ACCIDENTS

Every man or woman who trains animals has what are termed “accidents.” Animals differ in temperament, mood, and nature as human beings do, and the trainer learns to read the intent of each in his eye, in the motions of his tail, in his walk and movement.

Animals are erratic and uncertain at times, and one can never tell just what the animal will do. He may have done the same things a great number of times easily and willingly, and yet may, without any warning, suddenly refuse to do anything further. He comes out with a plain, blunt refusal, without any apologies, either in voice or manner, and he usually makes it pretty clear that he means what he says. He has grown rebellious; his sense227 of wrongs, his hate, and his desire for revenge appear to have culminated suddenly, and his only wish is to get even with those who have been making him do things which made him look ridiculous.

In a case like this there is generally an accident, and if the trainer is not alert and self-possessed he is apt to lose his life. Again, an animal may lose his temper suddenly, and in one of those swift rages or frenzies into which all wild animals are liable to fall at any time try to kill his trainer, and a few moments afterward crawl back and show his repentance. It is most unwise to punish an animal when this happens. He will probably do the same thing again, and may succeed in killing his trainer the next time, but to punish him when he is repentant would only make him vindictive and revengeful, and wild animals do not forget easily.

Of course, no animal is ever to be trusted until he is dead; but if the trainer is in a cage and gets cornered, experience teaches him what to do. He learns to think and act quickly, to retain a natural sobriety and coolness,228 never to lose his temper with a wild beast, and to make him obey every time, at all costs. It is never the physical force of the trainer that conquers; that is impossible. It is his coolness, determination, and untiring patience.

More minor injuries are received in training, without any evil intent on the part of the animal, than in any other way. The lion, for instance, is always clumsy, and is at any time likely to misplace a paw armed with claws that could not be more effective if they were fashioned from so much steel. If that paw passes along the body of the trainer, the unlucky man goes to the hospital, where he may be laid up for six or seven weeks.

Such an accident happened to Mme. Pianka one night at Buffalo. An admirer had sent her a bouquet of red roses, and in place of her heavy riding-whip she carried it into the arena for her performance with the lions. It is a fallacy to suppose that any change in the dress of the trainer will make a difference with the animal. All trained animals know their trainers, and even should another man229 come in dressed in the same clothes as their own trainer, they would recognize the difference instantly. But all animals will jump for meat, no matter where that meat may be.

There can be no doubt whatever that in this instance the lions at the first glance mistook the bunch of red roses for red meat. One lion had not yet reached his pedestal when Mme. Pianka entered, or possibly he might not have sprung. But, being on the floor of the arena, the moment he caught sight of the red mass in her hand he sprang forward, and in the wide sweep of his paw to get the supposed meat, struck the trainer’s cheek, and the blow, glancing to her arm and chest, tore her flesh and dress.

Instantly Mme. Pianka tossed the flowers from her, and she was only just in time, for every one of the lions pounced upon them, sniffed and smelled them with evident surprise and disgust, found they were not what they had expected, and in their usual slow, deliberate manner remounted their pedestals and waited passively for their act. Mme. Pianka, who is an extremely plucky woman230 and possesses great nerve and self-possession, put them through their usual performance, although her face, neck, and arms were bleeding profusely, and then, as she left the arena, fainted.

Again, what begins by accident may be quickly turned to murderous account by the animals. The most perilous thing a man can do is to lose his footing, for it is more than likely, the moment he falls, the animal will spring upon him. An English trainer was almost torn to pieces once because of a pair of heavy top-boots he wore.

One of his tigers slipped, and in trying to save himself got one of his claws entangled in the trainer’s leg. It was a purely accidental blow, and the tiger, alarmed, tried to get away, but the keen claws had penetrated through the stiff leather, and in endeavoring to extricate them the animal threw his master down. Quick as a flash the two other tigers in the cage were on the prostrate trainer, and but for the prompt action of an assistant who pluckily sprang into the cage and beat them back, the trainer would never have come out233 alive. It is a vital article in the code of every trainer never to lose his temper in a case of this kind or to punish the innocent cause of it. Often the animals themselves are as much frightened as the trainer, and their only resource when frightened is to fight, and to fight with all their inherent fierceness and strength.
“CONSUL,” THE CHIMPANZEE

Therefore, to punish an animal for what is perfectly natural to him would not only be the height of absurdity, but most unwise and dangerous. Wild animals can never be punished by chastisement; a few harsh words are generally sufficient, and even then there is the danger that it may be too much. Anger the animal or irritate him, and he is likely to seek revenge with a prompt spring or a sweeping blow.

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 feel234 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, and235 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 flick236 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,239 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

I was once working with a group of lions at Indianapolis, when an incident occurred which will show how one small playful action on the part of a wild animal may sometimes lead to serious results. I was in the training-school when Young Wallace, one of my fiercest lions, but for whom I had a great affection, which, in a way, he appeared to return, jumped from his pedestal for a piece of meat which I had thrown on the floor. While eating the meat, I stood watching him, and thoughtlessly tapping the leather leg of my training-boot with my whip.

Wallace had been accustomed to playing with the whip, and to feel the gentle stroking of it down the muscles of his back. One of the tricks which he had been taught was to ask for the stroking by reaching for the whip240 with his paw when it was held suspended over him. A lion’s paw is no plaything. A cat’s paw, with its sharp, incisive claws hidden in the velvet, is sometimes a fierce and effective weapon. Imagine a cat’s paw enlarged twenty times, propelled with a proportionate increase of muscular energy, and with the same lightning-like rapidity, and you can gather some little idea of what a lion’s paw means when it strikes.

In this instance, Wallace struck at me merely in play and with little of the strength that he would have displayed in a wilful attack. The stroke was a part of the trick he was used to, and he made it with good animal intention, but it was none the less direful. The claws fastened deep into the fleshy part of my leg, through boot and underclothing, and there stuck. A lion’s claws would not be nearly so dangerous were they sharp and straight; but they have a sharp curve, and go in like a cant-hook, penetrating the flesh at an acute angle. The lion has not the sense to draw them out, as they went in, by the curving process, but pulls them straight out.

241 Wallace found his claws in farther than he intended, and, slightly frightened, promptly drew them out, not backward but forward. Needless to say, with them came a good-sized piece of flesh, which caused me excruciating pain.

Painful as it was, I did not move, knowing as I did that to show any signs of fear or trepidation would cause alarm, and, probably, not only be the spoiling of the lion, but the signal for an attack. But when a second or two had elapsed, and Wallace had returned to eating his meat, I at once ordered the animals back to their cages, and in this way Wallace, picking up t............