
because we could. The first zoo is thought to have to existed around 3500 BC.
Archeologists have discovered the bones of more than 100 animals--including
elephants, hippos, and baboons--in the same cemetery that contains the remains of
the ruling families of Hierakonpolis, Egypt. Zoos were common throughout ancient
Greece, and during the rule of Alexander the Great became populated with big cats
and elephants sent back from military conquest. The English monarchs collected
exotic animals from at least the time of Henry I, who built England's first park by
destroying seven miles of villages.
In France, Louis XIV built a menagerie at Versailles to house his collection of exotic
fighting beasts; its pie-shaped structure was mimicked throughout Europe. The most
famous of all the old zoos, though, is the Schonbrunn Palace in Vienna, built in 1752
under Holy Roman Emperor Francis I. Schonbrunn began as an expression of power
and wealth, but has been open to the public since 1779, (though originally only to
"respectably dressed persons" on Sundays). It was home to the first birth of an
African elephant in captivity anywhere in the world in 1906, a reflection of the
previous century's shift away from menageries to zoological parks with an increased
focus on research and education. It remains open today.
Zoological parks didn't emerge until the Enlightenment, propelled by the
movement's fascination with natural history. The shift made animal-keeping more
about close observation in elaborately manufactured "natural" habitats, and less
about ownership and status. People began to care about the animals. Not so in
Canada. Our first zoo began displaying animals in 1899 on land purchased for the
development of a park. Built and staffed by inmates of the Don Jail, the Riverdale
Zoo was a sad place. Photos from the city archives show polar bears leaning
listlessly on metal bars beside a small pool surrounded by concrete. Natural
surroundings meant for animal enrichment and human education are absent. The
zoo closed in 1974 and its animals were moved to the then-new Metropolitan
Toronto Zoo.
Today's newest iteration of displaying power by keeping animals is the roadside zoo,
a DIY-style collection of exotic animals in cages that usually begins with a situation
similar to Klose's: a very large pet and a desire to keep it--and perhaps to acquire
even more. Ontario is home to dozens of roadside zoos with geneses similar to
Klose's zoo, which he officially opened in 1985, and is now called Jungle Cat World
Wildlife Park. The province's famed African Lion Safari opened in 1969 when the
owner had 40 lions. Little Ray's Reptile Zoo in Ottawa was, at first, just a guy with a
lot of snakes in his basement. Anyone can claim to be a zoo in Ontario, and no one
can question that claim. If you want to open a zoo, open a zoo. Go ahead. There's
no one to stop you, help you, or ensure you take care of the animals you buy--a fact
that's reflected in Ontario's many roadside zoos, which range from well-maintained
to absolutely barbaric.
Rob Laidlaw hates this. Laidlaw runs Zoocheck, a registered Canadian and U.S.
animal welfare charity that he founded in 1984. He's deeply critical of Ontario's lax
animal welfare legislation and its complete absence of zoo regulations. "You and I
could say, 'We're going to start a wildlife zoo,"' says Laidlaw. "We can go out and
buy a tiger. We can buy a monkey. We can buy a bunch of spitting cobras. We could
bang up cages, get some old aquariums, and then put up a sign that says 'zoo' and
charge admission."
Most other jurisdictions, he adds, aren't like that. In the U.S., anyone who wants to
start a zoo must obtain a federal license under the Department of Agriculture; in the
U.K., you also need a license; ditto for India. In fact, in most other provinces in
Canada there are at least some measures in place to control who may own and
operate a zoo. In B.C., any commercial zoo that wants to display nonnative species
must be accredited by Canada's Accredited Zoos and Aquariums (CAZA), a
members-based organization with its own zoo standards, or an equivalent body. In
New Brunswick, the province only allows zoos with CAZA accreditation to operate.
Alberta has had provincial standards for zoos since 2006. Saskatchewan has a
captive wildlife licensing system that applies to zoos. "Here in Ontario, it's anything
goes," says Laidlaw. "We're way behind many other jurisdictions in the world."
Ontario's animal laws exist in a vacuum, removed from common sense, adds Greg
Tarry, associate director of CAZA. "If you want to own a white-tailed deer, you need
to get a permit," he says. "If you want to have a lion or a tiger: Go for it."
Requirements for animal treatment are the same wherever an animal is kept. Put a
tiger in your spare bedroom or build a cage for it on your front lawn and demand
money from people to look at it: it's all the same. Zoo owners aren't subject to
specific rules or regulations; some choose to observe industry best practices (as a
member of CAZA, for example). If you decide that you want to have your own
menagerie, there's no one who can punish you for doing it wrong. Advocates
suspect we have widespread animal abuse, but there is no way to truly measure
how bad it is, or any way to do anything about it even if we did.
