ght come here.
Every animal in this zoo stays here because he likes it, not because he
is made to."

"They all look very happy and clean," I said. "Would you mind telling me
the names of some of them?"

"Certainly. Well now: that funny-looking thing with plates on his back,
nosing under the brick over there, is a South American armadillo. The
little chap talking to him is a Canadian woodchuck. They both live in
those holes you see at the foot of the wall. The two little beasts doing
antics in the pond are a pair of Russian minks--and that reminds me:
I must go and get them some herrings from the town before noon--it is
early-closing to-day. That animal just stepping out of his house is an
antelope, one of the smaller South African kinds. Now let us move to the
other side of those bushes there and I will show you some more."

"Are those deer over there?" I asked.

"DEER!" said the Doctor. "Where do you mean?"

"Over there," I said, pointing--"nibbling the grass border of the bed.
There are two of them."

"Oh, that," said the Doctor with a smile. "That isn't two animals:
that's one animal with two heads--the only two-headed animal in the
world. It's called the 'pushmi-pullyu.' I brought him from Africa. He's
very tame--acts as a kind of night-watchman for my zoo. He only sleeps
with one head at a time, you see very handy--the other head stays awake
all night."

"Have you any lions or tigers?" I asked as we moved on.

"No," said the Doctor. "It wouldn't be possible to keep them here--and
I wouldn't keep them even if I could. If I had my way, Stubbins, there
wouldn't be a single lion or tiger in captivity anywhere in the world.
They never take to it. They're never happy. They never settle down. They
are always thinking of the big countries they have left behind. You can
see it in their eyes, dreaming--dreaming always of the great open spaces
where they were born; dreaming of the deep, dark jungles where their
mothers first taught them how to scent and track the deer. And what are
they given in exchange for all this?" asked the Doctor, stopping in his
walk and growing all red and angry--"What are they given in exchange
for the glory of an African sunrise, for the twilight breeze whispering
through the palms, for the green shade of the matted, tangled vines,
for the cool, big-starred nights of the desert, for the patter of the
waterfall after a hard day's hunt? What, I ask you, are they given in
exchange for THESE?