Gorilla Refuses To Give Birth. Zookeeper Screams, "Stand Back!" When He Sees This On Ultrasound

I’d been watching Kira, our pregnant gorilla, closely, she was weeks overdue, and something wasn’t right. She barely moved, kept to herself, and showed no signs of labor. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were missing something. Finally, I called in a wildlife specialist. When she examined Kira, what she found made me say, “This can’t be true…”

I kept moving through my daily rounds, feeding Kira her usual mix of fruits and veggies. But each time I tossed an apple or rummaged for carrots, that knot of worry tightened. I tried chatting with her, though she'd just stare, a little too uninterested. Terry, my co-worker, noticed. "Something gnawing at you, Mike?" he asked, to which I replied, "Just a feeling, that’s all."

As days passed, Kira seemed even more sluggish. She'd lounge in the shade without her usual spark. Normally, she'd play or engage, but now she just dozed. This wasn't the Kira we knew. Jane, another keeper, mentioned, "Maybe she's just having an off week." But my instincts screamed that something deeper was at play, making my concern grow ever more pressing.

Some of the team suggested bringing in an outside vet, someone with more expertise. "Might be good to have fresh eyes," Dave recommended. I nodded, considering their concerns, but decided to keep a close watch first. I trusted our little community in the zookeeper staff, hoping proximity would reveal some signs or spark a change in Kira's behavior.

I began spending longer hours in Kira's enclosure, hoping for any hint or signal that announced the baby's arrival. I'd sit quietly nearby with snacks, observing every stretch, every yawn she made. At times she'd glance my way, and I'd find myself whispering encouragements, willing her to show us what was going on. But days turned into quiet evenings with nothing new.

Lying in bed, I couldn't shake the weight of concern tugging at my mind. 'What if something's really wrong?' echoed in my thoughts. Scenarios unfolded, but none provided the clarity or explanation I needed. 'There must be an explanation,' I reassured myself, settling under the covers as the ticking clock lulled me to a restless sleep, still worrying over Kira’s delay.

Dawn broke, and I hurried to the zoo, hoping for overnight developments. Kira rested in her usual spot—calm, quiet, and still no signs of birth. I watched her for a while before Jane sauntered over with her coffee, nodding towards Kira. "No news yet?" she asked. I shrugged, forcing a smile. "She's just taking her time, I guess."

Dave noticed my uneasy demeanor and shared tales he'd heard on stress-delayed births in captivity. "Sometimes environments do strange things," he explained. He recounted stories of other pregnancies, where even the slightest disruption had significant effects. These anecdotes didn't ease my mind but served as a reminder of the delicate balance we tread between captivity and nature’s course.

Fueled by curiosity and concern, I dove into research, immersing myself in articles about gorilla pregnancies and behaviors. Hours swirled away as I absorbed theories and studies, each explanation unraveling more questions than answers. The tension shifted to focus on the broader aspects I had perhaps overlooked, its peculiarities and possibilities. I paused, considering practical steps we might take.

Working at the zoo, you get accustomed to visitor queries. "When’s the little one arriving?" asked Mr. Harper, a regular. With a light laugh, I replied, "Kira's on gorilla time—no rush." These exchanges became routine, each harmless but all reminders of what wasn't happening. The anticipation lingered in the air, both from onlookers and myself, leaving a silent wish for clarity.