Betty & Friends : My Life at the Zoo (9781101558928) Read online

  Where does one begin to choose? Gorillas? Elephants? Big cats? Bears? Rhinos? The list goes on. Yes to all of the above, plus any others you might name.

  Perhaps a simpler approach would be to ask which animals I don’t find fascinating, and I could honestly say, “None.” The only ones I find disappointing on occasion are the two-legged type, but they are still interesting, nonetheless.

  Gita

  Gita

  There are individual animals, of course, who stand out. Who take your heart and won’t let go. For me, there is one who will always rise above the rest, not only in stature but in every way. That was our beloved Asian elephant Gita. Years ago, when I was first introduced to this big girl, I said, “Trunk up, Gita.” She obliged, and I stood on tiptoe to slap her tongue. Somewhere along the line, I had learned that elephants like having their tongues slapped, and it really worked with Gita. She reacted as though I had found the right language to communicate with her, and our long friendship began. And that became our traditional greeting.

  It was in subsequent visits to the zoo, when they did have contact elephants on-site (those you can touch), that I found that Gita wasn’t the only elephant who liked to have her tongue slapped. I couldn’t help wondering where they learned that.

  But Gita was truly exceptional. I was amazed at her gentle disposition and human awareness/curiosity. I was delighted that I could get my hands on her—which is a privilege, these days, particularly.

  Early each Saturday morning, the keepers would take Gita on a long, rambling walk around the grounds before the zoo opened, and it was my privilege to be invited to go along, several times. Those are the memories etched in my mind. I remember the first one and how excited I was when I arrived at 8:00 a.m. to find Gita lying on her side to be swept off. Then she got to her feet to be hosed down. Then the keeper and Gita and I took a long stroll all through the zoo. Now and then, there would be a quiet “Steady” from the keeper accompanying us, not because Gita had done anything wrong, but rather as a word of approval and encouragement. She was just taking a walk with her friends.

  The walks provided great exercise for her and great keeper-elephant confidence-building as well. Back in 1966, when the zoo had moved down the hill to its new location, Gita had not only walked there, but she had led some of the other animals in a makeshift parade! It was probably a couple of miles.

  Gita was the matriarch from then on.

  So on those morning walks I was so thrilled to be dealt in. We’d all just walk out and go around the zoo. We’d go by the chimpanzees and they’d get frantic, moving around, getting sooo busy—There’s an elephant coming! An elephant! But Gita paid them no mind.

  She would stop and try to eat things—wrap her trunk around a young sapling and be just about to pull when the keeper would say—“Ahhh, no, Gita!” And you could see it on her face, Aw, shucks. Okay. And we’d move along.

  Whenever I got to walk with Gita, I was in heaven. Walking beside her, I was always amazed that I didn’t hear a footfall. Gita would mumble or make little squeaks as if to join in the conversation, but those big feet were silent as they hit the ground.

  Gita was forty-eight years old when she left us, but she will stay in our hearts forever. Yes, Gita, dear, you are still my very favorite of all.

  Gita and Billy

  Billy at play

  Elephants

  he new pachyderm exhibit at the L.A. Zoo is another long-term dream come true. We not only went from one acre to four acres but included beautiful hilly terrain that our elephants are enjoying.

  Elephants are not only the largest land animals, but they may also be the most recognizable on the planet with those unique trunks. We tend to take them for granted, but these days they are in real need of help.

  The Asian elephant is critically endangered due to being illegally hunted for its ivory tusks, plus the destruction of its habitat. Those who demonstrate against any elephants being kept in zoos seem unaware of these statistics and the opportunity to educate the public about these animals. In zoos like the one in Los Angeles, the majority of our visitors will never be able to travel to locations to see elephants in the wild.

  There are two elephant species—Asian and African. The differences begin with the ears. The African elephant’s ears are enormous and, oddly enough, shaped like the continent of Africa. The Asian elephant’s ears, while much smaller, are shaped like India.

  And they use their trunks differently. The African elephant uses his like fingers and picks things up as you and I would with our thumb and forefinger. The Asian elephant picks things up by curling that trunk around them, but is so adept he can pick up the tiniest item.

  African elephants have four toes on each foot, Asian elephants five. Watching an elephant walk, with legs like moving tree trunks, it is difficult to realize that these gigantic animals are actually walking on their toes. Considering the bone structure inside that huge foot, the way an elephant walks is comparable to the way a woman walks in high heels.

  Orangutans

  High on my list of most intriguing animals has always been the orangutan—“man of the forest”—who is so deeply intelligent yet so different from his fellow primates: the chimpanzee or gorilla, or human. Whatever zoo I visit, I often come away with an indelible impression of some orang I just met. As a case in point, to this day, even after several years, I have a fond and vivid memory of a lady orang with whom I played a serious trading game behind the scenes at the Columbus Zoo in Ohio.

  It began when she handed me a small stick under the gate of her enclosure. I looked at it carefully and gave her a small stone in exchange. She examined it closely, then found a piece of straw and, looking straight into my eyes, handed it to me. Your turn!

