 |
 |
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
   |
|
A R T I C L E S Journal Southern Bureau, Sunday, October 5, 2003 Caregivers Go Ape for Chimps by Rene Romo ALAMOGORDO It's not quite paradise, but for 222 chimps, now free from being subjected to biomedical experiments, Save the Chimps is a far cry from their former primate hell. September 16 marked the one-year anniversary of the Florida-based Save the Chimp's acquisition of the former biomedical research lab on LaVelle Road from the Coulston Foundation, which housed some of the chimps for more than two decades. Director Carole Noon says the place is now the world's largest sanctuary for captive chimpanzees. The Coulston Foundation had been a longtime target of animal rights groups, in particular In Defense of Animals, because of violations of the federal Animal Welfare Act and the allegedly negligent deaths of 10 chimps. The foundation's head, Frederick Coulston, had been vilified by animal rights activists because of his published views that chimps were breeders of research material. Finally, feeling the financial strain of the unrelenting campaign and the USDA's and National Institutes of Health's regulatory efforts, Coulston turned over hundreds of chimps and 61 macaques, short-tailed monkeys, to Save the Chimps. He sold the group the facility's land and buildings, too. So, while the chimps are still housed in cages and still scurry about on cement floors, their caregivers say that their lives have fundamentally changed here. And Noon and her staff dream of the days, in the next few years, when the chimps will feel grass and soil under their feet, the sun, unbroken by fencing, on their remarkably human-looking faces. "People say: 'How can you work here? It's so depressing.' But I've never seen that," Noon said last week. "I've always seen the day they are going to be paroled." Big and small changes Caregivers here say you can see the effect of many small, but significant, changes here on the chimps. Take the case of Bobby. Bobby came to researchers in 1983 as a newborn, according to his health records. Chimps, like humans, normally spend a decade or more in the care of their mothers. By 1988, Bobby had been an unwilling subject in at least four tests, records show, though Save the Chimps does not know the nature of the tests. Proprietary records were taken by the Coulston Foundation. By 1990, a disturbed Bobby had begun to bite himself. Charts spell out his ongoing self-mutilation over the years a "deep laceration to his left wrist" in 1996, "fresh self-inflicted wounds on both arms" in 1999, an "open bite lesion about 3 cm. long" on his forearm in 2001. In 1998, Coulston staff was prescribing the antidepressant Paxil for Bobby. Year after year, Bobby and his unseen neighbors lived alone in narrow cells in Building 300, what Noon dubbed the "dungeon" upon her arrival last year. But in January, Save the Chimps moved Bobby to a bigger cell and gave him a roommate, Regan, a chimp with a skin condition who had been picked on by other chimps. The pair took to each other. Later, two more roommates were introduced so the chimps could establish the social bonds that are natural to chimps in the wild. With an improved diet and more attention from caregivers, especially belly and back scratches, Bobby's demeanor has improved, said one of his primary caregivers, Christina French. "He's come around," French said. "It's not the best living conditions, but it's better than (Building) 300. He's got space to move around, and he's been introduced to other chimps, and he's gained a lot of weight." Her husband, fellow caregiver Chance French, concurred: "These guys, they get better and better each day... They know we are friends." Early Wednesday morning, after cleaning one cage, Chance French yanked on a pulley that opened a door between the indoor and outdoor sections of a cage in Building 300. A chimp named Scarlet ambled in from the outside. "What a sweetheart you are," Chance French said as Scarlet moved straight toward him, leaning up against the woven fencing, exposing her back for a scratching. Because staff for safety reasons are prohibited from touching the powerful chimps directly, Chance French pulled one of the ubiquitous tongue depressors staffers use from a pocket and began to scratch at Scarlet's back. "I love you," he cooed. "I love you, yes." Staff improvements Enhanced care has come in various forms since Save the Chimp's takeover. Before Save the Chimps, the chimps' diet consisted primarily of "monkey chow," like dry dog food, and fruit. Now, the chimps get fresh fruit with each of their three daily meals; two vegetables, such as carrots, celery or cucumbers at lunch; and dinners often include what staff says is a chimp favorite, cooked pasta. Produce costs alone run $7,000 per month. Staffers also emphasize "enrichment" delivering treats in a way that poses a mentally stimulating challenge to the intelligent chimps. Raisins, for instance, are