In the absence of a provincial licensing or regulatory system in Ontario, starting a
zoo is simply a matter of complying with (or outsmarting) your municipality's animal
ownership bylaws. The province cedes authority on exotic or non-native animal
species to municipalities. Most urban municipalities have bans on certain nonnative
species, including Toronto, Ottawa, Mississauga, and Vaughan. But in both Toronto
and Ottawa the bylaws make an exception for CAZA-accredited facilities. Some
cities exempt zoos by name: Ottawa's bylaws give a pass to Little Ray's Reptile Zoo,
and Toronto's do the same for the Toronto Zoo.
Then there are the generic exemptions. Mississauga and Oshawa's bylaws exempt
"any person in charge of a travelling circus, exhibition, or road show, or any
employee thereof, lawfully displaying animals." There is no explanation of what
makes for the lawful display of animals. Ottawa's animal control bylaw has a curious
exemption for "the premises of any licensed zoo or exhibit," even though there's no
such thing as a license for zoos in Ontario. Cities also tend to exempt "recognized
zoos" without any mention of who does the recognizing.
Bylaws get spottier the farther you get from big cities. In Peterborough, Ont., a 1991
animal control bylaw extensively lists prohibited species for ownership. Under
exemptions in the bylaw to own any exotic or prohibited animal, Peterborough lists
by name the Riverview Park and Zoo and adds "or any other zoo within the city."
Belleville regulates dog ownership, but ignores other animals. Bancroft, Ont., my
small home town, has a bylaw governing the collection of dog poop. That's it. "Right
now, we have all kinds of really bad places in this province," says Laidlaw, "and
nobody can close them down." Or force them to improve.
In such sparse legislative environments, roadside zoos have flourished--and without
a licensing or permit requirement, they have largely done so under the radar. Even
Laidlaw, who's one of the only people in the province inspecting zoos, doesn't know
how many there are, and suspects nobody really does. Although, he adds, he is
constantly hearing about new zoos. Of the six people that I spoke to in a position to
know how many zoos are in Ontario, estimates ranged as low as 35 to higher than
60. Laidlaw says that if you included all types of zoos, from the traditional model to
private menageries, the number could be between 80-100, or higher. The Ontario
Ministry of Natural Resources, which issues permits for anyone holding native
species in captivity, like deer and bears, can account for 45 facilities, according to
Laidlaw's research, which, he adds, is based on a past Freedom of Information
request. "But most of the facilities that are out there don't hold native species, so
who knows," says Laidlaw. "That should scream to people, 'Hey, we've got a
problem! We don't even know what's here!"'
Paul Goulet was a disappointed child. He laments learning at a young age that he
couldn't own a dinosaur as a pet, and has spent much of his adult life making up for
that sad, evolutionary fact. In high school, he kept a modest collection of reptiles
but it wasn't until after university that he began building his collection in earnest.
Shortly after moving to Gloucester, Ont. in 1995, he acquired the first of what his
wife Sheri calls their "scaly friends:" a king snake, two boa constrictors, a ball
python, a leopard gecko, and a red-footed tortoise.
Soon he was asked to bring his collection in for a show-and-tell in a local school. The
next day, he had calls from four teachers asking for his reptiles. His hobby quickly
became a part-time business. Before long he was renovating his basement to house
his rapidly growing collection of reptiles, amphibians, and arachnids. Goulet, now
better known as "Little Ray," quit his job as a banker in 1998 to do the reptile shows
at schools, daycares, and birthday parties full-time.
By 2000, Sheri and Little Ray had over 200 animals in their basement. So: they
decided to open a zoo. Goulet went to the municipal government with a plan to
build a zoo on nearby Bank Street. After three months and a special city council
meeting to amend bylaws, Little Ray's Reptile Zoo opened in November of that year.
Gloucester knew and trusted Goulet. He'd been doing his show and working with the
Ontario Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (OSPCA), removing reptiles
from homes, for years. "After five years [of that]," he says, "we didn't look like crazy
people who kept animals in their house. We'd established some credibility."
Little Ray's Reptile Zoo is also CAZA accredited, and Goulet is a vocal champion of
the process, which requires owners to comply with lengthy guidelines addressing
everything from corporate governing structure to the social needs of animals. As a
CAZA member, Goulet must provide his staff with opportunities for education and
training and must encourage all visitors who want to get up close and cuddly with
his creatures to sanitize their hands first. He believes anyone who owns a collection
of exotic animals, like him, should have a set of tried-and-tested rules to follow.
In Ontario, Goulet's operation is a strong example of an owner taking personal
responsibility in ensuring high quality, actively working with the municipality and
animal groups to show its legitimacy. His business has expanded into Nova Scotia
and Newfoundland, and he's opened a second zoo in Hamilton. Yet, none of this
would have been accomplished had Goulet not wanted to do so--no one made him
take such responsibility, because no one can.
