LITTLE RIVER ZOO

The Little Zoo That Could

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An abundance of trees hides a pleasant surprise as you drive up the gravel road. Suddenly, you're in a clearing amidst buildings and pens, greeted by contrasting sounds of a rooster crowing, a goose honking and a peacock blaring. Mix in a wandering flock of squawking African Hooded Guinea birds, too busy gossiping to notice your arrival. But the humans notice and welcome you with a friendly smile.

Aside from the feathered filibuster, the Little River Zoo, just off Highway 9 a few miles east of Norman, Oklahoma, is a peaceful place for people and animals. But it's not a typical zoo. If you're looking for a different experience, up close and personal, with a little education thrown in, this is the place. Welcome to Zoo 101. Today, your teacher is Director Janet Schmid. Tomorrow, you may think differently about the creatures that share the world with us.

Here, the animals are teachers too. But it's difficult to interpret growl, grunt, chirp and...well, the turtles in the pool by the office, they don't say anything. That's why you get a personal guide–no lengthy plaques to read or recorder slung around your neck–a warm-blooded human tells the stories and answers your questions.

Call of the wild

That's the way Schmid wants it. And, as befits this unusual zoo, Schmid doesn't look like a typical director when she walks up in muddy tennis shoes, jeans, work shirt and long auburn hair pulled back under a cap. This is a hands-on director, which doesn't seem unusual, once you learn she not only runs the place, she created it, along with her husband Bill. If you want to get back to unusual, go to current and former professions: he's a clinical psychologist. She has a degree in public relations and marketing and spent years in that pursuit before, dare I say it, answering the call of the wild. But why, and how to go about such a huge undertaking?

"One animal at a time," she says, sitting down at a picnic table in the shade and apologizing as she brushes a little poopie off the table. Yes, those guineas do wander everywhere, don't they?

"I did PR in health care after graduating," she says. "But when I was about 30, I had the opportunity to rethink what I was doing. What did I really want, what was my dream? It was to work with animals. They've always been my first love. Bill and I had a few animals, and we'd go to schools and do programs for children, including delinquent ones. We had access to them through his work. It was a thrill to be a part of that moment when they came out of their shells, dropped their defenses and just enjoyed being around animals."

From that experience and talking with teachers, concerning the need for educating students about wild animals, an idea that would seem improbable if not impossible to most people, was born–they had the land, they had the desire, they would build a zoo. Not just any zoo but an educational one to promote knowledge, understanding and compassion, to draw a connection between "them and us." Next came a tour of zoos around the country.

"We took note of what we liked and didn't like from the viewpoint of laymen," she laughs. "We weren't hindered by rules; didn't know the politics of zoos, what you could and couldn't do. There was no formal training. I know a lot, but it's all self-taught."

Build it, they will come

In 1991, they set an ambitious goal, to build their dream in five years and open it to the public. In 1996, the Little River Zoo opened, and it continues to grow. What started with a few farm animals has increased to over 400, representing 100 species, including monkeys, foxes, wolves, cougars, kangaroos, llamas and bears. There's also a barnyard area with miniature horses among the animals you can feed and pet.

In 1997, they gave up ownership to let the zoo become a non-profit organization. "By then, we had invested so much and the zoo had become so big, we knew we had to do it to continue to grow and gain community support," says Schmid. "The goal is to get others involved. Only recently have we reached the point of bringing in volunteers. People are starting to realize this is a serious operation, not the hobby of some weird couple out in the woods."

Indeed, over 50,000 visited last year. Plus, the zoo gave educational programs to about 9500 children. Schmid estimates attendance has increased 30 percent each year.

Now, contractors do much of the labor the Schmids did by themselves in the beginning. Construction is about to begin on a wetlands area. And in a recently completed deal, the veterinary team will expand to include staff and students from Oklahoma State University's College of Veterinary Medicine. A full service clinic is being built to that end. Not only is this of great benefit to the animals, but, again, the zoo is performing an educational function, as a living laboratory where students can gain experience with exotic wildlife.

Schmid rolls her eyes, recalling their modest beginning. "The first exotic animal we got was a European Lynx, and then an African Serval. They completely destroyed our house, and we realized, if we were going to do this, we couldn't live normal lives."

Normal, no. Devoted and caring, yes. The zoo takes in rescued animals, saved from dire circumstances–some came from laboratories, others from sanctuaries. They suffered cruel treatment, abandonment or just fell on bad luck, like the two bears. Their mothers were poached, and they were going to be euthanized. Some suffered trauma, like a little monkey named Charlie, the lone survivor of a house fire that killed the seven monkeys she lived with. Schmid says Charlie was the submissive one, always grooming the others. When the owner found her, she had gathered all the others around, holding them, trying to take care of her family. She almost died from depression.

