When Elephants Weep: The Emotional Lives of Animals (19 page)

The groups ran toward each other, screaming and trumpeting. Teresia and Slit Ear rushed together, clicked tusks and twined trunks together while rumbling and flapping their ears. All the elephants performed similar greetings, spinning around, leaning on each other, rubbing each other, clasping trunks and trumpeting, rumbling and screaming. So much fluid streamed from their temporal glands that it ran down their chins. Moss writes: "I have no doubt even in my most scientifically rigorous moments that the elephants are experiencing joy when they find each other again. It may not be similar to human joy or even comparable, but it is elephantine joy and it plays a very important part in their whole social system." Elephantine joy can only be recognized as joy because it resembles human joy. Yet Moss is right in saying that we should not assume it is identical joy. After all, we have no idea how one feels when one's temporal glands are streaming fluid. There may be forms of joy in elephant society different from any joy that humans experience.

Biologist Lars Wilsson observed that Tuff, a beaver, looked grim when watching over her baby as it swam, and deeply unhappy

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if a stranger came near it, but when she was nursing it or grooming it "radiated pure maternal happiness."

A principal source of delight for many animals is their young. Certain features signal "baby animal," such as big eyes, uncertain gait, big feet, and large head. Humans respond warmly to these traits not only in baby humans but in baby animals, as well as in some adult animals. Some animals react to youthful traits with affection, others with lack of aggression or with protectiveness. Such recognition of baby features is considered to be largely innate; animals may at times feel what people feel when they say a baby is adorable. The presence of such traits in baby dinosaurs has caused paleontologist John Horner to aver that some dinosaurs must have found their babies "cute."

Tenderness may also cross the species barrier, with some animals showing distinct pleasure in caretaking. When a young sparrow crash-landed in the chimpanzee cage at the Basel Zoo, one of the apes instantly snatched it in her hand. Expecting to see the bird gobbled up, the keeper was astonished to see the chimpanzee cradle the terrified fledgling tenderly in a cupped palm, gazing at it with what seemed like delight. The other chimpanzees gathered and the bird was delicately passed from hand to hand. The last to receive the bird took it to the bars and handed it to the astounded keeper.

Another source of human happiness is pride, the feeling that we have done something well. It is unclear to what extent this can be called a self-conscious emotion and to what extent it corresponds to fiinktionslust. Lars Wilsson described the changed demeanor of Greta and Stina, when the captive beavers managed to build a dam in their enclosure. These yearling beavers had been captured as infants and had never seen a dam. Until they built theirs, they had not been particularly friendly and snarled at one another if they got too close. After the dam was built they began eating side by side, uttering friendly "talk" sounds. Not only did they no longer object to one another, they sought each other out to vocalize or groom. Greta and Stina also spent more time out of their nest box, swimming and diving in the water that their dam

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had deepened. The pride in accomplishment also seemed to have created friendship.

One observer described wild beavers whose dam had been severely damaged by human vandals at a season when material to repair it was hard to get. The observer arranged for suitable branches to be deposited in the pond while the beavers were asleep. The male of the pair was removing wood from his lodge to transfer to the dam when he discovered the branches. He began to swim among the branches, sniffing them and uttering loud, excited cries. One observer thought that the beaver was "rejoicing," the other that he was "marveling," but then, coming to their scientific senses, they agreed that the beaver's "subjective feelings . . . were beyond our power to ascertain."

Some captive animals experience little joy in life. For some, performing may be a chance to work, to display prowess, to feel proud. A tiger who cannot hunt, cannot mate with other tigers, and cannot explore and survey its territory has little chance of feeling pride. Perhaps, for some tigers, a chance to jump through a flaming hoop is better than nothing. But why should tigers have to settle for something that is better than nothing? To turn these magnificent animals into slaves, and then degrade them further by making them perform tricks for human amusement shows as much about human abasement as it does about animal capacities. That a tiger is condemned to slow death by boredom unless it finds pleasure in performing is a sad commentary on what humans have done to these magnificent predators.

