Bailey the Bobcat: Free at Last

This is a story about latent instinct and second chances.  It begins in the days of my youth when it was still a rare event to see a flock of wild turkeys in eastern New York and before some of the shabby sleepy farm towns became desireable for second homes and cyber cafes.  The central landscape of my childhood home was the 600 acres of Millbrook School where my father was headmaster.  There were swamps to romp in, streams to dam, and forested hills of craggy shale to explore.  There was also a zoo.

Millbrook's Trevor Zoo is not one of those sad animal prisons where animals languish with dull eyes and senses, but a fully accredited zoo involved in everything from rare species conservation to engaging students in animal care.  In the early 1980s, though, before an infusion of generous philanthropic support, there were parts of the zoo that were less modern, where cages were smaller. 

This story is about one of those animals, a bobcat named Bailey who came to Millbrook after decades of captivity at the Bronx Zoo.  He had never been in the wild, never caught the scent of prey on the wind or known the quivering pause before springing to the kill.  He was old, and tired, and no longer on display in New York, so he arrived at Millbrook to live out his final geriatric days.  I remember him hissing on top of the wooden box where he bedded down at night, and thinking there was still something feral in that old captive body. 

Then one night, Bailey got out. 

Perhaps his student keeper left the gate unlatched.  The school night watchman found Bailey outside the cage and managed to coax him back inside with a plate of food.  But not long afterward, he was loose again, and this time he was gone for good.

He was gone from the zoo compound, certainly, but not from the area, for Bailey started turning up at the dumpster behind the dining hall, and the zoo staff set a large have-a-heart trap for him that managed to catch one of the neighborhood dogs instead.  We feared it would end in tragedy, that he would not be able to find food for himself, or worse, that he would raid someone's chicken coop and end up getting shot.

But Bailey survived.  And thrived.

I saw him one winter night, six months later, crossing the road down by the school wetlands.  He was sleek and well fed and there weren't other bobcats in the region back then so it could only have been Bailey.  Others saw him high on the ridge, far from the derelict dairy farms fast converting to horse country.  He was 30 years old.  He knew what to do.  Free at last.

Comments

[Sissy Willis]

I love this story, so well told. It's bringing tears of joy to my eyes. 'Calls to mind my favorite Thoreau quotation:

"The most alive is the wildest. Not yet subdued to man, its presence refreshes him."

http://sisu.typepad.com/sisu/2004/12/the_most_alive_.html

Thank you.

[Sara]

Tim,

I was a student at Millbrook in the late 1980's. Your father was my headmaster. Some time ago, probably while googling, I found your blog. I have been reading it ever since, but have never written. So, hello! Nice to meet you you.

I love this story about the bobcat. I was also there before the improvements to the zoo, and I also worked there. I remember my first day, assigned to the great horned owls. The assistant zookeeper took me into the zoo building, gassed a few rats and plopped them, still warm, into my hand to feed to the owls. That place was a learning experience.

Sorry to be off topic. Your post just brings back some great memories.

I am a big fan of both your writing and your topics. And I know you know this, but your parents are truly wonderful people.

[Terry Cowgill]

I guess it was inevitable. You can teach an old cat new tricks.

We have a bobcat in our neighborhood in Lakeville, Conn. After my daughter sprinkles dried blood in the vegetable garden to ward off the deer, the feral feline wanders over to check out the scent, then usually spies a cottontail bunny and off he goes.