The Minds and Manners of Wild Animals Part 27

The Eighth and Last Law. _Whenever in a given spot all men cease to kill us, there may we accept sanctuary and dwell in peace._

This law comes as Amendment 1 to the original Const.i.tution of the Animal Kingdom. The quick intelligence of wild animals in recognizing a new sanctuary, and in adopting it unreservedly and thankfully as their own territory, is to all friends of wild life a source of wonder and delight. With their own eyes Americans have seen the effects of sanctuary-making upon bison, elk, mule deer, white-tailed deer, mountain sheep, mountain goat, p.r.o.ng-horned antelope, grizzly and black bears, beavers, squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, sage grouse, quail, wild ducks and geese, swans, pelicans brown and white, and literally hundreds of species of smaller birds of half a dozen orders.

In view of this magnificent and continent-wide manifestation of discovery, new thought and original conclusion, let no man tell us that the wild birds and quadrupeds "do not think" and "can not reason."

The Exceptions of Captivity. When wild animals come into captivity, a few individuals develop and reveal their worst traits of character, and much latent wickedness comes to the surface. A small percentage of individuals become mean and lawless, and a still smaller number show criminal instincts. These Bolshevistic individuals commit misdemeanors and crimes such as are unknown in the wild state. One male ruminant out of perhaps fifty will turn murderer, and kill a female or a fawn, entirely contrary to the herd law; and at long intervals a male predatory animal kills his mate or young.

Occasionally captivity warps wild animal or wild bird character quite out of shape, though it is a satisfaction to know that the total proportion of those so affected is very small. Long and close confinement in a prison-like home, filled with more daily cares and worries than any animal cage has of iron bars, has sent many a human wife and mother to an insane asylum; but the super- humanitarians who rail out at the existence of zoological parks and zoos are troubled by that not at all.

XX

PLAYS AND PASTIMES OF ANIMALS

I approach this subject with a feeling of satisfaction; but I would not like to state the number of hours that I have spent in watching the play of our wild animals.

Out in the wilds, where the bears, sheep and goats live and thrive, the outdoorsmen see comparatively few wild animals at play. No matter what the season, the dangers of the wilderness and mountain summit remain the same. When kids and lambs are young, the eaglets are hungriest, and their mothers are most determined in their hunting. After September 1, the deadly still-hunters are out, and strained watchfulness is the unvarying rule, from dawn until dark.

Out in the wilds, it is the _moving_ animal that instantly catches every hostile eye within visual range. A white goat kid vigorously gamboling on the bare rocks would attract all the golden eagles, hunters, trappers and Indians within a radius of two miles. It is the rule that kids, fawns and lambs must _lie low and keep still,_ to avoid attracting deadly enemies. On the bare summits, play can be indulged in only at great risk.

Generations of persecution have implanted in the brain of the ruminant baby the commanding instinct to fold up its long legs, neatly and compactly, furl its ears along its neck, and closely lie for hours against a rock or a log. During daylight hours they must literally hug the ground. Silence and inactivity is the first price that all young animals in the wilds pay for their lives. It is only in the safe shelter of captivity, or man-made sanctuaries, that they are free to play.

In the comfortable security of the "zoo" all the wild conditions are changed. The restraints of fear are off, and every animal is free to act as joyous as it feels. Here we see things that men _never see in the wilds!_ If any Rocky Mountain bear hunter should ever see bear cubs or full-grown bears wrestling and carrying on as they do here, he would say that they were plumb crazy!

Of all our wild animals, not even excepting the apes and monkeys, our young bears are the most persistently playful. In fact, I believe that when _properly caged and tended,_ bears under eight years of age are the most joyous and playful of all wild animals. We have given our bears smooth and s.p.a.cious yards floored with concrete, with a deep pool in the centre of each, and great possibilities in climbing upon rocks high and low. The top of each sleeping den is a s.p.a.cious balcony with a smooth floor. The facilities for bear wrestling and skylarking are perfect, and there are no offensive uneven floors nor dead stone walls to annoy or discourage any bear. They can look at each other through the entire series of cages and there is no chance whatever for a bear to feel lonesome. We put just as many individuals into each cage as we think the traffic will stand; and sometimes as many as six young bears are reared together.

