Back Aa

Training of Wild Animals

<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX" class="vspace">CHAPTER IX HOW WILD BEASTS ARE TAUGHT TRICKS</h2> The next stage in the training of a lion is for the trainer to enter the cage again with the chair and stick. No longer militant, but somewhat timid, the animal keeps in his corner, furtively watching the trainer. Little by little, the man edges the chair over until he is within reach; then he begins to rub the lion with his stick. Little by little he decreases the distance still more, until, finally, he has his hand on the lion’s shoulder and is patting him gently. This is another great step in advance. The lion has learned to endure the touch of the human hand; although he murmurs sulkily, he likes it, for few animals are indifferent to petting. Day by day the trainer familiarizes the lion with his presence and touch; rubbing144 his back, stroking his shoulders, raising his paws,—a somewhat risky and ticklish trial,—and in the course of about two weeks after first entering the cage, if the animal be of fairly good temper, all alarm and overt enmity have been eradicated, so accustomed has the animal become to the presence of this one man. After this he is taught to back until he reaches the rear of the cage, and then made to lie down. After a time he is made to lie down and stand up, at either the word of command or at a certain cue, and after each act of obedience he is given a small piece of raw meat as a reward. If he does not obey, he gets no reward, and in time the habit becomes strong, and he does what is required of him, whether he gets anything for it or not. Then comes another period of extreme danger for the trainer. This is when the animal first enters the arena. He finds himself in a place which seems vast after a cage, and becoming a little bewildered at the strange surroundings, behaves in an entirely different manner. Many animals who have been taught to perform in comparatively small cages have145 to be trained all over again when in the arena. In the big arena, therefore, the training of the animals has to be practically begun anew. This is one reason why trainers are always so anxious to get their animals out of the training-schools and -cages and into the arena as soon as possible. But they are liable to get them there too soon sometimes, which is extremely dangerous. I have already explained why a lion is first put into a small cage to begin with. If he goes into the arena too soon, he is more apt to spring at the trainer, because he has not yet become tractable and docile enough. On first entering the arena, the lion runs round and round, seeking some place to escape, because his surroundings are strange. He is also rather frightened, for anything unusual or strange always makes a wild animal, especially a lion, nervous; but the trainer’s quiet presence and voice generally soothe him after a while, and he soon gets used to it. An entire day is generally taken to accustom the lion to his new surroundings,146 and he is then put through several evolutions, just as in the smaller cage. Beginning at this point, the training or education of an animal is simply the application to more advanced work of the principles already followed. It is progress beyond a kind of kindergarten, and learning by association has everything to do with it. The animal is becoming amenable to the mastery of man, and in doing so his own reason is being developed. From this time on he begins to take a new interest in life. That instinct of action, which he has inherited from his ancestors and which has been slumbering, is awakened, and he is learning to know and enjoy the cultivated exercise. He works gradually into the harness, and soon becomes an adept at the work which he has been taught with so much painstaking patience. But he always remains an animal, his natural instincts are always paramount, and though he may go through his performances meekly, and even with a certain amount of interest, there are always deep down in him an inborn distrust and fear of man. <div id="ip_148" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 38em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_168.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="374" alt="" /> <div class="caption">TRAINED BUT NOT TAMED</div> </div> 149 The only trainer, therefore, who has any business in a cage with such animals is one who thoroughly understands their nature, who knows all their weaknesses and characteristics, and who fears their strength. If I ever hear a trainer make a remark to the effect that, after all, there is nothing to be afraid of when once an animal is trained, I know that man is unfit to be a trainer at all. The man who makes the best trainer is the one who realizes their treachery, and knows that there is danger at all times and in all places with wild animals, no matter how well trained they may be. As I said before, no wild animal is ever tamed, only trained, and the best training in the world is nothing when once the animal feels inclined to give way to his natural savage instincts. In time, the trained animal becomes so accustomed to performing, that when he sees the paraphernalia of his performance he knows exactly what is expected of him, and does it naturally and readily. The successful performance of all trained animals depends on this almost instinctive following of long-accustomed150 habit, together with the pleasure the exercise gives to animals habitually confined in small cages. Leopards, panthers, and jaguars are all trained in much the same manner. Mme. Morelli puts them through a course of training very similar to that given the lion. They are taught to respect and look for the trainer, and have instilled into them as much awe as is ever bred in any animal, which is not saying a great deal. The jaguar, leopard, and panther become used to the association of the trainer, and are finally willing, through much coaxing and coercion, to perform