The Training of Wild Animals

by Frank Charles Bostock

Pleased to think I had subdued the big cat, I carelessly tapped the riding-whip on the ground, merely for a flourish. Twenty feet away the lioness’s mate was standing, watching the whole proceeding with dubious eyes. He promptly noted the action, had never seen it before, mistook its intent for an attack on his mate, and with a single bound was on me. Before I had time to realize what was happening, the lion had pinned me through the fleshy part of the thigh, and we both went down together.

The lion loosened his hold, gathered himself up, and picking me up in his mouth, as though I were a tiny child, carried me over to Pianka, as though for her approval. Here, fortunately for myself, the force of habit again came into play.

In Mme. Pianka’s hand was the revolver, loaded with blank cartridges, which she used for her act. Two of these she fired, in quick succession, close to the lion’s ear. That was one of the signals for a change in his act; the other, a simultaneous one, was to throw her arm about his neck. The natural pose which had always been suggested by these two actions in conjunction worked the charm. The force of habit brought him to instant obedience, he drew his teeth out of my body, fell into the pose, and seemed quite oblivious of the anger that had only the moment before aroused him to his dangerous attack.

I scrambled to my feet, and after running the lion once or twice round the arena, just to demonstrate that I still had the mastery, went off to bed. The teeth had not touched the bone, but there were some bad flesh wounds, and I was not up again for three weeks. And all this was through a foolish little bit of byplay to which the lion was not accustomed.

After the animal has learned his lesson and become expert in his performance, there still remains the test of a public appearance. This is always a matter of anxiety for the trainer, as animals suffer from stage fright. The sight of a crowd is likely to distract them and draw their attention from the trainer, so that they lose their cues. Once thoroughly accustomed to the stage, they seem to find in it a sort of intoxication well known to a species higher in the order of nature. Nearly all trainers assert that animals are affected by the attitude of an audience, that they are stimulated by the applause of an enthusiastic house, and perform indifferently before a cold audience.

The pleasure in acting and showing off before others is, perhaps, more plainly demonstrated by bears than by any other animals. The conceit and good opinion of themselves which some performing bears have is absolutely ridiculous. One trainer, Roberto, has cleverly trained some very young bears to perform various acts. The duty of one is to climb up a ladder, set free the American flag, and sit on the top of the ladder until his trainer has played a tune on the violin while he balances the bear on the ladder.

So proud is the little bear of his accomplishment that whenever any one is looking on, he will go through the whole performance by himself, evidently simply for the pleasure of doing it, and no one can fail to see the conceitedness of his manner as he does it. Bears very seldom get nervous in public; they enjoy the acts too much.

More animals are lost to the arena from fear than through viciousness. Trainers dread a timid lion, tiger, or leopard, not only because in its panic it is likely to injure the trainer, but because it is unreliable, and may take fright and spoil a whole performance. When animals are found to be so unusually timid that it is impossible to rely on them, they are not used for any of the higher classes of performances, but are employed for the more simple sensational acts, which often take the public quite as much as the more difficult feats, but which require little preparatory education.

In cases of wild animals in captivity suddenly seizing a keeper or other person, the best means to make them loosen their hold is either to fire off blank cartridges or to turn a hose on them. Generally the hose has the greatest effect, as it stops the animal’s breath for the time, and he loosens his hold to breathe. In many cases, however, nothing in the world will induce a wild animal to loosen his hold, and in this case it is merely a matter of brute strength, which it is impossible to overcome, except by killing the animal, and even then he will often hold on long enough to finish his victim.

The keeping of red-hot irons in case of emergencies I discarded about ten or eleven years ago. I rejected it because it is an extremely cruel expedient, and seldom effectual as a remedy for the attacks of wild beasts. This fact was contradicted a short time ago by a man who stated that he saw some irons being heated in one of the coke fires. So he did, but this was in the winter, and my practice is then to put hot irons into the drinking-water of the animals occasionally. This practice is always observed in all my shows during the winter months. It has the value of taking the chill off the water, and also imparts some of the beneficial qualities of the iron, thus giving an iron tonic and drinkable water at the same time.