Now, all these conditions promote good spirits, playfulness, and the general enjoyment of life. Any one who thinks that our bears are not far happier than those that are in the wilds and exposed to enemies, hunger and cold, should pause and consider.

Our bear cubs begin to play just as soon as they emerge from their natal den, in March or April, and they keep it up until they are six or seven years of age,--or longer! Our visitors take the playfulness of small cubs as a matter of course, but the clumsy and ridiculous postures and antics of fat-paunched full-grown bears are irresistibly funny. Really, there are times when it seems as if the roars of laughter from the watching crowd stimulates wrestling bears to further efforts. On October 28, 1921, about seventy boys stood in front of and alongside the den of two Kluane grizzly cubs and shouted for nearly half an hour in approval and admiration of the rapid and rough play of those cubs.

[Ill.u.s.tration with caption: ADULT BEARS AT PLAY]

The play of bears, young or middle-aged, consists in boxing, catch-as-catch-can wrestling, and chasing each other to and fro.

Cubs begin to spar as soon as they are old enough to stand erect on their hind feet. They take their distance as naturally as prize-fighters, and they strike, parry and dodge just as men do.

They handle their front feet with far more dexterity and precision than boys six years of age.

Boxing bears always strike for the head, and bite to seize the cheek of the opponent. In biting, mouth meets mouth, in defense as well as attack. When a biting bear makes a successful pa.s.s and finally succeeds in getting a firm toothhold on the cheek of his opponent, the party of the second part promptly throws himself p.r.o.ne upon the ground, and with four free feet concentrated upon the head of the other bear forces him to let go. This movement, and the four big, flat foot soles coming up into action is, in large bears, a very laughable spectacle, and generally produces a roar.

Wrestling bears roll over and over on the ground, clawing and biting, until one scrambles up, and either makes a new attack or rushes away.

Bears love to chase one another, _and be chased;_ and in this form of skylarking they raise a whirlwind of activity which leads all around the floor, up to the balcony and along the length of it, and plunges down at the other end. Often a bear that is chased will fling himself into the bathing pool, with a tremendous splash, quickly scramble out again and rush off anew in a swirl of flying water.

The two big male polar bears that came to us from the William Hagenbeck group were very fond of playing and wrestling in the water of their swimming pool. Often they kept up that aquatic skylarking for two hours at a stretch, and by this constant claw work upon each other's pelts they kept their coats of hair so thinned down that we had to explain them. One bear had a very spectacular swimming trick. He would swim across the pool until his front feet touched the side, then he would throw himself over backwards, put his hind feet against the rock wall, and with a final shove send himself floating gracefully on his back across to the other side.

Playful bears are much given to playing tricks, and teasing each other. A bear sleeping out in the open den is regarded as a proper subject for hectoring, by a sudden bite or cuff, or a general a.s.sault. It is natural to expect that wrestling bears will frequently become angry and fight; but such is not the case. This often happens with boys and men, but bears play the game consistently to the end. I can not recall a single instance of a real bear fight as the result of a wrestling or boxing match; and may all boys take note of this good example from the bear dens.

Next to the bears, the apes and monkeys are our most playful animals. Here, also, it is the young and the half grown members of the company that are most active in play. Fully mature animals are too sedate, or too heavy, for the frivolities of youth. A well- matched pair of young chimpanzees will wrestle and play longer and harder than the young of any other primate species known to me. It is important to cage together only young apes of equal size and strength, for if there is any marked disparity in size, the larger and stronger animal will wear out the strength of its smaller cage-mate, and impair its health.

In playing, young chimps, orangs or monkeys seize each other and wrestle, fall, and roll over and over, indefinitely. They make great pretenses of biting each other, but it is all make-believe.

