ANIMALS WHO LOVE ACTING

Evening Star, Issue 21717, 11 May 1934, Page 10

ANIMALS WHO LOVE ACTING

" PERFORMANCES " AT ZOO How far animal performances arc desirable is a question that will probably never bo settled to the satisfac-1 tiohof all parties (writes E. G. Boul- 1 enger, in the London ‘Observer’). The matter was made the subject of a special parliamentary inquiry only a few years ago, and it is no part of the present article to revive what at best is a highly controversial subject. The fact remains that many animals have a natural aptitude for devising certain tricks which • appeal to their human patrons, and. realising this, apparently exploit such little “stunts'’ for their own gain. The motive may be cupboard love, or, in the case o( the higher animals, sheer love ol limelight and popular applause. Nowhere is this more apparent than on the Mappin terraces. Almost every one of the score or more bears stationed thereon has pet tricks and mannerisms. One will stand erect, where another will sit and clasp its hind feet in its fore paws, or pose with arms outspread. Yet another rhythmically waves one arm as though hailing an invisible taxi. Most successful of all in gathering a crowd is a bear who stands upon the extreme edge of the parapet and rocks to and fro so suggestively that many expect to see him. fall headlong into the passageway far below. Such demonstrations the visitor will soon realise are only indulged in when a human being appears. Should the human show no signs of disbursing edibles, the performance soon comes to an abrupt end, the “ artist ” realising with unconcealed disgust that he is playing to an empty house. UMBRELLA SNATCH ING. Some years ago a polar bear developed a remarkable aptitude for demolishing umbrellas. By chance a visitor used bis umbrella to push a piece of food within the bear’s reach. The animal seized and quickly disintegrated it, and was apparently so gratified by the delight of the onlookers that from thence onwards umbrella-breaking became an obsession. The beast would actually bait a trap by always leaving a piece of food apparently just out. of its reach and in such a "position as to inspire some unsuspecting “ good Samaritan ” to use his umbrella to push it towards the bear. The umbrella was then straightway .placed beyond all further usefulness. Many of the tricks performed by trained sea lions x are. evidently the merest variant of what the animals do in the wild—but in the wild tl\ey are only indulged in when the animals chance to be “ in the mood.” That extraordinary suppleness of neck which enables the sea lion to throw into the air the fish caught broadside on and catch it in a manner more convenient for swallowing can find other uses apart from those immediately concerned with food. When in particularly high spirits the London Zoo sea lions can sometimes be surprised in a sort of impromptu waterpolo match. Sticks, oranges, etc., which, of course, should not find their way into the pond—but do—may be tossed from one to the other and literally juggled with to a surprising extent, and one realises how, by assistance or discreet bribery, such tricks may easily be called up at the will of the human in charge. Even anti-evolutionists will admit that the higher apes possess a mental equipment very similar, though admittedly inferior, to our. own. The limitations of these creatures are only how being thoroughly explored, and their powers for learning appear to be such that it is hard to say whether certain of their actions should be classed as mere tricks or second nature. The chimpanzee tea party at the Zoo, for example, cannot be rightly classed as a mere “ performance.” The apes have lived in close proximity to man, with the result that many of his ways have been acquired subconsciously. The members of the party have shared so many meals with their keeper “ off-stage ” that it does not occur to them to mishandle the food or table service. These highly-organised animals are self-conscious to a degree, and know in an instant whether the laughter of the crowd is with or at them. Some years ago a young chimpanzee, soon after his arrival, was taken by the writer to his home to make one of a luncheon party. In spite of the fact that he was entirely untrained, being fresh from the Congo forest, he sat at table, and, as a result of watching the behaviour of his fellow-guests, drank out of a glass and made use of table implements. All went well until the end of the meal, when a bowl of cherries—the chimpanzee’s favourite fruit—appeared. For a moment the primitive asserted itself and the little ape, shrieking with joy and excitement, plunged his hands deep into the bowl with a noticeable forgetfulness of the conventions. Whereas he had up to this point largely joined in the laughter, the burst of merriment by his sudden lapse caused him at once to drop the hastily-snatched fruit and cover hia face in a paroxysm of embarrassment. THE FAMOUS “CONSUL.” The chimpanzee above all creatures has a great weakness for the plaudits of the crowd. The famous “ Consul,” who appeared many years ago at the London Hippodrome, was on one occasion taken to a circus in Paris, where he was struck by the manner in which a popular clown evoked laughter and applause by certain whimsicalities. He watched this performance at a matinee with the intentness of a mathematician engaged in some intricate problem. “ Consul,” who was appearing at a neighbouring theatre, introduced at the evening performance some of the self-same tricks into his own repertoire—with highly gratifying results. A few creatures other than mammals appear to have some appreciation of publicity for its own sake. Many of the Zoo parrots engage in eccentric dances when visitors appear, and one can scarcely doubt that they have grasped the fact that some phrase brought out at a propitious moment brings them into the limelight. Some years ago a. parrot stationed in that part of the Zoo which skirts the Regent’s Canal would amuse itself by shouting “ Whoa ” on the approach of a barge drawn by horses. The trick never failed to produce the immediate of the horse and a stream of rhetoric from the highly-incensed bargee. Though the stoppage of. the horse and the resulting effects on its master gave the bird evident satisfaction, bis chief pleasure lay with the crowd which collected and audibly showed its appreciation of his cleverness. In conclusion, there can be little doubt that the tricks of many performing animals hare their origin in the animals themselves. They are often actuated by the same instinct which inspires so many humans to engage in strange feats of skill or endurance—the instinct to enjoy— at whatever cost of dignity—the glamour of publicity.