pushed into holes drilled in recycled plastic boards so the chimps have to pick them out. Sunflower seeds are placed in plastic tubing drilled with a small hole, so the chimps must shake the tubes to extract their treat. Popcorn and seeds are put in bags with shredded paper so the chimps can forage for their food. The chimps are also given a variety of toys, many collected and supplied by volunteers from Animal Protection of New Mexico, as well as blankets, used for nesting. One of the biggest improvements to the chimps' environment has been the construction of sliding doors between the 48 pens in Building 300, which have allowed the 57 chimps there to view their neighbors for the first time this year. In addition, 4-foot-tall extensions were added to each of Building 300's cells, each of which was originally 6 feet wide, 10 feet long and 7 feet high. "It's a stinking additional 4 feet and it means everything," Noon wrote in a newsletter. Noon recalled that the first chimp to explore the upper reaches of the cage, Clay, was at first tentative. He made big gestures, then ran back inside his cage. When he jumped in the air as part of his display, however, Noon realized the chimp was jumping higher than he ever had before. Improvements have come in subtler forms as well. The macaques have been given names they were previously identified only by numbers. Staffers refer to the chimps as people. And staffers are attuned to the individual personalities of the chimps. One chimp, Doug, habitually walks upright, stretching his back straight. Another chimp, nicknamed Grumpy, pounds the walls of his cage in an increasingly faster rhythm with his feet every morning while his cage is cleaned. A female, Roxy, goes everywhere with her stuffed monkey "babies." A male chimp, Cheetah, whom Coulston obtained from a New York research facility in the late '90s, loves to paint. His artwork hangs in the administration building. And Tami, an older female whose right leg was amputated below her knee, carries a toy stuffed lamb constantly in the crook of her right thigh. "No other lamb will do," said caregiver Jennifer Feuerstein. "We know she's a good mother." Just a way station Despite the improvements, Alamogordo is still simply a way station for the chimps. Save the Chimps in 2000 established its 200-acre sanctuary in St. Lucie County, Fla., with a $1 million grant provided by the Michigan-based Arcus Foundation. In 2001, 21 chimps, descendants of the old Air Force space program, arrived at the sanctuary. The chimps there live on a three-acre man-made island, surrounded by a moat. Eventually, Noon hopes to move all 222 chimps from Alamogordo to Florida. A master plan calls for construction of 12 islands, each of which, along with indoor housing for the chimps, will cost $500,000 to build. The jittery little macaques, now housed individually in 6-cubic-foot cages, will be moved to a 1-acre enclosure with trees and rope bridges at another sanctuary, the Wildlife Rescue and Rehabilitation Center, near San Antonio, Texas. Fifteen macaques have already been transported to the sanctuary. "I can't wait for them to get to San Antonio. Life will be worth living then," said caregiver Nancy Hensley, who has worked with the macaques for about seven years, originally as a Coulston employee. "What bothers me the most, some of them have never gotten to feel the sun on their faces. They have so much energy and no way to burn it off," she said. "Can you imagine never being able to feel the sun on your face?" In a testament to the strong bond some Save the Chimps workers feel for their charges, Hensley said she plans to move to San Antonio to work there with the macaques when they are shipped to their permanent sanctuary. "I feel connected to them," she said. Long-term commitment Noon knows she has made a long-term commitment to care for the chimps. Chimps can live to be 50 years old. A number of Save the Chimp's infant chimps were born in the last days of Coulston management. And the chimps aren't equipped to be returned to the wild. So the organization's task will last decades, ending when the last of the beloved chimps dies. Euthanasia is not an option for Save the Chimps. The group believes that chimps, who researchers say are 98 percent genetically identical to humans, have the right to live in dignity in the wild. "Ultimately, the goal of a sanctuary is for me to be holding the hand of the last chimp who dies alone," Noon said. But Noon does not believe her sanctuary will become obsolete soon. The sanctuary's continuing role will be to "solve problems caused by other people," whether the problem is abandoned pets, unwanted chimps used previously in entertainment or biomedical research subjects, Noon said. | |||||||||||||||
Save the Chimps is a 501 (c)(3) charitable organization and all contributions are tax-deductible to the extent allowed by law ©2004 - Present savethechimps.org. All Rights Reserved. Privacy Policy | Contact Us | |||||||||||||||||