Schmid points a finger and smiles. "But she survived. She's in a new troop now, fits in well, and she's happy." Schmid uses her and others to give what she calls life lessons. "People identify with them. You can experience every emotion here. When we tell Charlie's story to kids, we talk about understanding that bad things happen to all of us, but don't give up hope. You have to hang in there, because things will get better."

Ziggy, the ambassador

There's one special ambassador–Ziggy, a big blind kangaroo. What can a sightless marsupial do? You'd be surprised. Schmid, passionate about her work and well-practiced in PR skills, can vocalize as long and fast as those guineas can squawk. But here, she slows down.

"Kids have a tendency to stare at someone who's different. They're curious about the blind; they don't understand. Well, they can stare at Ziggy; they can look into his eyes. We can show them that, in spite of it, he's the alpha male of the bunch. He gets around just fine, and blind people can get around fine too. They're just as smart, just as capable. We can break down some of the myths."

She turns her head and nods toward Ziggy, not too far away in his pen, lazily sunning himself. "We had a group of disabled children come through. The tour guide was talking about him, and a teacher brought a little boy up to the fence where Ziggy was standing. The boy stuck his arms through the fence, hugged him and said, 'Ziggy, I'm blind too.' They had something in common and just connected in that moment. Everybody was crying. It was so neat. He'll never forget Ziggy. Since then, we've had several families bring out blind children just to meet him. Most traditional places wouldn't keep a blind kangaroo. But it's an opportunity to touch people."

This from a lady who, at one time, disliked zoos. "I thought animals should be free," she says. "And I'm all for them being in the wild where they should be." Her concern is there's less and less of the wild. "To keep animals from going extinct, humans must understand the importance of the issue. We have this idea that nature is over there, and we're over here, rather than understanding we're all part of the same system."

She has a compelling argument when it comes to her residents' confinement. "They were born in captivity. This is the only environment they know, and they'd be scared to death if they weren't in here. It would be as cruel to remove them, as it is to bring wild animals into captivity. People ask us, 'don't these cats need more land?' Yeah, if that's what it takes to find enough food. But if the food came to them under the same tree every day, they'd lay right there and let it come. Why expend that energy if you don't have to? Life is rough in the wild. We all prefer comfort and have the same basic needs: food, shelter and to feel safe."

At Little River, those needs are met, but there's more to it. It's about persuading people to see the animals as individuals, thus advancing respect for all life. As Schmid puts it, to narrow the distance between us and establish a relationship.

"I think we're on the cutting edge of the way zoos are starting to view their role in conservation and education," she says. "Humans relate to each other as individuals. They can with animals too. So, instead of Ziggy being just a representative of kangaroos, he's much more. He has his own personality, and people connect emotionally."

For her, education is fundamental in empowering people, showing them that individual action can make a difference. It might save a rain forest or simply convince someone interested in owning an exotic pet to think more realistically.

"Traditional zoos don't want to recognize animals as individuals," she says. "They fear, if people become emotionally attached, it promotes the idea of having exotic animals as pets. On the contrary, we feel there should be an open dialogue where we talk about the reality of doing that. Then people can make an informed decision. And we've had many change their minds about owning such pets when they see the reality."

The reality is, you can take the animal out of the wild, but you can't take the wild out of the animal. "They think if you raise it as a domestic, it will act like one. It won't. You can't change what it is, and it can't be trusted. People get a young cougar because it's so cute. Then it grows up, and they realize it could kill them. Or they buy a monkey at birth. Then it reaches sexual maturity, becomes dangerous, and they want to get rid of it. A lot of ours were pets. Here, they can be what they never got to be, monkeys. It's in their makeup to be part of a social group, so we integrate them with others, and they form a family. To the extent that's possible in captivity, we want them to live the rest of their lives as monkeys would."

Touching the heart

Education is one level, but to convince people, Schmid knows she has to reach below the brain and touch the heart.

She stands up, shoves her hands in her back pockets and looks around her domain. Ziggy is snoozing, the peacock is showing off, fanning out his blue and green feathers, and the guineas are still gossiping.

"It's hard to get excited if everything is academic. Most people don't respond that way." She thumps her chest. "You have to reach them here to get them involved. Conservation begins in the heart. Once you believe it there, you can begin to practice it. These animals teach us that we share the world together, and we must care for the world and each other."

Lesson learned.

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