My favorite orang-utan pet in Borneo loved to play at biting me, but whenever the pressure became too strong I would say chidingly, "Ah! Ah!" and his jaws would instantly relax. He loved to b.u.t.t me in the chest with his head, make wry faces, and make funny noises with his lips. I tried to teach him "cat's cradle" but it was too much for him. His clumsy fingers could not manage it.

One of our brightest chimpanzees, named Baldy, was much given to hectoring his female cage-mate, for sport. What he regarded as his best joke was destroying her bed. Many times over, after she had laboriously carried straw up to the balcony, carefully made up a nice, soft, circular bed for herself, and settled down upon it for a well-earned rest, Baldy would silently climb up to her level, suddenly fling himself upon her as she lay, and with all four of his arms and legs violently working, the nest would be torn to pieces and scattered and the lady orang rudely pulled about. Then Baldy would joyously swing down to the lower level, settle himself demurely at the front of the cage, and with a placid face and innocent, far-away expression in his eyes gaze at the crowd. There was nothing lacking but a mischievous wink of one eye.

Whenever his cage-mate selected a particularly long and perfect straw and placed it crosswise in her mouth, Baldy would steal up behind her and gleefully s.n.a.t.c.h it away.

Baldy was a born comedian. He loved to amuse a crowd and make people laugh. He would go through a great trapeze performance of clownish and absurd gymnastics, and often end it with three or four loud smacks of his big black feet against the wall. This was accomplished by violent kicking backwards. His dancing and up-and- down jumping always made visitors laugh, after which he would joyously give his piercing "_Wah-hoo_" shout of triumph. A Sioux Indian squaw dances by jumping up and down, but her performance is lifeless in comparison.

No vaudeville burlesque dancer ever cut a funnier monkey s.h.i.+ne than the up-and-down high-jump dance and floor-slapping act of our Boma chimpanzee (1921). Boma offers this whenever he becomes especially desirous of entertaining a party of distinguished visitors. In stiff dancing posture, he leaps high in the air, precisely like a great black jumping-jack straight from Dante's Inferno. Orangs love to turn somersaults, and some individuals are so persistent about it as to wear the hair off their backs, disfigure their beauty, and disgust their keepers.

In the chapter on "Mental Traits of the Gorilla" a descriptionis given of the play of Major Penny's wonderful John Gorilla.

When many captive monkeys are kept together in one large cage containing gymnastic properties, many species develop humor, and indulge in play of many kinds. They remind me of a group of well- fed and boisterous small boys who must skylark or "bust." From morning until night they pull each other's tails, wrestle and roll, steal each other's playthings, and wildly chase each other to and fro. There is no end of chattering, and screeching, and funny facial grimaces. A writer in _Life_ once said that the s.e.xes of monkeys can be distinguished by the fact that "the females chatter twice as fast as the males," but I am sure that many ladies will dispute that statement.

In a company of mixed monkeys, or a mixed company of monkeys, a timid and fearsome individual is often made the b.u.t.t of practical jokes by other monkeys who recognize its weakness. And who has not seen the same trait revealed in crowds of boys?

But we can linger no longer with the Primates.

Who has not seen squirrels at play? Once seen, such an incident is not soon forgotten. I have seen gray, fox and red squirrels engage in highly interesting performances. The gray squirrel is stately and beautiful in its play, but the red squirrel is amazing in its elaborateness of method. I have seen a pair of those mischief- makers perform low down on the trunk of a huge old virgin white oak tree, where the holding was good, and work out a program almost beyond belief. They raced and chased to and fro, up, down and across, in circles, triangles, parabolas and rectangles, until it was fairly bewildering. Really, they seemed to move just as freely and certainly on the tree-trunk as if they were on the ground, with no such thing in sight as the law of gravitation.

It seems to me that the gray squirrel barks and the red squirrel chatters, scolds, and at times swears, chiefly for the fun of hearing himself make a noise. In the red squirrel it is impudent and defiant; and usually you hear it near your camp, or in your own grounds, where the rascals know that they will not be shot.

