I was about 12 at the time and was on safari in Namibia with my parents. We were driving through a cheetah sanctuary on a hot day, and had been driving for about an hour without seeing any cheetahs so far. Suddenly our jeep broke down. We were just starting to get worried when, luckily, one of the park rangers came driving down the dirt road in his pick-up truck and offered us a lift. My dad got up into the passenger seat beside the ranger, while mom and I got into the pick-up bed in the back and sat on top of some crates. Then, to my absolute delight (as an animal-obsessed 12-year-old girl), I spotted a cheetah emerge from the brush on the side of the road and start following the truck. About a minute later, another cheetah appeared and fell in step with the first one. I asked my mom why the cheetahs were so interested in our truck, and she said that probably the crates we were sitting on had food for them which the ranger was taking out to feed them. Before telling you what happened next, in defense of my mother, she was busy taking pictures of the cheetahs and not paying much attention to her stupid daughter. So, I immediately take the lid off one of the crates, and what do you know, it's full of chunks of raw meat. Without hesitation, I pick one up and start waving it around. Quicker than I could blink, one of the cheetahs jumps into the bed of the truck and swipes the meat right out of my hand into the road behind us, then jumps out of the truck after it. At this point I am freely bleeding from the claw wounds in my hand, but I could not have been more thrilled as the two cheetahs viciously fought over the chunk of meat while my mother snapped pictures as fast as she could. I still have a big scar on my right palm, but I'd say it worked out pretty well: I'm currently getting my Ph.D. in animal behavior.