such elementary feats as are required of them. The stick is the instrument for the education of these animals in the same manner as in the case of the lion. To begin with, a broomstick is laid on the floor, and the trainer steps to the back of the stage, apparently unarmed, leaving the stick in full sight, the animal crouching in the rear of the cage. After a few moments’ hesitation, with the tense, strained tightening of his leg-muscles,—which all trainers know so well as a signal of151 danger,—the animal launches its sleek, compact, sinewy body full upon the unprotected broomstick. The dull wood, like a craven, has not spunk enough to respond. It accepts the punishment as a Chinaman does in battle, with no apparent expectation of anything different. The animal, disgusted, leaves the stick and launches himself at the trainer. The trainer, small and delicate woman as she is, meets the charge with coolness and that quiet reserve force which stands all trainers in such good stead. The broomstick is not her only weapon. She has another: an iron prong, heavy, thick, and with a point dull enough to leave whatever skin it touches unlacerated, but sharp enough to remind any animal that he is in poor business in an attack on it, when held in the hands of a determined trainer. The prong is attached to the end of a stick much larger and longer than the first stick, and against that combination the animal throws himself. He comes out of the encounter with a cowed air and an added respect for the small woman who held it. He slinks152 again into his corner, but allows himself to be finally coaxed out and stroked with the very stick which had resisted his first spring in such a decided manner. Finally, the stick is laid on the floor, and after much persuasion, the animal is induced to walk over it, which he does, hissing and snarling. He is led over it again and again, and fails to notice that each time the stick is raised a little from the floor, until finally he finds, somewhat to his surprise and discomfiture, that when he walks over the stick he has to make quite a spring in order to get over it at all. Before this stick incident is finished, he jumps over a stick raised as high as a chair. No animal is ever allowed to backslide. Each thing done one day must be done the next day in exactly the same way; there must be no deviation from the rule. This is the reason that in every animal act the trainer positively insists upon perfect adherence to the regular formula. Such is the force of habit that laxity to-day means a desire for laxity to-morrow at the same place and in the same way, and laxity in one small detail will155 breed the tendency for it, which will then in all probability spread and in a short time affect the whole performance. This is why everything is done with such careful attention to detail. <div id="ip_154" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 25em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_174.jpg" width-obs="394" height-obs="600" alt="" /> <div class="caption">“DEPEW”</div> </div> If an animal is sent to the right side on entering the arena the first day, he is sent to the right every day thereafter, and the direction in which he goes after leaving his pedestal, and before taking his place in the group, is always the same. Each animal, too, in a group has his own place and his own time for assuming the place; and should he once leave it, there would be danger to the whole performance. The trainer, too, even in walking about the arena, always walks in the same way, and gives his closest attention to the prevention of the happening of anything unusual. Performing animals particularly dislike a change in the stage setting, and it is absolutely necessary, whenever a new one is contemplated, to accustom them to it by the most gradual means. There have been times when an animal, seeing a new barrel or block for the first time, would attack it with such gusto156 that not only would the objectionable piece of furniture be destroyed, but so much excitement would be communicated to the other animals that it would be found impossible to go on with the act. The dangerous tigress, Goldie, which performs with Herman Weedon, has a special dislike to the red pedestal on which she has to sit during the performance. At all other times, when this pedestal is out of sight, Goldie is as meek and mild as a kitten, and will allow herself to be smoothed and stroked with every symptom of pleasure. But when once that red pedestal is in view, Goldie is a fury. At one time Herman Weedon tried painting the objectionable stool another color, but he soon found that in Goldie’s case it was not the color or the pedestal itself that she objected to: it was the fact that when she saw that pedestal she knew that she had to perform, which raised all her temper and animosity. An incident which occurred in Kansas City will well illustrate the force of habit in wild animals. An error on the part of the workmen157 had caused Mme. Pianka’s cage to be misplaced, and it became necessary that a smaller one be substituted. Such a change from one accustomed condition to another is one which performing animals particularly dislike, and it is avoided whenever possible, but in this case it was unavoidable. The lions all objected to the change, and showed their displeasure by many unmistakable signs. One lioness absolutely refused to enter the cage at all; Mme. Pianka coaxed, ordered, and flicked her whip. The lioness had been a good animal, but some unaccountable sulkiness, such as is likely to obtrude into the good nature of any animal at any time, had taken possession of her, and nothing would move her. It was at this juncture that I decided to enter her cage myself and insist on obedience. The lioness looked casually at me and then at the small riding-whip in my hand, and after a little demur went into the cage and through her act without any more fuss or sulkiness. I was in the act of leaving the cage when I, thoughtlessly, did a most foolish thing. 