The Training of Wild Animals

by Frank Charles Bostock

Not long ago, Herman Weedon went to greet his favorite bear, Doc, in the early morning. It is his custom to put his face close to the bear for a morning kiss or caress, to which the bear responds affectionately. In this case, Herman was outside the cage, and the bear, wishing to get his face closer, put out one paw to draw it nearer. The long claws tore the flesh of the trainer’s face, and injured his eye so badly that it was feared he would lose his sight. But no punishment was given to the animal, neither was he allowed to know what he had done or to what extent his terrible claws had hurt the trainer. The animal had intended no harm, and it would have been most unwise to let him know how easily he could hurt, so no notice whatever was taken of the matter.

There are many slight attacks made by animals such as that in which Young Wallace tore my leg. This was simply an accident, and not intentional on the part of the animal, therefore it did not go against his character. No performer is put on the list of bad animals unless he makes a direct and full attack. Striking at the trainer with the paws may amount to very little; it may be purely accidental. It is the spring that counts. Every trainer expects to be clawed somewhat, and there is no successful trainer who has remained in the business long enough to entitle him to the name of trainer, and does not bear many marks of scratches and tears somewhere on his body.

My own body and limbs are elaborately tattooed with testimonials from my feline friends of many years past, for from my earliest boyhood I have been in intimate contact with the carnivora in the menagerie. All this is a matter of course.

The beast that springs, however, must either be cowed into submission quickly, or the trainer must escape from the cage as soon as possible. If the animal really means business, it is the man’s part and duty to get out, for no man can stand against the strength of a lion, the cautious spring of a tiger, or the tremendous power and terrible agility of a leopard or jaguar.

EXCHANGING CONFIDENCES

Supposing a man gets fairly cornered, the best defense against a charging lion or tiger is to strike the animal on the nose, hitting up from under; but this is by no means an easy thing to do, as the animal will spring and dodge with a degree of skill that would do credit to a master of the prize ring. Meantime, however, the man can have been edging into a position that will give him an opportunity to escape.

The felines—lions, tigers, jaguars, and leopards—jump for the throat. That is the objective point against which all carnivora make their most decided attack. It is in this way that they hunt their jungle prey, and they carry the practices of the jungle into their association with human beings. An agile man,—and no man should be allowed to become an animal trainer if he is not agile,—when he sees that the animal is going to leap, can avoid the onset and get in a blow that will not injure the animal, but will send him cringing to the other end of the cage.

It is when knocked down that the great danger comes to the trainer. On his feet he is the master, but for prostrate humanity an animal has no respect whatever. On his feet there is always a chance of controlling the animals; but when down his power is gone. The minute his body touches the floor the man ceases to be master. If knocked down, the man’s only chance is to struggle to the bars and raise himself, for back on his feet he may stem the tide of onslaught. A stick, a whip, a chair, perseverance, and aggressive pluck will then be his weapons of subjugation.

Some animals train easily; others learn their lessons with great diffidence and some reluctance. What one lion may learn in a week may take another a month; what one tiger may do in two lessons may take another one several months even to imitate feebly. One may as well try to give a hard and set rule for the rearing of a child, taking it through nursing, kindergarten, the primary grade, the high school and into college, without allowing the slightest leeway for the personal equation, as to say what is necessary for the training of an animal in general. Each is a study, alone and complete in itself, and each animal has its distinct individuality.