WAITING FOR MEALTIME.
This does not happen solely with what might be called the lower forms of jungle animals. Quite otherwise, it is more apparent in the primates. In the Stuhr Menagerie at Portland, for instance, were three orang-outangs, a male and two females. For a time everything was lovely; then the male chose a mate from the pair with which he was quartered, and the ancient story of one woman too many began again.
The fortunate Mrs. Orang-outang seemed to make no objection to the company of her lady friend. But the male did. Morning, night and noon he beat her, bit her, spat and snarled at her, stole her food from her and in general abused her in a manner wholly unbecoming a gentleman. To which she offered no objection, for the simple reason that she was in love with him.
So much, in fact, that when the menagerie men decided upon separation as a surcease to her sorrows, she threw herself against the bars, squealed and cried and lamented; and finally decided upon starvation as a means of suicide rather than to be separated from the rest of the family. The animal men decided to put her back again. But as rapidly they decided otherwise. This time there was no forbearance. Both set upon her, the male taking the initiative, and it was only by main force that she was rescued, torn and bleeding, to be sold immediately in an effort to save her from herself.
Nor is it always elemental, this strain of law-breaking in the menagerie. Nor is every overt act classed as criminal. Recently with one of the big shows, it was noticed that a riding tiger, each day when it finished its ride around the arena upon the back of a horse, and leaped to the ground, struck out farther and farther toward the trainer. At last came the time when the beast reached the ground almost at the feet of the animal man, suddenly to straighten, to hiss, then to strike savagely at him with both forefeet. The blows were avoided, the animal sent back to its pedestal, and after the performance there were conferences. Several of them. Either that tiger had worked out a carefully conceived plot, deliberately carried forward day by day, or some more natural cause was responsible for the attack.
The idea of a plot didn’t seem reasonable; animals do strange things, it is true; but rarely are their actions more than the result of a natural cunning, which leads them to simulate docility in order to gain their ends. The belief that this tiger could have worked out a theory by which it could approach an inch or so nearer each day was a bit too heavy even for menagerie men; so they looked for something else and found it. The cause of that attack had been a rapidly growing affection of the eyes which had caused the tiger progressively to misgauge his distance when leaping. Then, at last, the surprise of finding his trainer right upon him had caused the attack. They sent for the circus veterinary, treated the tiger’s eyes, forgave him his trespasses, and now, with his vision clear again, he’s back in the steel arena once more.
Every now and then, in truth, there’s a Freudian aspect about the handling of menagerie beasts, complicated until the cause becomes known, and afterward extremely simple. As was the case of Jake, a full-bred Nubian lion, trained to the “Wallace” or untamable lion trick, and one of the most faithful beasts of his kind in captivity.
Jake’s task in life was to nearly kill his trainer twice daily, in what is known as the “Wallace stunt.” An act, by the way, which demands exactness on the part of the trainer and of the beast, a perfect understanding between the two, and a high order of intelligence on the part of the animal, for the simple reason that his job is to fool the audience.
The lion is let into the arena, roaring and bellowing the minute he leaves his cage. He chews at his pedestal. He turns and claws and thunders at the attendants outside. To all intents and purposes, he is a raging, vengeful thing that really doesn’t begin to get along with himself until he’s killed a trainer or two a day. He seeks to climb the bars of the big den; he claws at the netting; from outside the trainer throws him a crumpled piece of cloth and he tears it to shreds even before it has had time to strike the arena floor. Meanwhile the audience shivers and shakes, hoping the trainer won’t try to go in there, and then hoping that he will, inasmuch as they’ve never really seen a trainer killed. Then the trainer opens the door and leaps within. The battle is on!