“GOING BAD”--ANIMAL INSTINCT
What those who have charge of wild animals in captivity, and especially
trainers, dread most among the large carnivora, is that inexplicable
change of temperament on the part of the animal known in the parlance
of the menagerie as “going bad.” Lions are likely to go bad about the
tenth year of life; tigers two or three years earlier. The male tiger
is the dread of the profession when he reaches this condition, because
he is more likely to go into a frenzy without warning, and, once gone
bad, nothing will satisfy him but murder. He will leap for any man
within reach, and when once his teeth are on the bone, nothing but fire
will make him relinquish it, and not always that.
This “going bad” may come in the nature of a sudden attack, or it may
develop slowly and be counteracted if taken in time. An old trainer can
usually detect the symptoms of this curious ailment. It seems to be in
the nature of a disease, and other animals recognize it and shun the
affected one. When its progress is apparent the danger is not great;
all that is required then is a level head, and the wisdom to refrain
from further interference with the animal.
A good trainer never dreams of interfering with an animal in this
condition. If attacked, his one aim is to defend himself, until he has
a chance to escape from the cage, and to separate the animal from his
fellows as soon as possible. Sometimes this bad temper will last but
a short time, and again it will become the permanent condition of the
animal. In that case he is sent to the lonely cage to spend the rest
of his life in comparative obscurity, disturbed merely by the passing
crowd and his daily meals.
Let an animal once acquire a love for blood and he is spoiled for the
rest of his life. If the killing instinct once develops it can rarely
be eradicated. Rajah, a tiger which has already killed two men, and
severely injured me on more than one occasion, “went bad” suddenly,
and his taste for blood having once been aroused, it would have been
worse than useless to attempt to do anything with him again, and he is
now kept carefully by himself. Formerly, he was one of the best trick
tigers before the public, but some unknown thing ruffled his nature, he
gained a realization of his own brute strength and a taste for blood,
and his career as a performer was over.
As a rule, a trainer can also tell when the critical moment has come
in this peculiar phase of “going bad.” The man who puts his head in a
lion’s mouth, sooner or later, arrives at the point where he feels that
to continue would endanger his life. A trainer once had an experience
of that kind in England.
He had safely accomplished the hazardous feat for several months
without any particular feeling of trepidation. One night he placed his
head in the lion’s mouth as usual, and was about to draw it out again
when he suddenly had a shuddering, indefinable realization that the
lion’s good temper was gone. He knew the danger, and prepared for it
by bracing all his strength against that of the lion’s jaws.
He removed his head slowly, as usual, for the least hurry might have
provoked an attack, but in a second the lion snapped at him while
his face was yet within danger. The tip of his chin was caught and
lacerated. That was the conclusion of the act with that lion, and he
was relegated to solitude like others troubled with the same complaint.
Elephants also “go bad,” and there is even more danger with these huge
beasts than with lions and tigers; for they may break out and kill and
injure a great number of people, besides causing an immense amount of
damage by tearing up and destroying property.
Most people have heard how many valuable elephants have had to be
killed owing to their becoming “rogues.” A rogue elephant is a terrible
creature in more ways than one, for his huge bulk and enormous strength
make him not only a formidable enemy, but his cunning and viciousness
can be appreciated only by those who have come in constant contact with
him.
There appears to be no special age for an elephant going bad, but the
majority of these animals become dangerous after a certain time in
captivity. The most tractable and gentle elephant I ever had suddenly
“went bad” for no conceivable reason, and although after much coaxing
and soothing he appeared to settle down quietly, there were certain
indications soon after that he intended mischief. Finally, his small
eyes became so red and threatening that I considered it wiser to have
him killed, rather than run any risk of his sacrificing human lives.
With regard to the instincts of animals, I have had some very curious
experiences. Just before a disastrous fire at Baltimore, when nearly
all the poor animals were terribly burned, many in the exhibition
noticed how restless and uneasy the animals were, but as there appeared
to be no reason for it, we thought nothing more about it.
