For more than twenty-five years, I have been breaking, working, and training tigers. I have been clawed and slashed and chewed until there is hardly an inch of my body unscarred by tooth or nail. But I love these big cats as a mother loves her children, even when they are the most wayward. They are killers because they know their own strength. They can be subdued by never conquered, except by love. And that is the secret of all successful animal training. I have learned it at the risk of my life. . .

Mine may seem a strange profession for a woman, but it is not physical strength that counts in the big cage. . .For me there is no greater thrill than stepping into a cageful of those glorious beasts and matching wits with them. . .There is a matchless beauty about their tawny bodies striped in midnight black. There is rhythmic grace in their stealthy stride and the long curving arc of their supple bodies as they spring. I even love their snarling hiss as they bare their powerful fangs to strike. . .Nowadays, when I meet men and women who spend their lives shut up in houses or offices, whose faces are gray with the monotony of humdrum daily existence, I realize how fortunate I was in the choice of my lifework.