AsiaLIFE

My wife (Oun) grew up in a small village in the province of Kratie. Now it's fairly developed, with roads and schools and hordes of tourists taking day trips to see the famous freshwater dolphins of the Mekong River. But my wife has many memories of when her homeland was still wild frontier, and her family depended on it to survive.

Before he died, her grandfather always worked to teach her everything he could about living in the forest. He knew that surviving in Cambodia depended on cultivating a diverse set of skills. When times are difficult, as they often have been in recent memory, it was necessary to have something to fall back on. While he was primarily a farmer who raised vegetables and fruit trees, he also knew how to make a living in the forest. On his excursions to the jungle, little Oun would tag along. He taught her where to find firewood and herbs, and what was valuable for traditional medicine and how to use it. But perhaps most importantly, he taught her how to fend off tigers.

Outstaring Tigers

Today, the idea of apex predators in the wilds of Cambodia is a growing hope for naturalists and eco-tourism entrepreneurs. But before decades of war engulfed Southeast Asia, large carnivorous cats were a clear and present danger to the peasants of Cambodia. According to her grandfather, the best defence wasn't a rifle or a spear, but a hard stare. Standing your ground, opening your eyes wide and facing the tiger down would scare the beast off, at which point the lucky peasant had best run as fast as possible out of the jungle.

Fortunately, Oun never had the opportunity to test this theory out. But her grandfather died of old age, safe in his home — not in the belly of a tiger. Like many Cambodians, as she moved up the socio-economic ladder, she spent less time in the forest and more time in urban areas, which beckoned with their schools and jobs. And finally we moved to the United States, where tigers only eat drunks at the San Francisco Zoo.

Loving Animals

Our son would love to listen to his great-grandfather's stories, though being only 2 years old he's not terribly attentive. He loves animals, from goldfish to elephants, and has spent countless hours poring over pictures books of animals and frolicking at zoos and at farms.

And his love of animals has only increased upon repeated viewings of the National Geographic documentary "Eye of the Leopard," which chronicles the life of, you guessed it, a leopard and its eventful days stalking and devouring squirrels, stalking and devouring warthogs, stalking and devouring primates — pretty much stalking and devouring everything that has the bad sense to get in its way. The boy soaks this up like water soaks up rice.

The Eye of the Leopard

But as the media has taught us, the relentless drumbeat of violence has made every American a ticking time bomb - even toddlers obsessed with zoology. When I went to pick up my son from daycare one evening, I was met at the door by his care provider, who was looking far more serious than usual. She had a solemn look that I didn't think I'd have to face until my son had learned how to flush fireworks down the toilet.

Apparently, the boys at the daycare had been playing peacefully when my son's playmate turned his back. My son – doubtlessly seeing through the "eye of the leopard" – leapt through the air, landed on the innocent prey and sunk his teeth in his flank. Of course, this was Little People Daycare and not the savannah. Instead of a fresh meal narrated by Jeremy Irons, the bloodthirsty toddler got a timeout and lectures in three different languages – Spanish, English and later Khmer.

Now we just need to teach his playmates the best way to deal with a jungle cat – keep your eyes open, don't turn your back, and get ready to run. And we'll also try to convince our son to be a vegetarian leopard.

Will Koenig is a journalist in Oregon, where he lives with his wife and son. E-mail him at: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .