Tiger Tales.

We had hoped to land in Pyongyang, but at the last minute, we got a call from the State Department. No go, they said. Too dangerous. The U.S. Government will not support you. The pilot headed north, hoping we might be able land in Vladivostock while the State Department would reconsider. All of a sudden I heard the co-pilot scream, "Look out!" I turned to the window and saw the unmistakable streak of a surface-to-air-missile. The pilot banked hard--but it was too late. The missile hit the left wing and were headed straight down.

I don't know how long I was out, but once I regained consciousness, it was clear that I was the sole survivor of a plane crash. Was I lucky? Or would I envy the dead? I wasn't even sure which side of the Amur River I was standing on. Was I in Russia, or China?

Then I hears a growl. International boundaries were the least of my concerns. A Siberian Tiger! He sauntered, slowly, as if teasing me. These fierce creatures eat photojournalists for sport. It's their game.

My one hope was to somehow distract the mighty animal and hope for an escape. I grabbed my Nikon D5200 DSLR and set the flash bulb to Christmas Party. Hey, if I didn't make it, at least I would go out with a blast . . .

But really . . .

I was taking photos of the Tigers at the Bronx Zoo. All of a sudden a group of pre-teenage schoolchildren showed up. This furry beast decided to give everybody a show. He hustled towards us and displayed his fangs in the most menacing way possible. 

Then he plopped down on the snow, belly up, paws in the air and started wagging his tail like an 800 house cat. What a ham!

How he likes to mock the hipsters and their silly little manicured mustaches!