The results of this distorted behavior affect the animals and trainers alike. Animal trainer Gunther Gebel-Williams had a tiger named India in his act for over twenty years. When he felt she was too old and deserved a rest, he stopped using her in the act, but every time he passed her cage while bringing the other tigers into the ring, she "cried." Gebel-Williams felt so sorry for India that he put her back in the act, with unfortunate results, as she was later attacked and injured by another of the tigers. Her performance may have been a source of pride, and hence greater happiness than being caged into forced retirement, but that it was the only one she had was hardly of her own choice. Along with the pride, it is im-

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portant to recognize the loss of dignity. If animal dignity is little documented, it may be because the history of human deahngs with animals gives little occasion for its display. The human sense of animals as "lower" by definition provides Httle sense of its loss.

Arguing that dolphins may be on the verge of "accepting domestication," Karen Pryor says that they enjoy performing tasks humans set for them. "I have seen a dolphin, striving to master an athletically difficult trick, actually refuse to eat its 'reward' fish until it got the stunt right." It is difficult to maintain that the dolphin "enjoys" the challenge, unless we know what its alternatives are. Would a wild dolphin ever find pleasure in such a task? Perhaps this incident speaks for dolphins having a notion of justice, or just reward, but it is difficult to say. Similar behavior in wild dolphins would be more resonant and tell us more about their society.

Horse trainers commonly observe that some horses feel pride. Secretariat, who won the Kentucky Derby in 1973, was said to be proud. As evidence it was noted by trainers and jockeys that he refused to run unless he was allowed to run the race his way—to use his burst of speed early or late in a race, as he chose—despite the fact that he was usually a docile, biddable horse. When asked whether a dog that performs well in an obedience competition is proud of itself, animal trainer Ralph Dennard replied cautiously, "It seems like it's proud of itself. They look like they're proud. They're confident; they're happy; they stand up there," and he threw out his chest as such a dog might.

Mike Del Ross of Guide Dogs for the Blind describes the gradual development of pride in dogs being trained for guide work. During the early stages, many dogs become uncertain of themselves. "It's as if they're thinking 'This is way too hard. I can't do this.' " The eyes of such dogs widen, giving them an overwhelmed look. They may lie down, go into a corner, or even huddle up in a ball. "If you don't pick that up right away you'll lose that dog." But if the trainer backs up, gives the dog a break from work, lets it shake off its tension, and then walks the dog through the task (which can be something as simple as leading in a straight line), the dog can regain confidence. As the dog masters what it's being

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asked to do, '\\11 of a sudden their work gets a lot less shaky. . . . Everything comes together for them." The body language of these dogs speaks of their self-confidence and pride. "Then in the end they realize, 'I can do this!' and they enjoy it. They're proud of themselves."

One Guide Dog trainee appeared to take pride in an accomplishment she was not taught. The dogs were housed in separate stalls opening onto a large run. Each morning when the trainers arrived, the dogs were let out into this area. A young German shepherd learned to flip the horseshoe latches on the stalls. Every morning she would let herself out and go from stall to stall letting the other dogs out. The horseshoe latches were replaced with leash hooks, and she learned to open those too. Finally the stalls were fastened with leather straps, and the shepherd's efforts were thwarted, but kennel supervisor Kathy Finger smiles at the thought of the dog's delight when she could still open tJie gates. "She was so proud of herself. She came running to us, as happy as could be, wagging her tail . . ."

People experience territorial pride; perhaps animals can too. The chimpanzee colony of which Washoe is a member recently moved into a large, new facility, with indoor and outdoor exercise areas. When one of Washoe's human companions visited for the first time since the move, Washoe took her by the hand and led her from room to room, carefully showing her every nook and cranny. Washoe may have had other motivations, but she may simply have been proud of her spacious new quarters. Sharing her place, and her happiness in it, was also a sign of her feelings of friendship.

