So, there we were, bottling feeding Baby Sultan, a three week old Bengal
tiger rejected by his mom, (a rescue in poor condition, and unbeknownst to us, pregnant).
He was at that stumble-bumble walking stage,
exploring any and everything, continually making mis-steps, much like a drunken
sailor. Three fast steps forward, two sideways, then a sit down and yell.
Learning to walk, and negotiate the world on four stubby little legs, is not
easy for an animal that seeks to know his surroundings RIGHT NOW.
We had gotten him through that "every other hour, 24/7 " bottle feeding
process of the prior few weeks. Exhaustion is the only word to describe that.
His new found mobility was finding new ways to keep us on our toes. We had used
a baby's play pen, the kind with netting, but that was problematic in that his
little claws would get hung in the net. The holler he would let out, told the
whole house that he was not happy getting stuck. Amazingly loud. Especially at 3
AM. Getting up to fix this problem also had to include a fresh bottle, as now he
needed to be put back to sleep. Warm milk formula takes the cake in that respect.
We have a large room that juts out of the main floor of our house, at a
second story level from the back. The house is built into a slight hill, so this
floor is ground level in the front, but second story in the rear. The walls of
this room are all sliding glass doors, so it was deemed "the bird room". A nice
sunny room, that slider doors can be opened for good ventilation. Perfect for a
big 'ol Green Wing Macaw (a very large parrot), and a smaller parrot, named
Mojo, a Blue Front Amazon.
The Macaw was a rescue from many years ago. Fred (the name given by
a previous owner) was purchased from a shabby little run down pet store up
north, where we found him in a dark back room. My heart broke upon seeing him in
a cage way too small, and broken tail feathers sweeping through all the feces at
the bottom of the cage. I told my wife I wanted to buy him to rescue the bird and she was somewhat reluctant (it would require $1500 to make this rescue, which we would have to borrow). The pet store owner refused to give up the bird, even though he looked near death. I told him that no one was going to buy this sick bird and he said he didn't care. If Fred died, he would claim it on his business insurance and still get money so demanded I buy him. My wife did agree to go look though, because animal rescue was what we were all about, so I knew I was half way there.
When we got there, and removed Fred from the fetid cage, he (she?) did everything
he could to bite me and inflict maximum pain. The scummy pet shop owner explained that
it was a girl's bird, who could no longer handle him. With that in mind, my wife
took the macaw, who immediately cooed to her, showing gentleness and affection.
He got on her shoulder and preened away at her hair. That did it. An animal that
bit me and loved on her... she had to have him.
When we got home with Fred, he seemed to act much better with me, allowing
me to hold him, and lifting his wing to allow me to scratch him in that warm
recess, under-wing and softly feathered. My wife then went to hold him, and
horrors!! He took a plug out of her hand. The plug of meat was the size of an
eraser off of a new #2 pencil, and shaped about the same. While bleeding
profusely, she exclaimed (loudly) that this bird was a cheater.
She had been conned. This was almost 20 years ago. The relationship was never
quite the same between Fred and my wife (to say the least) but she loves him dearly.
So, back to the baby tiger (whom we had named Sultan, hoping for a most
regal attitude from this young fellow). After trying several different night
time confinements, we settled on using our portable show dog pen. It consists of
about five 3 1/2 foot tall panels, and about 4 feet long each. It's
design being such, that it can be set up as temporary confinement for a dog
awaiting his turn in the ring (we use to show Samoyeds). We were apprehensive of
all the dogs that slept in the house, and having baby
Sultan in that pen in the same room, overnight. We decided the best place was
the bird room.
We set up his new "digs" in the bird room, with a sheet across the top, so that he could sleep safe and
wake up to a new morning with nice sunlight streaming in and good ventilation.
At last, a safe night-time place for Sultan.
I awoke the next morning to a very frantic wife. Half asleep I went bolting
through the house to get to the bird room. There was Fred, inside the pen, wing
over sleeping Sultan, and preening his fine baby tiger hair. My wife envisioned
pencil-sized plugs of meat being removed from our baby. She explained that Fred
would not allow her access to Sultan, and she was afraid if she pushed too much,
he would bite the baby (more like bite her, I assure you).
Well, I removed the offending Macaw, and my wife fed baby. He saw little of
that pen during that day, and was back to staggering about the house knocking
things around. He envisioned himself on the "big hunt", terrorizing the local
residents (the smaller dogs, left in the house during the day, would run from
fear at his approach). The next night, my wife put him to bed after his nightly
snack, and placed a sheet over the pen. She secured the sheet over the top with
clothespins to prevent a repeat of the previous night. It was to no avail.
The next morning, there sat Fred on the floor in the pen, wing over his new
baby, and chewing on a clothespin that was now near sawdust. I removed Fred for
her, and set him on his perch, then left. Again I heard her calling and rushed back. Fred was now chasing my wife. He was on the floor
running, with both wings stretched out, after my wife while she clutched Sultan.
He had ruined his chances for a nice relationship with my wife those many years before.
My wife did not appreciate my uncontrolled laughter, and showered a few of
her choice words, in my direction. I covered the top of the porta-pen with light
gauge weld wire fencing. That worked for the following week, whereas then Sultan
took to our bed, sleeping between us. He was quite happy with this arrangement,
and never tinkled in the bed. This good habit endeared him to our sleeping spot
up until he was large enough to push us out of bed (quite a few months later).
We had been raising a beagle all this time also, who too shared our bed.
There were more than a few nights that my wife and I were forcefully pushed
out, while beagle and tiger were content having the whole bed, sans humans.
Sultan would shore up his back against my wife and use all four paws to push me
out, then turn over to do the same to my wife. The beagle would watch with
seemingly total delight. What a cool game this was (at 3 AM).
They were both then moved out doors, into a much larger pen, where they
resided together until the tiger was simply too large to keep playing with the
beagle. He had vastly outgrown in size, his little beagle buddy, and play had
become way too rough for the dog.
The beagle is still in the house, and Sultan resides in a large enclosure,
with access to a 10,000 square foot playground. Including a swimming pool,,, of
course. Fred is still in the birdroom, along with Mojo the Blue Front Amazon (he
never wanted anything to do with that tiger mothering stuff, he was happy
being a "watcher").
All is in order at "The Rock".
Unfortunately, our video camera and still camera were both kaput. We never
really thought about the fantastic photo ops we missed. Included below, are
web addresses of photos of two out of three of the players in
the little drama (comedy?)