The Giraffe

Albuquerque, New Mexico 1970.
I do not recall how old I was, at least eight years old, and perhaps no more than ten, since what I am about to relate can only happen to a small person. This was at the Albuquerque Zoo.
Albuquerque, New Mexico had every right to be proud of its zoo; at a mile elevation this city’s climate is literally a high desert. With an average annual rainfall of less than ten inches this park managed to safely share dozens of species, including monkeys, otters, zebra, and even penguins. There were lions and tigers and sun bears from China, and there were also a few giraffe.
The yard for the giraffe was large and the fence was especially high, but there was a way to get an unobstructed view of the long-necked creatures. Built against the fence was a wooden tower, with steps that led up to a viewing platform that brought the observer face to face with the African animals.
I ascended the tower with my family and I was so enchanted by the gentle faces of these enormous creatures that I did not notice when they climbed down. With four young children running around, I’m certain that my family thought that I would soon catch up, and that was my plan also, except for the adorable giraffe that was coming toward the tower looking very friendly. I was alone except for one man who had just climbed up. He came right up to the platform and I was reaching out with my arm, hoping to pet this animal. I was cooing and coaxing, standing on my toes and stretching my right arm out, within inches of rubbing that cute furry nose. And then the giraffe stepped forward and the tongue came out and I knew that it was going to lick me.
I was instantly appalled by the look of the tongue; it was long, extremely long, and it was an ugly blue, black color that didn’t seem healthy and I instinctually pulled my arm back, but it was too late – the tongue whipped out and instead of simply licking my arm, the long dark muscle acted like a rope, swinging around my wrist and then somehow…I still am not sure how…the tip of the tuonge manage to fold under.
The giraffe was just as surprised as I was and I am sure it was pure instinct that caused it to step back, almost exactly as I did. This movement did two things; the pulling tightened the strange knot around my wrist and the movement caused me to pitch forward, and over the railing of the wooden tower. I’m not sure when I started screaming, though I guess it was when I felt that hot tongue touch my skin, but regardless of how the man noticed the real danger I was in and when he reached out to grab me, he did save me from falling. The trouble though was that the giraffe did not stop leaning back, trying to free itself from me, and the man had himself braced in the tower. I flayed hysterically until I heard the man tell me to stay still or I would fall and then I did just that…I was very high in the air. But it was not easy. Yes, I was scared to be so high in the air but that fear was nothing, nothing at all compared to the revulsion I felt at having that dark, impossibly long tongue touching me.
I don’t know how long it took, just seconds I am sure, that the workers were in the enclosure with the giraffe. They lightly tapped the back of the legs of the tall beast, causing it to take small steps forward. It only took about three steps which gave its tongue enough slack that it released and I was free. The man behind me had been ready for this and and caught me, setting me on my feet. By this time my parents had returned and people all around were smiling at the close call while I held my arm out from by body, desperately looking for a bathroom where I could wash off the giraffe spit.