By the time Kevin’s appointment came around, I was really struggling. After a long night on call, with little sleep or sustenance, and tired at the end of a full morning’s consulting, I was all too conscious I wasn’t functioning at my peak. I called Rich into the consulting room. He came in with a young assistant, the two of them sharing the load of a large animal-carrier, which only just squeezed through the consulting-room door.
Rich was in his late twenties, about 6 foot tall, of medium build, with long blond dreadlocks that he wore in a pony tail, and multiple facial piercings. He wore black cargo trousers and a green polo shirt emblazoned with the zoo’s logo. He was the senior keeper, and as such I had dealt with him several times before and had grown to respect him immensely. He had an intimate knowledge of the zoo’s collection, always knowing an animal’s age, as well as its medical history. He took great pleasure in researching and staying up to speed with all the latest ideas and thoughts on an animal’s diet, enrichment and habitat. His special affinity, though, was for primates, and he had often come in with a little marmoset or tamarin on his shoulder.
‘Morning, Jon,’ he said cheerily now. ‘You look terrible. Late night, was it?’
‘Don’t ask. I was on call last night – it was a long one. Anyway, nice to see you, Rich. How are things?’
‘I wish I could say the same, but it’s never nice to see you. Nothing personal, of course, but it always means one of ours is sick. Today it’s this little fella, a joey we’re rearing. We didn’t realize his mum had had him until a couple of months ago, obviously he was hidden away in her pouch. Anyway, judging by the size of him, he’s a foot tall, we reckon he’s about eleven months old. He’s seemed fine since we first spotted him, but Tim here –’ he nodded at the young chap who had helped carry in the box – ‘said that he noticed Kevin had a bit of a snotty nose yesterday. It seems much worse today and he isn’t too interested in his breakfast.’
‘That’s right,’ said Tim. ‘He was fine in himself yesterday, but just seems a bit quieter today.’
‘I wanted you to check him out before he got any worse,’ continued Rich. ‘He’s a particular favourite now with the staff, you know, being a surprise and all – everyone’s taken to him, the cheeky chappie that he is. Aren’t you, Kevin?’ he added, speaking to the crate. There was a thud from inside as Kevin stamped the floor in protest at his temporary incarceration.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Well, let’s have a look at him.’ I bent down and began to open his cage, as I would with any other pet carrier a client had brought in.
This was an exhausted lapse of my exhausted thinking, however, and ran counter to all the usual protocols that Rich and I had established when dealing with zoo animals. My actions so surprised him that he was too slow to respond.
‘Oh, careful Jon, he’s a live wire, this one!’ was all he could muster as I undid the latch on the box and gently opened the door, allowing Kevin a brief glimpse of freedom as he pushed his nose through the small gap. Then, with a massive spring, he powered himself forward. I was caught completely off guard, and in an instant Kevin the kangaroo had barged his way out the box before I had a chance to stop him.
If he had just stopped there, or if the back door of my consulting room, which led into the pharmacy, had been shut, then it wouldn’t have been too much of an issue, but unfortunately neither of these was the case. Having been cooped up for half an hour, Kevin obviously decided he needed to stretch his legs, and in two hops he had disappeared into the pharmacy, from which, moments later, a catastrophic clattering emerged. I scrambled to my feet and hared after him, Rich and Tim close on my heels. Entering the pharmacy, we saw the trail of destruction that Kevin had wreaked through the corridor – boxes and bottles of drugs, bandage material, scissors, forceps and all the other equipment that had been neatly laid out on the pharmacy work surface now lay strewn all over the floor as we continued in our pursuit. The path Kevin was taking through the practice was now leading him into the prep room, and once again the door that could have helpfully blocked his progress stood open. Bounce, bounce, bounce – he was through the door and round the corner and into the prep room. Where complete and utter chaos ensued.
Two of my colleagues were busy preparing an anaesthetic procedure for the last operation of the morning. Hannah had just brought through the patient, a little dachshund who was having a lump removed, and was settling her on the table, where Gavin was just checking he had everything he needed. Meanwhile, in the corner of the room, Lucy and Jess were kneeling with one of the patients I had earlier admitted, a large German shepherd, into whose leg they were just about to insert a catheter to put him on intravenous fluids.
It was into this calm and busy scene that Kevin hopped, with me, Rich and Tim hot on his tail. The first reaction came from the German shepherd, who barked furiously and lunged forward, knocking Jess off balance, pushing Lucy to the side, and scattering their equipment everywhere. Fortunately, the German shepherd was restrained by a lead attached to a wall hook so his range was impeded, otherwise the chase would have been on and we would have met Kevin retreating towards us in panic. Instead, what happened was that Kevin was so startled by the sudden shock and aggression that greeted him that he hopped onto the prep-room table, which startled the daylights out of the dachshund, who now enthusiastically added her high-pitched yapping to the chorus of disapproval. Finding no safe haven, Kevin bounced onto the side work surface, where an array of surgical instruments lay drying on a towel, having been washed after use that morning. Slipping on the towel, Kevin sent the instruments flying in all directions, which of course panicked him still further.
This almighty commotion brought Jane running from reception. Bursting through the door, she held it wide open and, utterly speechless, her mouth wide open, eyes out on stalks, began to take in the chaotic scene – thus providing Kevin with the only means of escape at his disposal. Panicked by barking dogs, instruments falling all around him and feeling trapped, he hopped off the table and flew like a whirlwind through the door into reception.
It was at this point that we got our lucky break: there were no clients waiting in reception, the front door was shut, and Kevin decided to hop past the counter towards it, inadvertently cornering himself. A moment of calm descended – though if a new client should happen to walk in at that moment, chaos would come again. With one bound, Kevin could have been out the front door and free, and I doubt we would ever have seen him again. I shuddered at the thought of having to explain myself to the staff of the zoo.
After a few minutes, though, Kevin stopped bouncing around, unsure where to go or what to do next, and simply stood in the middle of the room, assessing his unfamiliar environment.
At which point Rich took control. ‘Tim,’ he whispered. ‘Pop back into the consulting room, will you, and get some of that fruit we put in the box with him.’
Moments later, Tim returned with a handful of mixed chopped-up fruit.
‘Good lad,’ Rich said, throwing the first piece in Kevin’s direction. The incoming projectile caught Kevin’s attention and he took a few steps to investigate it. The realization that it was food delighted him, and he picked it up, rapidly devoured it, then looked around for more. Rich threw a second piece, slowly creeping forward as he did so. ‘Stay there,’ he whispered to us. ‘Too many of us will frighten him.’
By this time Kevin had located the source of the food, and after gulping down the second piece, he took a couple of steps in Rich’s direction. Rich met Kevin halfway with the third piece, and that was enough to re-establish the bond of trust and friendship between them. Holding out his hand with the remaining pieces of fruit, Kevin bounded over and started helping himself. When he was holding the last one between his two paws, Rich was able to pick him up with minimal resistance and carry him back to my consulting-room table.