When I was an intern at a zoo early in my career, we had time to kill on the weekends, so a few of us opted for the resume-boosting “extra assignment” in another area of the zoo. My intern rotations during the week were in the Reptile House and Education. That meant I spent my mornings changing filthy snake newspaper bedding and plucking baby boa teeth out of my fingers. After lunch, I occupied my afternoons creating flyers and brochures for new Spring programs I would never teach.
Good experience, to be sure, but I saw how a few extra rotations in other areas of the zoo might help me gain small amounts of experience attractive to other zoos in the future. One of my “extra” areas was a rainforest exhibit; a cutting-edge exhibit displaying animals from the rainforests of Africa, Southeast Asia and South America.
In the African section lived a group of animals called Bonobos. Odds are, most people have never heard of Bonobos, also known as Pygmy Chimpanzees, despite the fact that Bonobos share 99% of our human DNA, and one particular habit to which we would all aspire: they settle all disputes with sex.
A fight between members of the troop? Have some sex. A quarrel with a mate over food? Settle it with sex. This all seems nice, until you realize that some of the members of your troop are your own family members, placing you in the awkward position (literally and figuratively) of settling disagreements with your children and your parents…need I say more?
Doing keeper work behind the scenes isn’t all playing with animals and making diets. In fact, it is precisely none of the former, and only some of the latter. Most of a keeper’s daily work involves cleaning up after animals. Our household pets require a devotion to cleaning up messes–enter the brigade of dog-walkers, leash on one hand, plastic bag in the other. Care of higher-order primates, like Bonobos, is a different story.
Bonobos, along with common DNA, also have a near-human brain capacity, meaning they need many of the distractions/entertainments we humans require or they will resort to base animal behaviors. Outside, on exhibit, Bonobos can play in the trees, forage for food, chase, sleep and lounge about, living the zoo life. Inside, where most animals’ holding spaces are tile and concrete–a bathroom without the bathtub and toilet–they need to find other activities. The definite lack of a toilet, and proper toilet training, leads to some other interesting activities.
Keepers do their best to keep the lives of Bonobos enriched. They load puzzle boxes and treat mazes, activities to fill the long hours when the zoo is closed and there is no people-watching to do. But animals can always satisfy certain basic cravings when alone. For people, we prefer not to consider the possibilities. For Bonobos, this consists of what you might call “finger painting.”
Though Bonobos are intelligent enough to learn how to use toilets, leaving them access to a lavatory facility could result in potential disaster: a flooded exhibit, a destroyed toilet, a porcelain shiv enmeshed in the eye socket of the low-man-out and an exhibit full of primates looking the other way. Therefore, Bonobos are free to paint using that age-old recipe for artistic success: one-part feces and four parts, well, shit.
When I arrived at my extra assignment that first Saturday, I was surprised to hear the keepers joking about the beautiful paintings the Bonobos would do each night. When I saw the paintings I too found them amusing. At least until I had to don a full rain suit and face mask, then use a power washer to clean.
How the Bonobos were able to get fecal smears into the upper corners of the holding area was a mystery to everyone. There were no ropes, branches or shelves anywhere near the ceiling (for just this reason.) Yet somehow, they would get full finger streaks into all the crevices of the exhibit. Some mornings you would be gifted a collage of handprints on the glass, as one might see at a preschool. Just with slightly different materials.
Other days, there were clear impact points as though there had been epic “snowball” fights. Yet the Bonobos were distinctly devoid of markings. Spotless and unsullied.
I cleaned the holding area with a mix of marvel and disgust; water and crap raining down all around me. I imagined the Bonobos out on public display, foraging and engaging in the testosterone-laden water cooler talk. Their talk, not about female conquests and sports scores, was about the handiwork foisted upon the keepers:
“Wow Bob, nice work getting it into the light fixture—how did you get it behind the plastic covering?”
“Heh, heh, those are the secrets of the master Umbaru. Only the master knows.”
“Yeah. Well, anyway, that was pretty awesome. Do you think I could take lessons sometime?”
“Maybe, my friend, maybe…but first, let’s have some sex.”