When the time for the performance came, not one of the animals would
move out of its cage. It is not unusual for wild animals to get
restless fits sometimes, but it is extremely unusual for them all, at
one and the same time, absolutely to refuse to come out of their cages
at the command of the trainers. The majority of wild-animal trainers
are superstitious, and many of them began to wonder what it meant and
whether it was a bad omen, for not one in the whole building had the
slightest idea that the fire was even then gaining ground.
There was not the faintest smell of smoke or any other indication to
give warning that one of the greatest calamities I ever had was just
coming upon me. Not more than a quarter of an hour before the men had
been round, according to the usual custom, to see that everything was
safe and in good order, but nothing was noticed out of the way, and
until the flames suddenly burst forth no one had any idea that there
was the least danger or trouble at hand.
Another curious instance of animal instinct occurred in the winter
of 1902–03 at Ocala, Florida. Mme. Pianka had taken her lions there
to perform, and as soon as they arrived every one noticed that the
animals, especially the lions, were restless and uneasy at night, and
that they behaved very strangely.
It is customary, soon after arriving at a place, to turn the animals
out into the steel arena for exercise, as, of course, it is quite
impossible to give them any exercise at all while on a long journey.
The moment the lions entered the arena, instead of stretching
themselves luxuriously and pacing up and down in their usual manner,
they stopped short, with ears back and noses to the ground, and
commenced to sniff in the most peculiar manner.
It was impossible to rouse them up or make them move about. Each one
would walk a few paces, but always with his head bent down and sniffing
the ground. When the time for the performance came on, their behavior
was still more curious. These lions were Mme. Pianka’s favorites, and
as she had always been very fond of them, and had had them in training
for several years, she had been accustomed to caress them. Although the
majority of them took this in the grave, dignified manner peculiar to
lions, one or two had appeared actually to like her endearments, and
had occasionally rubbed their huge heads against her face.
But at this time they would not let her touch them. Each one let her
know that she must keep her distance, or it would be a serious matter.
Neither would they perform at the accustomed words of command. Indeed,
their manner grew so forbidding and dangerous that at last she dared
not even go near them.
That same night Mme. Pianka was awakened by the watchman calling to
say that the lions were digging large holes in the ground, and that
he thought, at the rate they were working, they would very soon dig
themselves out altogether. All the assistants were called up, the
electric lights were turned on, and it was found that the lions had
already dug holes deep enough in the earth to bury themselves.
The danger was doubly great because so unexpected. Hyenas and wolves
will dig holes in the ground in this manner, but for lions to do so is
almost unheard of. The lions were with great difficulty taken out of
the cage, with evident reluctance on their part, and put once more
into their traveling compartments. The ground was securely battened
down and covered thickly with fine sand, disinfectant, and sawdust.
[Illustration: QUEER FRIENDS--CAMEL, LIONESSES, AND DROMEDARY]
The following night the lions were turned into the arena again, but in
a very short time they had scratched away the sand and sawdust and dug
up the earth, and it was only just in time that the lions were once
more removed to their traveling-cages in exceedingly ugly and dangerous
moods.
Many solutions were offered by various people,--especially by those who
knew nothing whatever about animals,--but no satisfactory one could be
found. We thought of the change of climate, of air, scene, and food.
The lions had grown accustomed to changes of air and climate, and the
food was the same kind that they had been accustomed to in captivity.
We next thought of the water; but it was pure and good, and there
seemed to be no accounting for this strange freak on the part of the
animals. Had one or two shown this peculiar propensity, we should
naturally have concluded that they had “gone bad,” but as all were
doing the same thing, and two were quite young lions, this could not be
the case.
At last this was mentioned to the chief of police and one or two old
residents, and we then discovered that the tent had been pitched
directly over an old graveyard in Ocala, and although most of the
bodies had been removed, there was, of course, every probability that
some of the remains were still under the ground.
This, of course, solved the mystery, to our great relief; for, having
found out the cause, we very soon applied a remedy, and it was not long
before we had the tent and the animals removed some distance off. As
soon as the animals were removed, their savage sulkiness vanished, and
they at once settled down into their old routine, and were as obedient
and good-natured as they had ever been.