The playful spirit seems to be inherent in the young of all the Felidae. The playfulness of lion, tiger, leopard and puma cubs is irresistibly pleasing; and it is worth while to rear domestic kittens in order to watch their playful antics.

I have been a.s.sured by men who seemed to know, that wolf and fox cubs silently play in front of their home dens, when well screened from view, just as domestic dog puppies do; and what on earth can beat the playfulness of puppies of the right kind, whose parents have given them red blood instead of fat as their inheritance.

Interesting books might be written about the play of dogs alone.

The play of the otter, in sliding down a long and steep toboggan slide of wet and slippery earth to a water plunge at the bottom, is well known to trappers, hunters, and a few naturalists. It is quite celebrated, and is on record in many places. I have seen otter slides, but never had the good luck to see one in use. The otters indulge in this very genuine sport with just as much interest and zest as boys develop in coasting over ice and snow with their sleds.

Here at the Zoological Park, young animals of a number of species amuse themselves in the few ways that are open to them. It is a common thing for fawns and calves of various kinds to b.u.t.t their mothers, just for fun. A more common form of infantile ruminant sport is racing and jumping. Now and then we see a red buffalo calf three or four months old suddenly begin a spell of running for amus.e.m.e.nt, in the pure exuberance of health and good living. A calf will choose a long open course, usually up and down a gentle slope, and for two hundred feet or more race madly to and fro for a dozen laps, with tail stiffly and very absurdly held aloft. Of course men and beasts all pause to look at such performances, and at the finish the panting and perspiring calf halts and gazes about with a conscious air of pride. All this is deliberate "showing off," just such as small boys frequently engage in.

Elk fawns, and more rarely deer fawns, also occasionally indulge in similar performances. Often an adult female deer develops the same trait. One of our female Eld's deer annually engages in a series of spring runs. We have seen her race the full length of her corral, up and down, over a two hundred foot course, at really break-neck speed, and keep it up until her tongue hung out.

Years ago, in the golden days, I was so lucky as to see several times wonderful dances of flocks of saras cranes on the low sandy islets in the River Jumna, northern India, just below Etawah. It was like this: While the birds are idly stepping about, apropos of nothing at all, one suddenly flaps his long wings several times in succession, another jumps straight up in the air for a yard or so, and presto! with one accord the whole flock is galvanized into action. They throw aside their dignity, and real fun begins. Some stand still, heads high up, and flap their wings many times.

Others leap in the air, straight up and down, one jump after another, as high as they can go. Others run about bobbing and bowing, and elaborately courtesying to each other with half opened wings, b.r.e.a.s.t.s low down and their tails high in the air, cutting very ridiculous figures.

In springtime in the Zoological Park we often see similar exhibitions of crane play in our large crane paddock. A particularly joyous bird takes a fit of running with spread wings, to and fro, many times over, and usually one bird thus performing inspires another, probably of his own kind, to join in the game.

The other cranes look on admiringly and sometimes a spectator shrilly trumpets his approval.

In his new book, "The Friendly Arctic," Mr. Vilhjalmur Stefansson records an interesting example of play indulged in jointly by a frivolous arctic fox and eight yearling barren-ground caribou. It was a game of tag, or its wild equivalent. The fox ran into and through the group of caribou fawns, which gave chase and tried to catch the fox, but in vain. At last the fawns gave up the chase, returned to their original position, and came to parade rest. Then back came the fox. Again it scurried through the group in a most tantalizing manner, which soon provoked the fawns to chase the fox anew. At the end of this inning the caribou again abandoned the chase, whereupon the fox went off to attend to other affairs.

On the whole, the play of wild animals is a large field and no writer will exhaust it with one chapter. Very sincerely do we wish that at least one of the many romance writers who are so industriously inventing wild-animal blood-and-thunder stories would do more work with his eyes and less with his imagination.

XXI