I grew up four houses away from the Detroit Zoo, with summers accompanied by the sights and sounds of the chimp show, tigers sunning outside their den and escaped peacocks roaming through our flower garden. A trip to the Maryland Zoo, in Baltimore, makes me feel right at home.

I also grew up a fan of Walt Disney's lovable "Dumbo," so visiting the zoo's 4-month-old elephant, Samson, had to be the first stop. Not to mention that 10 a.m.-noon is the time he and mom Felix are out and about for an airing and photo op.

Talk about cute! All baby animals are cute, of course, but we're talking absolutely adorable here, with big -- though by no means Dumbo-size -- ears, a sweet little trunk with which he'd seek out and caress his mommy now and then, hurrying steps to keep up, playfulness with a wet rag draped over his neck or twisted into a toy with which to tug his trainers. And such long eyelashes! They are clearly inherited from Felix -- a few bats with those and it's no wonder dad succumbed.

And when the two star attractions wandered off to a shadier spot, elephant-next-door Tuffy also made quite a splash bathing in his pool.

Samson doesn't have a monopoly on cute, though. Right next door in the camel pen is the less-publicized but nonetheless precious baby Mocha, offspring of Marie, one of the camels who gives rides to visitors. Mocha keeps both big baby browns on mom when she's not busy nibbling the landscaping.

"That was the funnest carousel ride I've ever been on," declared 10-year-old Ben Holland of Silver Spring, visiting with his mom and two brothers, as he dismounted from the one-humped (thus a dromedary rather than a Bactrian) camel. The FONZ (Friends of the National Zoo)-member family had heard that The Maryland Zoo was smaller and "more manageable," so they decided to give it a try, and it was so far, so good.

On down the path, it was feeding time at the penguin pool, where the colony of little black-footed penguins, native to the coast of southern Africa and therefore perfectly comfortable in Maryland summers, were enjoying a lunch of fish and squid. Most waited their turns courteously as one keeper did the feeding and another kept track of who ate (each bears unique color-coded tags for the purpose). Of course it's possible that most had already filled their shiny white tummies and thus kept the shoving and barking -- sounding somewhere between a coo and a grunt -- to a polite minimum.

Plunging into the water after stray fish, though, they were as zippy and fun to watch as they had been stolid on land.

So much so that I missed the big event of the day: Chimp Kasoje's 10th birthday party. By the time I arrived at Chimpanzee Forest, the presents had been opened and the cake consumed beyond recognition except to knowledgeable volunteers such as Beth Penn, who had to keep explaining that that round object was the bottom layer, a concoction of primate biscuits, while the top layer of pureed yams frosted with yogurt was long gone. Fortunately, pecking order had kept it from being a feeding frenzy, besides which the gifts had all been food (treats including grapes, pasta and peanut butter) anyway.

The yard looked much like it would have after a human youngster's party: torn wrapping paper and cardboard, shredded piñatas, toilet paper straggling from the trees, all of which for the chimps was not trash but "enrichment" and nesting material.

By now most of the 10 guests were relaxing, some, like alpha-female Joice, in carb comas. Kasoje contemplated the scene from his favorite tree and scrounged for leftover treats, Bunny groomed Renee as the latter gnawed the remains of the cake, and teen-aged Raven gently played with and tickled baby Rozi.

"She has her play face on," chimp lady Penn pointed out, explaining that that's what a wide-open mouth means (while a closed-mouth grin is not a smile but signifies fear, and puckered lips don't kiss but show worry).

"They're more closely related to us genetically than they are to gorillas; closer than African and Asian elephants are to each other," Penn added, explaining her own fascination, "Once you look into their eyes, you're hooked."

Passing the reticulated giraffe compound on the way to their feeding station (new this year) I found the leggy critters alert and interested, and regretted hustling away to get in line to get my share of the acacia branches they enjoy.

"We're ruminating right now ... please come back at 1:30," said the sign, referring to the beasts' cud-chewing behavior. While feeding is scheduled from 10:30 a.m. to 3 p.m., it seems you can lead a giraffe to browse, but you can't make him eat. Sometimes it's even tough to lure him over with a tasty branch.

Staffers did their best, finally getting Zoe to stop by, but she lost interest after a munch or two. Angel, Caesar and Mary couldn't be tempted at all.

"Come in the morning," we disappointed would-be feeders were advised. A word to the wise ...

But as we wandered off, a crowd was forming at the leopard enclosure where, for the first time, a training demonstration was about to be held in public, thanks to a new training wall with sturdy framing and smaller mesh so that staff could get closer yet remain safe. To crowd approval, spotted Hobbes and Amari responded to words, whistles and hand signals as well as -- or better than -- some dogs I know. The leopards learn to "station" in a particular place and stand against the wall, among other behaviors, to make care-giving easier.

No such interaction with polar bears Alaska and Magnet, however. While Alaska spent my visit napping (nonetheless delighting visitors with every turn and scratch), Magnet at first was hidden but emerged to swim, play with a small tire and rub against the submerged rocks to scratch himself. It all looked like fun; one little viewer would have liked to jump right in with him until mom pointed out she'd be a good snack. That was before he rose out of the water like an iceberg.

"Omigosh, he's so majestic!" gasped another mom from the vantage point of the Tundra Buggy.

By the end of the month, new resident polar bear 11-year-old Inoki should be making her debut.

A visit to this zoo is not complete without seeing the Maryland Wilderness and Children's Zoo, wherein paths and exhibits go from wetlands ("The Bay begins here") up a Piedmont stream, through woodland and meadow. Along the way, spoonbills and waterbirds with beaks of red and blue swim and wade; later on we pass a beaver dam and explore a cave where prehistoric Mammoth bones litter the floor and bats, snakes and skunks lurk (behind glass).

"I don't know who has more fun, the parents or the kids," said a happy dad taking pictures of his little guy peeking out of the "shell" of a "spinning turtle" playground toy

Visitors emerge from the meadow into a farmyard populated with rare breeds such as small Dexter cattle, Ossabaw Island hogs and Jacob sheep. Kids can and plan the next episode of fun, a stop at the carousel, hayride, Base Camp Discovery and/or climbing wall.

And if there's any energy -- and time -- left, they can head back and check out anything they've missed. There are more than 1,500 birds, mammals, amphibians and reptiles representing nearly 200 species here, more than enough for a single day's visit.

Even with all the spring rain, attendance this year has been similar to last year, says Jane Ballentine, the zoo's director of public relations and marketing, adding that new president and CEO Donald Hutchinson and the board believe that, while things are stable financially, the zoo needs a better and more aggressive plan to work with corporations and private donors to build a sustainable way of raising funds other than from the government.

The Maryland Zoo in Baltimore is in Druid Hill Park off Interstate 83. It is open daily except January, February and major holidays from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. For more information see www.marylandzoo.org or call 410-366-LION for general information. The main number is 410-396-7102.

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