Jack Thornton

In 1978, I was employed for a three-month period by the Olympic Game Farm. Lloyd Beebe had acquired a gnu (an antelope relative also known as wildebeest) from another exotic game farm.

The problem was that Lloyd had to keep the beast alone in a rather large confinement because when placed with any other animals, he would attack them viciously. He had seriously gored two large bull elk with his sharp-tipped horns. One day, Lloyd instructed me to castrate and dehorn the gnu.

I had found an article describing how to make a blow-dart gun from common and inexpensive materials. It actually worked quite well, and I used it in several veterinary encounters with wild and crazy critters. It made me feel like a big pygmy with a giant pea shooter.

Stalking the gnu in a half-acre enclosure was not easy. He was the wildest, most rambunctious animal with which I had ever dealt.



1 good shot deserves ...

His speed and endurance defied me for hours before I was able to get close enough to score a hit with a dose of a drug called Rompun, which usually would immobilize a 1,000-pound cow within 20 minutes. My prey was perhaps half that weight.

The first shot had little to no effect on Mr. Gnu. (My respect for him was growing in direct proportion to my frustration). Finally a second shot, and still he blew by me, snorting and shaking his head like I was standing still.

Come to think of it, I was.

Later (much stalking later) after a third shot, he seemed to be slowing down but not nearly as much as I. Maybe if I waited until dark he would fall asleep and then I could catch him. I was becoming concerned about the safety of using so much drug, but by this time it was war.



Widebeest wrestling

A fourth injection and an hour or so later a fifth. I never had given any bovine - no matter how big and wild - anything close to such a dose, and he still wasn't down. But at last he was slowed to a staggering lope. I lassoed him (my term for clumsily flipping a rope loop over his head as he staggered by) and thought I was finally in control.

Wrong.

I wrestled this literally wild beast to the ground, but it was tough to know if I was on top or on the bottom. Eventually I was able to tie his legs in such a manner that he was restrained for surgery.

By this time I was filthy, soaked with sweat, and the sun was going down. About all I had left was the strength to saw off his horns and castrate him. I untied him, propped him on his brisket so he wouldn't bloat, pumped him full of antibiotics and staggered off as if I were the one with the five injections of Rompun in my butt.



The morning after

The next morning I was surprised and stunned to find this vigorous athlete dead. The nobility of his fight had won my unqualified respect, and I was also afraid that Lloyd would be upset.

With grave spirit I went to him and reported the situation. Seeing my depression, Lloyd just smiled sympathetically and said, "It's OK. You've solved my problem." He went on to explain that with his dangerous horns and attitude, there was nowhere to put him. Furthermore, no other game parks would have him.

I have been able to rationalize over the years that a creature of such spirit probably was better off dead than being confined.

Maybe so.

At any rate, whenever I watch a nature show documenting the great migrations of the wildebeest over the plains of Africa, I have a reference point that engenders in me nothing but admiration.

That's the gnu I knew.



Jack Thornton is a semi-retired veterinarian in eastern Clallam County.