The Most Dangerous Animal

One of the most diabolical characters I ever knew was named Rodan. He was not human. He was a bird. Rodan was a male Andean condor on exhibit with his mate at the Pittsburgh Aviary where I worked on the staff. With a ten-foot wingspan and weighing thirty-five pounds, he was gigantic – the largest bird of prey in the world.

Shortly after Rodan arrived, I noticed a fellow keeper had a gaping wound in his arm with a large black bruise surrounding it. I didn’t ask what had happened and the next day it was my job to feed the big outdoor exhibit where the condors were caged. As usual, I just walked in with the food dishes; the birds rushed the food, but instead of stopping to eat, Rodan kept coming and stabbed into my thigh with his four-inch-long beak—much like a sharp pair of pliers-- and ripped out a piece of flesh through my blue jeans. I defended myself with a stick long enough to back out of the exhibit and, with my shoe filling with blood, went back to report that Rodan had become very aggressive.

Nothing was done at the managerial level, so it was up to the keepers to come up with safer methods on their own. By then most keepers were refusing to go in (perhaps the safest method). But someone had to feed them, so I found an eight-foot long, forked branch that could prevent the bird from rushing me, and I also carried in a hose to spray him back long enough for me to service the exhibit.

This worked for several days, but one day, as I kept my eye on Rodan, suddenly the hose was ripped from my hand—the female, who was docile but playful, had pulled the hose which had yanked open the exhibit door-- and now the female was standing two feet from freedom. I dropped the stick and raced back to shut the door. I made it three steps. Rodan grabbed the back of my knee from behind and yanked me to the ground. Knowing I had only seconds, I whipped around as Rodan ran up my body and stabbed down toward my face. I was able to get my hands around his large throat to keep his beak from my face or eyes and squeezed. He began to back pedal with his huge wings and that was my saving grace. He flapped so powerfully that I was able to stand without the use of my arms. Once up, I pushed him away, grabbed my forked stick and backed out of the exhibit as he circled me wanting to charge again.

Not long after that I traveled to Ecuador and had the beautiful experience of climbing high in the Andes to watch others of his kind soaring above in the most majestic, magnificent circles above the snow-capped peaks at fourteen thousand feet. There, in their own element, they seemed to be the perfect complement to the soaring mountains.