The scrabbling of the Cheetah’s non-retractable claws on the floor of the transport crate and the thumping of the animal’s heavy body into the sides of the container made me wince.

Just the day before, we had visited the local clinic, a tidy, clean, white stucco building run by the clinician, Mr. Quisito.

Entering the forested area required shoving through a dense hedge of thorn-laden bushes. The further I went toward the din of howling hounds, whistling handlers, and roaring leopards, the denser it became.

I realize Hank Williams, Jr. was singing about something totally different in his raucous lyrics about ‘The Family Tradition’.