Have you been listening to the Hell Gate Podcast? You can catch last week's episode here.
To live in New York City is to be in constant contact with its fauna. We've got a veritable zoo of critters that live on their own dime and follow their own rules: pigeons, rats, seagulls, squirrels, red-tailed hawks, and the mighty East River striped bass, among others. Those animals come and go as they please, eliciting terrified squeals as they run across your feet, rummage through your garbage, swoop down murderously from above, linger mysteriously nearby, or fight you for a single fry on the beach.
Sometimes, and increasingly as we clean up our act, we're visited by more exotic fare, which leads to widespread public concern for their general well-being. Unlike those vagrants listed above, they're not necessarily street smart, don't know whether the train is going uptown or downtown, and may stop to ask for directions from a speeding boat or car. Our dolphins, whales, coyotes, swans, and owls have become news stories all their own, and all we can do is hope for their survival. When tragedy strikes (as it often does), we tend to shrug our shoulders and mumble somewhat stonily, "It's a tough town."
And then there are our animal prisoners, with whom we have an even queasier relationship. In the city's zoos and aquariums, you can find polar bears, seals, red pandas, Peruvian bears, pythons, groundhogs, bats, so many bats, penguins, and more. (But no giant pandas—sorry Carolyn Maloney.) Such animals are kept for pleasure, although the depth of that conceit is debatable. But what if we just…freed them all?