Since its inception, Zoocheck has been calling for a zoo licensing system in Ontario.
For regulations. For standards. The province still has none, and many of our zoos--
roadside and established--have for decades been panned by zoo animal welfare
experts. In the mid'-90s, John Gripper, a British veterinarian and zoo inspector,
investigated many of Ontario's zoos, at the behest of Zoocheck and the World
Society for the Protection of Animals (WSPA). Gripper evaluated the enclosures
under the 1984 British Zoo Licensing requirements, looking at factors such as:
appropriate enclosure size; the zoo's ability to enrich the animal's life; the comfort
and wellbeing of the animals; and the safety, security, and educational impact of
the facilities. He concluded only two of the 18 zoos he examined would have been
granted a license in the U.K., the Toronto Zoo and Peterborough's Riverside Zoo. He
also recommended closing several if no changes were made, including Marineland.
Ten years later, Zoocheck and the WSPA invited another expert to examine Ontario's
zoos, including small road-side menageries. Dr. Ken Gold looked at five exhibits for
each of the 16 zoos he examined. He reviewed each using a weighted system
developed by Laidlaw, which the WSPA uses worldwide for animal welfare
inspections. Eighty-three percent of the exhibits failed. Only three zoos had passing
grades for their tiger exhibits, and six received a score of zero. Only one zoo's bear
exhibit passed. Four of the 16 zoos had passing grades overall, including Klose's
Jungle Cat World--though one of the CAZA-accredited zoos had failing grades for all
five exhibits.
"Several of these zoos would never reach the level of care, welfare and housing
required to meet professional standards," Gold wrote in his report. "In fact, they are
on a par with some of the worst zoos I have seen in many Third World countries."
Arguably, not much has changed since Gold's 2005 investigation--but there's some
hope that may not be the case for long. In 2008, the Ontario Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act (or simply, the Provincial Animal Welfare Act)
was amended. The amendments created a basic standard of care for animals in the
province and increased penalties for offences, including fines up to $60,000 and up
to two years of imprisonment. Since the amendment, in extreme cases of animal
abuse--when an animal has died of starvation--offenders have even been sentenced
to jail time.
Significantly, when it comes to roadside zoos, the changes also give the OSPCA the
power to investigate and inspect premises other than homes. Meaning, zoos. (Prior
to 2008, says OSPCA investigations and communications officer Brad Dewar, they
could inspect a zoo, but a complaint had to be filed first.) Change, however, has not
been swift. Despite its new powers, the OSPCA had no dedicated zoo inspection
staff until an October 2013 $5.5-million funding boost allowed it to create two
fulltime positions. Staff will now conduct two random inspections of zoos and
aquariums each year. Zoo licenses are also under discussion, but would require
legislation, and the matter has been tabled until later in 2014. The OSPCA, however,
is pleased with the funding boost, and Dewar seems generally optimistic about the
OSPCA's powers when it comes to zoos. He adds that his organization now has
sufficient powers to enforce animal welfare, even in roadside zoos.
Laidlaw doesn't buy it: "[The OSPCA Act] is a terrible vehicle for dealing with these
types of issues," he says. The act is completely retroactive, he adds, which means it
can't stop anybody from creating a dangerous, abusive zoo--it can only investigate
after abuse, neglect, or suffering has occurred. If it finds an animal owner to be in
violation of the act, it can issue orders to improve the conditions for the animal, and
courts may subsequently fine or imprison the owner, plus issue a lifetime ban on
animal ownership. None of this necessarily means that a zoo would permanently
close. There are many ways a zoo could stay open, possibly with different staff or
owners, says Laidlaw, or as another corporation--subject to changing some of the
conditions that led to the initial order.
The act doesn't create standards, or criteria for expertise, both things that are
sorely needed in the world of roadside zoos. It also doesn't magically create a
complete list of roadside zoos in Ontario, and as of March no definitive list of the
notoriously elusive zoos existed (though the OSPCA promises to have one by the
end of the year). Without a full list of zoos to investigate, it's impossible for the
OSPCA to fully grasp the depth of the challenge it faces, or to even properly address
the challenge--it could miss five or 50 zoos and never know the difference.
Greg Tarry has been in the zoo business since he graduated agricultural college in
Alberta when he was 20. He began working at the Calgary Zoo as an apprentice
zookeeper, and eventually worked his way up to zookeeper, then foreman, then
curator, then associate director. When he retired at age 55, he was the zoo's
director of conservation, education, and research. He's now CAZA's associate
director, has twice served as the organization's president, and has been involved
with the organization since it was founded in 1975. He's done zoo accreditation
visits across the country.