158 Pleased to think I had subdued the big cat, I carelessly tapped the riding-whip on the ground, merely for a flourish. Twenty feet away the lioness’s mate was standing, watching the whole proceeding with dubious eyes. He promptly noted the action, had never seen it before, mistook its intent for an attack on his mate, and with a single bound was on me. Before I had time to realize what was happening, the lion had pinned me through the fleshy part of the thigh, and we both went down together. The lion loosened his hold, gathered himself up, and picking me up in his mouth, as though I were a tiny child, carried me over to Pianka, as though for her approval. Here, fortunately for myself, the force of habit again came into play. In Mme. Pianka’s hand was the revolver, loaded with blank cartridges, which she used for her act. Two of these she fired, in quick succession, close to the lion’s ear. That was one of the signals for a change in his act; the other, a simultaneous one, was to throw her arm about his neck. The natural pose which159 had always been suggested by these two actions in conjunction worked the charm. The force of habit brought him to instant obedience, he drew his teeth out of my body, fell into the pose, and seemed quite oblivious of the anger that had only the moment before aroused him to his dangerous attack. I scrambled to my feet, and after running the lion once or twice round the arena, just to demonstrate that I still had the mastery, went off to bed. The teeth had not touched the bone, but there were some bad flesh wounds, and I was not up again for three weeks. And all this was through a foolish little bit of byplay to which the lion was not accustomed. After the animal has learned his lesson and become expert in his performance, there still remains the test of a public appearance. This is always a matter of anxiety for the trainer, as animals suffer from stage fright. The sight of a crowd is likely to distract them and draw their attention from the trainer, so that they lose their cues. Once thoroughly accustomed to the stage, they seem to find in it160 a sort of intoxication well known to a species higher in the order of nature. Nearly all trainers assert that animals are affected by the attitude of an audience, that they are stimulated by the applause of an enthusiastic house, and perform indifferently before a cold audience. The pleasure in acting and showing off before others is, perhaps, more plainly demonstrated by bears than by any other animals. The conceit and good opinion of themselves which some performing bears have is absolutely ridiculous. One trainer, Roberto, has cleverly trained some very young bears to perform various acts. The duty of one is to climb up a ladder, set free the American flag, and sit on the top of the ladder until his trainer has played a tune on the violin while he balances the bear on the ladder. So proud is the little bear of his accomplishment that whenever any one is looking on, he will go through the whole performance by himself, evidently simply for the pleasure of doing it, and no one can fail to see the conceitedness of his manner as he does it. Bears161 very seldom get nervous in public; they enjoy the acts too much. More animals are lost to the arena from fear than through viciousness. Trainers dread a timid lion, tiger, or leopard, not only because in its panic it is likely to injure the trainer, but because it is unreliable, and may take fright and spoil a whole performance. When animals are found to be so unusually timid that it is impossible to rely on them, they are not used for any of the higher classes of performances, but are employed for the more simple sensational acts, which often take the public quite as much as the more difficult feats, but which require little preparatory education. In cases of wild animals in captivity suddenly seizing a keeper or other person, the best means to make them loosen their hold is either to fire off blank cartridges or to turn a hose on them. Generally the hose has the greatest effect, as it stops the animal’s breath for the time, and he loosens his hold to breathe. In many cases, however, nothing in the world will induce a wild animal to loosen his hold,162 and in this case it is merely a matter of brute strength, which it is impossible to overcome, except by killing the animal, and even then he will often hold on long enough to finish his victim. The keeping of red-hot irons in case of emergencies I discarded about ten or eleven years ago. I rejected it because it is an extremely cruel expedient, and seldom effectual as a remedy for the attacks of wild beasts. This fact was contradicted a short time ago by a man who stated that he saw some irons being heated in one of the coke fires. So he did, but this was in the winter, and my practice is then to put hot irons into the drinking-water of the animals occasionally. This practice is always observed in all my shows during the winter months. It has the value of taking the chill off the water, and also imparts some of the beneficial qualities of the iron, thus giving an iron tonic and drinkable water at the same time. <div id="ip_163" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 27em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_183.jpg" width-obs="420" height-obs="600" alt="" /> <div class="caption">A DIFFICULT FEAT</div> </div> For the reason that it is cruel and unsafe, I never now allow any firearms to be used, unless it is in a case of great urgency. I took this165 precaution after an incident in Chicago, when the cheek of a spectator was grazed by a shot fired by a trainer at one of his infuriated animals. The weapons that are used now are intelligence, pluck, vigilance, and patience. With these used in the proper way, very few animals in captivity, whether trained or not, will do those about them any harm. <hr /> 166 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.