Reveling in Freedom

Freedom gives joy. Zookeepers, scientists who experiment with animals, and others with entrenched interests often argue that if all an animal's needs are met, it will not care whether it is free or not. But many well-fed, well-treated captive animals regularly try to escape over and over again. Freedom is relative. In spring, when the chimpanzees at the Amhem Zoo are allowed out of their win-

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ter quarters for the first time, there is a scene of exuhation as they scream and hoot, clasp and kiss one another, jump up and down and pound one another on the back. They are not free, but the additional space, the relatively greater freedom, thrills them. It looks as if it gives them joy.

George Schaller describes a two-year-old panda at a Chinese breeding center being given a rare chance to go into an outdoor enclosure. The panda burst from its darkened cage, trotted up a hill with a high-stepping gait, and somersaulted down. Again and again it raced up the hill and rolled back down. It "exploded with joy," Schaller wrote.

One of the joys of freedom is surely the abiHty to control one's own destiny, and a few scientists have argued that animals feel the need for such control. Zoologist J. Lee Kavanau gave white-footed mice (deer mice) the opportunity to adjust light levels in their cages by pressing a lever. He found that the mice preferred dim Hght to bright light or darkness, and if left alone would adjust the light level accordingly. But if he turned the lights up high the mice would frequently respond by making the cage completely dark. Conversely, if he made the cage completely dark, the mice would make the light as bright as possible. He also found that if he disturbed sleeping mice, so that they came out of their nest boxes to investigate, they would soon go back inside, but if he put them inside by hand, they would immediately come out, no matter how many times he replaced them. They cared about choice more than comfort. When given the opportunity to manage their environment, they battled fiercely for control. Because wild white-footed mice have far more control over their surroundings and activities, this matters more to a captive animal. Even if a zoo animal is supplied with all material wants, there may be something vital lacking, something it needs to be happy. One of the joys of freedom may simply be the ability to evade compulsion.

In a related vein is the story of Charles, a small octopus who was the subject of an experiment to see whether invertebrates could learn conditioned tasks as vertebrates do. With two others, Albert and Bertram, each housed in a small tank, Charles was to be trained to pull a switch so that a light went on, and then swim over

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to the light to be rewarded with a minute piece of fish. Albert and Bertram learned to perform this task and Charles seemed at first to be doing the same. But then Charles rebelled. He began anchoring himself to the side of the tank and yanking on the lever so fiercely that he eventually broke it. Instead of waiting under the light to receive his smidgen of fish, Charles reached out of the water, grabbed the light, and dragged it into the tank. Finally, he took to floating at tJie top of the tank, with his eyes above the surface, accurately squirting water at the experimenters. "The variables responsible for the maintenance and strengthening of the lamp-pulling and squirting behavior in this animal were not apparent," the experimenter noted primly.

In a captive breeding and release site for thick-billed parrots located in an Arizona forest, the captive parrots awaiting release were healthy, glossy, and well fed. Amply supplied with food, water, safety, and companionship, they resembled the best-treated pet parrots. All the same, the free-flying parrots looked startlingly better to observers. It was hard to pin down the difference. Both groups of birds had glossy plumage and bright eyes. The demeanor of the two groups probably conveyed the difference. The captive parrots were not hunched or pathetic, but the wild parrots seemed ten times better: stronger, happier, and more confident. Even as they eyed the sky for hawks, they seemed to be revehng in life. In F. Fraser Darling's classic A Herd of Red Deer, a similar observation is made of deer kept in paddocks compared to wild deer: something is missing.

Can animals ever be happy in captivity? Can a zoo ever be a good zoo in the sense of being a joyful zoo? Since animal behavior is so often flexible, this ought to be possible, but then most animals are not held captive by people who are asking what it would take to make the animal happy. They ask what it would take to make the animal docile, or to make a good exhibit, or to breed. The art of making zoo animals contented, thrilled, or joyous is not a subject of expertise.