  This wordless back-and-forth went on for perhaps ten minutes, and it was a personal, private one-on-one experience I shall never forget. I have since discovered that trading is a favorite game with many orangutans, but she was special.

  Most primates, humans included, are group-oriented—social animals for whom the family unit is a way of life. By contrast, the orang spends most of his time alone, living in the trees of his native Borneo or Sumatra. The rain forest continues to be burned to make room for palm-oil and pulpwood plantations, and the tragic result is that thirty to fifty percent of those trees have been lost. This leaves wide, treeless swaths that isolate the arboreal orangutan and cast a shadow on his future in the wild.

  Minyak

  Orangutan mothers nurture their babies for eight to ten years—longer than any other mammal except humans! They teach them everything—where to find food in certain trees at certain times of year; where to find shelter. Orangs are incredibly smart and have terrific memories. This compounds the tragedy of deforestation—those orang children remember the location of trees their moms showed them, which have now disappeared. There are photos of these ten-year-old orangs just staring at these treeless swaths, not knowing where to find food.

  Properly maintaining an arboreal animal who prefers a wide-ranging aloneness can present quite a challenge in captivity. Our Red Ape Rainforest is grass-covered, with a mesh canopy affording the orangs the opportunity to climb to the top of the habitat and survey their surroundings (zoo guests and their elephant neighbors). It also has tunnels for exploring and areas for seclusion, in case one wants to be alone.

  Though they seem to enjoy socializing in the day, at night they sleep in separate spaces, giving them much-needed alone time, which they seem to appreciate.

  The Red Ape Rainforest exhibit has a complex design, but these guys are so worth the effort.

  Bruno being silly

  Bruno

  Bruno, our three-hundred-and-eighty-pound redhead, is the largest in our orangutan group. Minyak, our other male, is smaller, weighing in at two hundred pounds, although both orangs are around the same age—thirty-two years old.

  Bruno and I have what I like to think of as a unique rapport. When I stop by to talk to his keepers, all of whom are fema
le (growing up, it was more than rare to see a female zookeeper), there is always a little special Bruno time. I’m sure the girls are just being kind by saying Bruno is different with me, but I lap it up.

  Every time I go to visit, I ask if this is the day I get to take Bruno home with me. I just love that sweet guy.

  One morning I was there very early and was allowed to stand by a section of behind-the-scenes fence. Bruno was way back at the other end of his habitat, sprawled out on the grass, basking in the morning sun. I called him—just a friendly hello, not expecting any response. You could almost see the wheels go around in his head: Is it worth the effort?

  After a moment, he pulled all three hundred and eighty pounds together, got up, and slowly made his way down the whole length of the exhibit to where I was standing. He plopped down and pushed his lips through the fence so I could rub his nose. It wasn’t food-oriented, I had no reward for him—it was strictly social contact.

  I was the one who got the reward.

  Minyak

  Though Bruno and Minyak are the same age, we don’t put the male orangutans together. Minyak came to us as a last resort—he had an infection in his air sac. Air sacs are normal in orangutans, but when he came to us he was desperately sick, and the vets didn’t know if he’d make it. But with treatment and monitoring, he’s made a great recovery.

  Minyak’s genetic disposition is incredibly valuable because both his parents were born in the wild. This means he’s unrelated to any of the orangutans already at the zoo, which is terrific for diversity. Minyak is the father of Bosco-Berani, and we are anxiously awaiting the birth of Minyak’s second offspring, which, fingers crossed, should be born by the time this book comes out!

  Loner though an orang may be, he makes a notable exception at mating time, whether in the wild or in the zoo.

  Bosco-Berani, aka “Bera”

  Here Bruno conducts a very efficient courtship. Just ask Kalim. . . .

  Kalim

  Female orangutans give birth only once every eight to ten years. That makes sense, since mother orangutans take care of their babies longer than any other land mammals except humans.

  Our Kalim was so thrilled with her firstborn that she would come to the glass viewing area and hold little Bera up for visitors to see.

  Isn’t this the most beautiful baby EVER?

  I recently visited Kalim, who’s pregnant again (Minyak is again the father), and she and the zookeeper had a wonderful trading game going on. The keeper had grapes, which she was mostly feeding Bruno, but Kalim got brave and came to the door as well. However, Kalim decided to “pay” for her snacks by passing twigs to the keeper, who would pass back a grape. Fascinating to watch!

  They say if you put an empty box in a gorilla cage, he’ll tear it up. If you put it in a chimpanzee cage, he’ll stomp on it and tear it to pieces. If you put it in an orangutan cage, he’ll fold it into some useful structure and find a way to make it part of his nest. They’re smart as whips!

  Kalim holding Bera

  Lionel

  Lionel and Cookie

  Lionel and Cookie were brought to the zoo from the Wildlife Waystation Sanctuary in Angeles National Forest in 1997. They were inseparable.

  We lost Lionel recently. He was twenty-three years of age. In the wild, male lions would be lucky to live to twelve years old, so he had a good run, much as we miss him.

  If Cookie were younger, we’d try to find her a mate. But she’s twenty-two now, and doing just fine for a single gal.

  Of course, the female lion, who does most of the work, is a thing of beauty herself.

