The apparent lashes given with the whip during performances are mere pretenses, part of the daily program, and known to the animals as such. True, these supposed lashings call forth growls and snarls, but this is because the animal knows it is a signal for him to do something, and he does not often feel inclined to do it. He generally does it, but he always protests a little if he can, and growls and snarls form his speech.
Expert, indeed, must be the trainer, for if one of these light blows should go wrong and land on some part of the animal’s body where it would hurt, there might well be an attack; almost certainly there would be a fit of sulks on the part of the animal struck while doing his best that would not only put an end to any further effort on his part for that day, but even mean lifelong resentment and hatred, which would simply wait for a favorable opportunity for injuring the trainer who had given the blow.
To illustrate this. A trainer was one day exercising his animals, and in using the whip accidentally caught a lion on the tip of his nose. For a moment the animal paused, as though too surprised to do anything else; then he rubbed his nose reflectively, as though still trying to solve the problem. The trainer, who had at first grown rigid with fear of what might follow, kept a careful eye on the lion; but as he appeared quiet and only puzzled, and as the trainer concluded the blow could have hurt him only slightly, he thought that was the end of it.
The animals were driven back to their cages, and nothing happened to show that the injured lion remembered it in any way. But that same evening, when the time came for the performance, and the trainer flicked his whip toward the lion whom he had accidentally struck, the animal, instead of taking it as his cue, promptly roused himself, gathered himself together, and in another moment had sprung full at the trainer.
Fortunately, the trainer had noticed the dangerous symptoms,—for a lion generally gives a little warning before he springs, a tiger never,—and had leaped aside with such agility that the lion landed a little to the right, and this time received a stinging blow which sent him back for a moment, giving the trainer just time to escape.
But from that time it was found absolutely impossible to make that lion perform. He would go into the arena, and would even mount his pedestal, but at the very first flick or lash of the whip in his direction he would prepare to spring. Therefore, through a very slight accident,—a little blow which one would think such a big brute would not mind,—we lost one of our best performers.
Some very serious accidents have also occurred from the playfulness of animals. A playful animal is always dangerous; he may be in the best of moods and tempers, and simply wish to have a romp, but his strength and power are too overwhelming for a man to have anything to do with him. The wisest course to pursue with an animal in a playful mood is to get out of his way and leave him alone.
This is easy enough at rehearsal, but in the performance it is another matter. The animal must be put through his paces day after day, or he will expect to take it easy all the time. A good trainer will always try, when possible, to let the animal have his play out before urging him to perform; but sometimes this play will go on until the audience becomes impatient, and then comes the risk to the trainer. The animal is comfortable and enjoying himself, and to be forced to get up on a pedestal and do other things in the middle of it must naturally be irritating and annoying, and the animal generally vents this annoyance and irritability on the one who forces him to act. In some cases he will not be forced, and then more trouble still arises for the trainer.
CAPTAIN BONAVITA CARRYING A LION WEIGHING FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS