"
"You think, then, they really do have a sort of illusion, if you give
them space enough--"
"In a few cases only. Nothing will make me believe that an acre or so of
concrete enclosure will make up to a wolf or a tiger-cat for the range of
night prowling that would belong to it in a wild state. Think of the
dictionary of sound and scent and recollection that unfolds before a real
wild beat as it comes out from its lair every evening, with the knowledge
that in a few minutes it will be hieing along to some distant hunting
ground where all the joy and fury of the chase awaits it; think of the
crowded sensations of the brain when every rustle, every cry, every bent
twig, and every whiff across the nostrils means something, something to
do with life and death and dinner. Imagine the satisfaction of stealing
down to your own particular drinking spot, choosing your own particular
tree to scrape your claws on, finding your own particular bed of dried
grass to roll on. Then, in the place of all that, put a concrete
promenade, which will be of exactly the same dimensions whether you race
or crawl across it, coated with stale, unvarying scents and surrounded
with cries and noises that have ceased to have the least meaning or
interest.
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