  Cookie

  They were a very happy, if relaxed, couple.

  Howler Monkeys

  This photo shows the beautiful color phases of these fascinating South American animals. In this case, the black howler monkey is male, and the female, tan. What I wish we could demonstrate here is the incredible sound they are making.

  Early in the morning, shortly after dawn and well before the zoo opens, you can hear the howler monkey song. It is such a piercing sound it carries all over the zoo.

  A nice way to start the day.

  Smokey and Dottie

  Our Jaguars

  Meet Smokey and Dottie, two color phases of the same species of jaguar. Look closely at that beautiful black face and you will see that he, too, has a pattern of spots showing dimly through the black. Catch him in bright sunlight and spots are discernible over his whole body.

  Smokey and Dottie are gorgeous, but it’s the training of our other jaguar, Kaloa, that fascinates me. The keeper has established a marvelous rapport with him. When she sits down on the ground outside of but close to the enclosure, the jaguar knows it’s training time, and he comes to sit as close to her as he can get. She has him go through various procedures to get his reward, a treat that she is able to give him—by hand—through the wire. No one else can do this with him. For instance, on her request he will slip his paw out under the gate or press his shoulders against the wire that is separating them.

  This is wonderful to witness, but it is not done as a performance. Should Kaloa need medication at any time, he will put that paw out when the keeper asks, and she can give him an injection without his having to be tranquilized.

  Many zoo animals these days are trained to voluntarily offer whatever body part is in need of treatment without having to be put under. Even the small hyperactive monkeys get the idea.

  Much less stress is involved. Just cooperation with a trusted human friend. Classic zookeeper accomplishment.

  Smokey

  Reggie, the truant alligator

  Reggie

  In Los Angeles, for months there was a startling sight: an alligator, certainly no California native, was swimming in Harbor City’s Lake Machado, and authorities couldn’t catch it. It’s likely he was an exotic pet someone unwisely adopted and then couldn’t care for, so he was just released illegally into the lake. Exotic pets are an epidemic. In terms of black-market moneymaking, they’re probably second only to the drug trade.

  Reggie became a big local celebrity and was finally trapped in a coordinated effort between the City of Los Angeles Parks and Recreation staff and the L.A. Zoo’s curator of reptiles and amphibians and brought to the zoo.

  For every Reggie a zoo is able to take in, zoos across the nation receive dozens of calls from people who want to find homes for their snakes, iguanas, and in some cases bears and monkeys. In most cases, the zoos are already at capacity.

  How many times do we have to repeat: Exotic animals must not be kept as pets?

  Sifaka

  Sifaka

  Sometimes you almost wish you could sit down and have a conversation with these animals.

  Lina

  We had a wonderful gorilla named Lina at the Los Angeles Zoo. I used to hold her as a baby, and we just adored each other. When she got older, she learned to blow kisses. I’d stand outside, and Lina would blow kiss after kiss. I couldn’t get enough of it.

  Years later, I went to New Mexico for a movie, and of course I had to steal time to get to the zoo in Albuquerque, which is lovely. It has this all-natural environment—called a “BioPark zoo”—with steppes and terrain the animals experience in the wild.

  They had this wonderful gorilla exhibit. When we arrived, I noticed that one of the gorillas seemed to be blowing us kisses.

  “Oh,” I told the zookeeper, “our Lina used to do that!”

  She turned to me and said, “That is Lina!”

  Years ago I made friends with a very special little girl, Lina.

  Here’s Lina, in Los Angeles.

  . . . And later in Albuquerque.

  Beethoven

  I have a very dear friend who lives in Atlanta. He just happens to be a beluga whale.

  You can’t meet someone like Beethoven and never see him again.

  So I flew myself out to revisit the Georgia Aquarium recently. I know he didn’t, but it was almost like he recognized me. He sped across his en
ormous pool to give me a welcoming kiss.

  Dr. Warren Thomas with Caesar

  Caesar

  Dr. Warren Thomas was director of the L.A. Zoo from 1974 to 1990.

  A tremendous animal man, he actually helped deliver the very first baby gorilla ever born in captivity at the Columbus Zoo in Ohio. When he came to Los Angeles, we were ecstatic and hoped against hope that he would repeat the event. And the miracle actually happened.

  When the time came for the birth, we not only had Dr. Thomas, but people doctors from the hospital downtown came to help deliver the baby male gorilla by cesarean section.

  Of course we named him Caesar, and he became such a star.

  And this is little Caesar

  Caesar all grown up

  Okapi

  Do you know what an okapi is? Many people will answer that question with a blank stare—they have no idea. Well, prior to 1901, no one else did, either, for that is when this gorgeous antelope was first discovered in the forested areas of Africa—primarily the Congo and Zaire—and it is the last large mammal in the outside world to be identified to date.

  The okapi is a distant cousin to the giraffe, which shows in its long neck and small head. Its fur looks so close-cropped, but you could lose your hand in it. It’s remarkable that such a large, and one might say gaudy, animal could stay hidden for so long; however, they are virtually impossible to see in the wild, given their speed, camouflage, and scarcity.