We wanted to find out who owned them, what their living conditions are, how lax regulation has allowed them to proliferate, and how they’re traded around the country.Īmong other things, we found that most tigers in this country live in small zoos and animal attractions-known generally in the industry as “roadside” zoos-where care standards can vary widely, in some cases endangering the animals in them and the humans who visit them. My visit to the Ringling center with photographer Steve Winter was just one stop during a two-year investigation into why there are likely more tigers living in cages in the U.S. Hulk and the two other cubs had disappeared. He died four days later of a treatable bacterial blood infection thought to be carried by fleas and ticks, says veterinarian Kellyn Sweeley, who treated him. A team from Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge drove from Arkansas to rescue the six adult tigers. The center was operating under a USDA license held by his girlfriend, Brittany Medina.įour months after my visit, Garretson was evicted from the property, which was leased in his name. But by 2017 he was working at the Ringling center with new cats. Department of Agriculture (USDA) fined Garretson $32,560 and ordered him to never again exhibit, breed, buy, or sell animals that required U.S. Court documents noted the cats were “extraordinarily hungry” and had reached through flimsy cattle fencing to rip Lynda Brackett’s arm off “in a feeding-like frenzy.” The 35-year-old, who worked there as a volunteer, bled to death. I later learned that seven tigers under Garretson’s care at another facility had killed a woman in 2003. Outside, we watched six adult tigers lounge in their pools or stalk one another, overweight but seemingly happy and living in clean enclosures. We met two more tiger cubs in a back room at the Ringling Animal Care Center in Oklahoma (which has no connection to the famous circus). Garretson peeled him off, and all made light of it with nervous laughs. Then the rambunctious cub leaped off the sofa, grabbed me from behind, gripped my legs with surprising strength, and tore five-inch scratches into my thighs. Garretson lured him back with another bottle to give Ariel’s five-year-old brother, James, a turn. When the bottle was empty, the cub wandered onto the coffee table and swatted our photo gear. The 12-week-old, cocker spaniel-size cat clutched the bottle in his oversize paws, sucking with wild enthusiasm. You got it?” She nodded.Įveryone beamed, fondling Hulk’s rough, striped fur as Garretson hovered nearby. The kids giggled as he placed the squirming cub on nine-year-old Ariel’s lap and pushed a baby bottle into its mouth. Then James Garretson carried Hulk into the living room, where the McCabe family waited on the couch. Their squawks echoed from inside the neat, ranch-style home, sounding more like parrots than tiger cubs. This story appears in the December 2019 issue of National Geographic magazine.
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