Forced into the Arena, I Made Her Join MeI'm a nationally certified animal trainer running the Lion King, Caesar's final assessment. I've barely stepped into the enclosure corridor when the steel guillotine door slams down behind me.
My wife's laughter crackles over the loudspeaker.
"Everyone, we're doing the ultimate challenge today! We're locking the so-called number-one animal trainer in the Lion King's enclosure and taking bets on whether he wets himself in ten minutes!"
Caesar crouches low and rumbles a warning. I reach for my tranquilizer gun but stop cold. The liquid isn't the right color.
In a phony sing-song voice, the veterinarian, Hugh Archer, says, "Lucian, I forgot to mention, I swapped your tranquilizer darts for pepper spray so you won't hurt Caesar by mistake.
"You two are so close. Just win him over with love!"
I look at Caesar, his eyes bloodshot from the stimulant, and it clicks. Hugh still resents that I stopped him from touching a tiger with his bare hands a few days ago.
I tune out the trash blaring over the loudspeaker, pull a remote from my pocket, and hit the button. It's the master switch for the electric fence gates around every predator enclosure in the zoo.
If I don't make it out, no one does.