Tarry believes strongly in the education, conservation, and research prospects of
zoos, and wants to see zoos operating well, so that animals are cared for and so
that humans may be exposed to a learning experience. A visit to a good zoo, he
believes, will provide that experience; a visit to a bad one will not. Yet, he also
believes that, in Ontario, undue responsibility has been placed on the OSPCA to
inspect zoos, which he says falls outside of the organization's mandate. The OSPCA
has, after all, traditionally specialized in domestic animals, not exotic ones. He
believes zoos should have licenses and that a provincial standard--CAZA's or
something like it--is needed for granting licenses.
Currently, however, only 10 of the province's facilities are CAZA-accredited. As a
membership-based group, zoos and aquariums that are open to the public and have
significant animal collections must pay a minimum annual fee of $2,500. CAZA also
accredits institutional and educational affiliate members, such as museums, whose
membership fees range from $250-$l,000. The fees, plus the cost of improving zoos
to get up to CAZA standards, are prohibitive for some, Tarry admits. Lowering costs
wouldn't necessarily boost membership: many zoos that don't seek accreditation
may not be interested in appearing legitimate. Three non-accredited zoos that I
reached out to, for instance, didn't return calls or emails.
Laidlaw doesn't think that CAZA accreditation means much--and nor should it be
thought of as the regulatory industry's peak. CAZA accreditation visits occur every
five years if the zoo scores exceptionally well on the first visit; if it merely falls in the
"acceptable" range, it will face an interim investigation during that five year cycle.
CAZA accreditation isn't mandatory, and the worst offenders could, in theory, opt
out after a failed inspection.
If Laidlaw's hoped-for licensing system becomes a reality, he wants it to be strict.
That means, among many things: people who want to start a zoo must begin with a
license before getting their animals; certain animals (like whales and dolphins)
would be prohibited outright; a set of standards would exist for all zoos; and
violations and complaints against zoos would be made public. Of course, he'd also
like to see someone in the province have the power to close zoos that repeatedly
violate the yet-to-exist standards. The power to close zoos is a kind of worst-case
scenario for a man who thinks our zoo paradigm--of looking out for the public first,
then the staff, then the animals last--is completely backwards.
Klose is now in his 70s but shows little sign of age. He's magnetic and instantly
likeable, yet bursting with an old man's scorn for "political correctness," which he
shrugs off like an oversized coat. He once told me, for instance: "You cannot train a
cat like a dog. And you cannot train a woman. Forget it." A great conspirator, Klose
is eager to usher you in to his secret worlds--opening the locked cabinet in his living
room to show you his revolver, his grandfather's war medals, and old pictures of his
wife posing on the hoods of old cars. His enthusiasm for his own endeavors makes
you want to be a part of them. Here is my expensive car, he says. Here is my
impenetrable house. Here is my lion.
He radiates pride as we walk around his Jungle Cat World. Pasha lived for 17 years
and had many offspring with mate Delilah; some are still at Jungle Cat World today.
Klose designed everything himself: the pens for lion cubs, tigers, a snow leopard,
the serval. It's an almost biblical scene, this: the pond sparkling, the animals
roaming, the peacocks calling out from the tops of the trees, and Klose, standing
amongst it all, smiling serenely as he surveys his creation.
Klose tells me he was born in East Germany but fled while still in his teens. He found
work as a stonemason in West Germany before becoming a police officer. When he
was 22, he and Christa, newly wed, emigrated to Canada. The man who spoke not a
word of English made a new life for himself. He became a dog trainer and bought a
home; eventually, a bigger home and a dog kennel in Orono, Ont. Decades on and a
continent away from his homeland, Klose finally found the ultimate expression of his
freedom. He wanted a lion, so he got a lion. He wanted to build a zoo, so he built a
zoo. Jungle Cat World has been CAZA-accredited since 1989, but beyond its own
high standards is not subject to strict municipal regulation under Clarington's
bylaws, which exempt any CAZA-accredited facilities.
After a few hours, the sun begins to set, and many of the animals in Jungle Cat
World have been fed before the staff head home for the day. The peacocks still flit
lazily around the grounds, but the light doesn't catch their plumage any more. The
only sounds are cars zipping past on Hwy. 115, heading home to Toronto or
Peterborough. Klose locks the door to his house and insists on driving me 100
meters down the road, where my car is parked. His German Shepherd Cello is still
barking madly in a small cage behind the house, saying goodbye. And, in the
gathering darkness, his lions, tigers, and leopards are waking.

Gough, Drew
Full Text: COPYRIGHT 2014 Red Maple Foundation.
http://www.thismag.org

Source Citation

Gough, Drew. "Suburban lion safari." This Magazine, May-June 2014, p. 14+.
Opposing Viewpoints in Context, link.galegroup.com/apps/doc/A372692127/OVIC?
u=ucinc_main&xid=79e78a7e. Accessed 18 Apr. 2017.

Gale Document Number: GALE|A372692127