The following column is the opinion and analysis of the writer:

I was at my favorite seedy bar when a peacock, his tongue loosened by seed and Scotch, began crowing about “a band of activists who’d found their hill to die on.”

“Barnum Hill? Over at Reid Park?”

The peacock nodded and pecked at his beer nuts.

I was on this case like flies on a water buffalo. “The voters voted. The zoo’s expanding. What’s the problem?”

A duck nursing his daiquiri at the end of the bar piped up. “It’s daffy.”

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Mike Hammer.”

“Daffy’s not my name. The opposition to the expansion is daffy. My name’s ‘Donald,’ no relation. I gotta waddle back to park. My shift’s starting.” Donald left, telling the squirrel monkey tending bar to “Put it on my bill.” I cast my peepers into my martini. “Well, isn’t that ducky.”

Wanting the facts straight from the horse’s mouth I went to Reid Park Zoo and found two zebras, “Are you two horses opposed to the expansion?”

“We’re zebras. Different species, Detective Dolittle. Opposed? Us? Neigh. We’re for it. For us it’s as clear as black and white.”

“You mean white and black.”

“Black and white.”

“White and black.”

“Black and —”

I had no time to horse around. I moved on to a different corner of the zoo where I found a gregarious grizzly with a thoughtful take on the Barnum Hill brouhaha.

“Many humans find change unbearable. Calls for forbearance. You need to just grin and bear it.” I thought to myself here’s a bear so wise he should be a yogi.

The meerkat cracked soon as I offered him two bits and a live cricket. “Every meerkat ... crunch ... stands in favor of replacing Barnum Hill and the south pond ... crunch ... good cricket ... with our zoo addition. We’re happy to help with the excavation . . crunch, crunch . . along with the groundhogs. Ignore the rumors. Don’t believe every ‘vague thing’ you hear from the Gnus.”

“I don’t! I hate vague news.”

A pair of very snobbish otters, rudely eavesdropping on us, informed me they disapproved of puns, warning me I otter know better. A dissident duck nipped my leg.

“Notice which pond is disappearing? South side. It’s always the south side that gets rolled in this town.” Her pal, a flamingo, flamed the whole kerfuffle. “Yeah. The town that sacrificed an entire barrio for the TCC is weeping over a hill.”

From somewhere behind me, up high, leaves rustled. “Hey, you! The short white ape.”

I cast my peepers over my shoulder and met a giraffe, eye-to-eye, chewing on leaves and opinions. “Listen, you mug, we giraffes always take the long view. I’m sticking my neck out here but we think this could make us a class attraction.”

“Tell me tall boy, can you see the beloved hill, and pond, in question, from up there?”

“Yeah. And Nogales. And Picacho Peak. I got to agree with what the anteater said. They’re making a mountain out of an anthill.”

The whole ark supported the expansion. I didn’t tell any of these featherheads and furballs I once rode my bike down that anthill, sledded there, slipped and fell in there, broke a tooth there, made out there, drank wine there, slipped and fell in there again, smoked there, partied there, stained the rocks there, wept over a dame that dumped me there, and then barfed straight into the waterfall and slipped and fell in again.

A ring-tailed lemur dropped down from a tree, grabbed my lapels and shook me out of my reverie. “Listen up, you galoot. When the new zoo addition opens no one will remember that hill. Or that pond.” Then the palooka plucked a mite from my hair and vanished into the trees.

One of the African elephants was listening. “I’ll remember. An elephant never forgets.” I told the elephant, “I won’t forget my memories. The slipping. The falls. The barfing. But I think the addition of Malayan tigers, Komodo dragons, the Temple of Tiny Monkeys and the red pandas will more than make up for the loss. Speaking as a cartoonist — I think Asia-ville will be a big draw. “

Yebonga and Fireball, the white rhinos, horned in on our conversation. Yebonga said “I guess a hundred public meetings weren’t enough for the critics. Can we tell you what we love about being rhinos at the zoo?”

“Sure. When your shift’s over meet me at the bar down the street. It’s where a duck and a peacock I know hang out after work.” It had been a long day. I’d need a stiff drink if I was going to listen to a pair of rhinos toot their horns.

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David Fitzsimmons: tooner@tucson.com.