By Peter Kenter
I recently watched A Lion Called Christian, a documentary about two young Australian travellers, Ace Bourke and John Rendall, who purchased a young lion cub from Harrods department store in swinging London, circa 1969.
Christian grew as lions do and the massive feline was soon limited to exercise sessions inside the confines of a walled London cemetery. He grew larger and more aggressive and was eventually transported to Kenya where naturalist George Adamson helped to rehabilitate Christian to live in the wild. The hearts of YouTube viewers were later warmed by a sequence showing the joyful reunion between lion and lads at Adamson’s African base camp a year later.
For me, the most memorable sequences involved the boys loading Christian into their sporty British convertible or Ford truck and driving down King’s Road or fashionable Carnaby Street in bell bottoms and ascots, the lion riding shotgun to the delight of mod passersby.
I didn’t dally with the notion of ascots, but the idea of driving down fashionable streets with a lion in the front seat beside me certainly had appeal. Unfortunately, Canada is woefully short of lions for hire.
I approached a local lion safari theme park for the rental of a lion cub that I would return, safe and sound, later that day. Instead, park officials suggested I drive my car to the park and then wend my way among lions and baboons parading around outside my vehicle.
I explained to the park people that they had it backward. All I wanted was one gentle lion cub to ride alongside me inside the car. No adults. No baboons.
They hung up.
Plan B: If I drove quickly, I reckoned, I wouldn’t actually have to have a lion in the seat with me. All I would need to provide would be the impression that I had a lion with me. Since I wouldn’t be leaving the car, I wouldn’t have to wear bell bottoms either.
Racoons, unfortunately, are far more vicious than lions, and driving around with a nest
of squirrels in the back seat has little cachet.
The only candidate — Angus, my six-month-old bull terrier.
Sharp teeth? Check. Playful demeanour? Check. Fierce guttural emanations? Check.
Snow-white pelt? Everybody’s heard of a white lion. Check. Stunning leonine mane? A challenge.
I wear an Arctic green parka, but I never much liked the ring of artificial coyote fur buttoned into the hood. I located the strip and, with a few minor alterations, fitted it around the little dog’s neck and over his scruff. Voila! A lion was born.
Too young to protest, Angus was delighted simply to get into the car for a ride. I opened the passenger side window a couple of centimetres, placed the control on lock and began my safari.
The reaction was exactly what I’d hoped for. Initial shock and fear at seeing a lion in the city, poking its head nonchalantly out of a car soon gave way to delight. Fingers pointed and children dropped their ice cream cones — or whatever they eat in the winter — to point at Angus the Lion.
I waved genially, basking in the attention, as I embodied fully the esthetics of a swinging London mod. “Don’t get too close to the car,” I told admiring young women. “He’s a carnivore and he hasn’t been fed today.”
The police of this city have developed a high tolerance for such spectacles, so I was surprised when a uniformed officer approached the car at an intersection.
“Do you have a licence for him,” the animal control officer demanded.
“Why, you’re mistaken,” I told him. “This isn’t a young lion … an exotic. He’s just a little dog.”
“Yes,” replied the officer. “Where is his dog licence?”
I produced a rabies vaccination tag and we then agreed I would buy a licence for Angus within 30 days or face a large fine. Angus snarled defiantly.
To avoid further unwanted attention, I decided to domesticate the lion cub. We parked close to the house and I slipped him in through the back door to avoid frightening the neighbours. I gradually rehabilitated him to live in a home setting over the space of 15 minutes or so, first removing the mane, then providing him with a series of liver treats.
I filmed much of the adventure for a future documentary to be aired on Animal Planet in the year 2032. The passage of time is often kind to documentary tales of car-riding lions.
