My girlfriend and me are on a rope suspension bridge in a Zimbabwe crocodile park when I drop three leaves successively that I pick up off of the bridge boards onto a 25 foot crocodile's head amidst other adult crocodiles in a below, concrete pen. The crocodiles are to be shipped off to Europe as handbags.
The crocodile under the bridge on whose head I drop the leaves lifts its head off of the concrete pool after the third leaf lands on its head and I say to my girlfriend "stand back" at the same time reaching for her right shoulder on the suspension bridge.
I stand at my girlfriend's left looking over the rail, reeling at the prospect of what the below crocodile is about to do.
The crocodile leaps up, arches its back, flexes its tail and a tooth or two in its enormous mouth catches in the chicken wire of the suspension bridge rail on which my girlfriend and me are standing ten feet above the below, concrete pen full of adult crocodiles.
We hustle off of the bridge when the bridge doesn't fall down into the below crocodile pen as the crocodile on whose head the leaves land hangs by it's teeth in the chicken wire rail before sliding back down into the concrete pool missing its catch.
In another part of the crocodile park after dropping leaves on an adult crocodile's head, baby crocodiles pile themselves in corners of concrete pens and scramble over walls onto grass where tourists are now running in different directions as several baby crocodiles try to escape.
African workers grab baby crocodiles by tails off the grass and hurl them back into concrete pens when my girlfriend and me leave the park. We decide that it would be prudent to leave.
My girlfriend and me are sixteen years old at the time of the crocodile park visit in Victoria Falls. We board a shuttle by the front gate of the crocodile park and are sipping cold beer and eating crocodile meat over dinner at the five star Victoria Falls resort later that day relieved to not be a crocodile's lunch.
The crocodile under the bridge on whose head I drop the leaves lifts its head off of the concrete pool after the third leaf lands on its head and I say to my girlfriend "stand back" at the same time reaching for her right shoulder on the suspension bridge.
I stand at my girlfriend's left looking over the rail, reeling at the prospect of what the below crocodile is about to do.
The crocodile leaps up, arches its back, flexes its tail and a tooth or two in its enormous mouth catches in the chicken wire of the suspension bridge rail on which my girlfriend and me are standing ten feet above the below, concrete pen full of adult crocodiles.
We hustle off of the bridge when the bridge doesn't fall down into the below crocodile pen as the crocodile on whose head the leaves land hangs by it's teeth in the chicken wire rail before sliding back down into the concrete pool missing its catch.
In another part of the crocodile park after dropping leaves on an adult crocodile's head, baby crocodiles pile themselves in corners of concrete pens and scramble over walls onto grass where tourists are now running in different directions as several baby crocodiles try to escape.
African workers grab baby crocodiles by tails off the grass and hurl them back into concrete pens when my girlfriend and me leave the park. We decide that it would be prudent to leave.
My girlfriend and me are sixteen years old at the time of the crocodile park visit in Victoria Falls. We board a shuttle by the front gate of the crocodile park and are sipping cold beer and eating crocodile meat over dinner at the five star Victoria Falls resort later that day relieved to not be a crocodile's lunch.
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