(Caution: long-winded confession ahead, followed by request for personal anecdotes)
I’ve always been fascinated by our nearest kinfolk the Great Apes, and especially with their interactions with us. I was even ignorant enough at one time to really want a pet chimp or gorilla; of course now I realize that this inevitably ends in heartbreak or a much worse outcome for all concerned, and that most apes in the pet trade got there in the first place by the murder of their mothers and kin. But I can still see the attraction to some extent, and understand what might motivate someone to make that mistake-- little chimps, orangutans and gorillas are just unutterably charming and cute, and living with one would be like a combination of having the cleverest, most playful pet in the world and getting acquainted with a strange alien intelligence. Bonds of trust and affection do exist between captive apes and their human keepers; sources as diverse as news accounts of the tragic story of Moe the chimp and his adoptive human parents on one hand, and Mae Noell’s rollicking show biz memoir of her career with the Noell’s Ark Wrestling Ape Show on the other, make it clear that real love can exist between humans and apes, even though it’s never enough to make the situation work out well.
I know this, and it makes me sad anyway. I’ll never know what it’s like to become friends with a gorilla or orang or chimpanzee, but I’m still curious to know what the interaction might be like. So, I’m going out on a limb (having gotten the idea that Dopers tend not to like or sympathize much with apes and the humans who get involved with them) to ask: has anyone here ever made the acquaintance of a captive Great Ape or had any kind of personal relationship or interaction with one, and would you like to share the story of your experience? Preferably, something with more depth than “One day when i was in college I walked into the psych department’s primate enclosure by accident, and a gorilla threw a turd at me.”
You’re very unlikely to see a post such as that, for the simple reason that anybody who actually did just casually stroll into the primate enclosure might not live tell about it. That aside, the Flinging of the Poo is an integral component of primate culture. To have a gorilla hurl his feces at you signifies that the recipient of said shit has interacted with that primate at a deep, intimate level.
One of my bucket list goals is also to interact somehow with a baby chimp, or even an adult chimp if proper safety barriers were in place. After Booee was rescued/retired, he was moved permanently to a facility about 45 minutes from my home. I tried several times to arrange a visit, but the facility had been closed to the public because the Wildlife Waystation couldn’t obtain the necessary fire permits which would allow them to grant access to the public. Every time I called them (I did this several times over the course of a three or four year period), I was told that they were very close to obtaining the permits, and that I had nothing to worry about because Booee was in outstanding health and was expected to live for the foreseeable future. One time I was told “he’s doing great—as a matter of fact, he just found a new girlfriend.” This turned out not be true, as Booee suffered from hepatitis. He eventually died on 12/10/11, and I never got the chance to realize my goal of meeting and speaking with him. I felt a sense of melancholic sadness when he and Washoe died. I’ve never cried when a personal pet died, but I felt a certain moistness in my eyes when Washoe passed away. I don’t have a strong emotional response to death, but Washoe’s death somehow impacted me more than the deaths of most humans I’ve known. So I can fully understand your desire to interact with a member of the great apes. I hope I get to realize this goal someday. It seems to me that it would be a very difficult thing to arrange though, particularly in the United States—the home of the free, the brave, and the personal injury attorney. However, an online friend once told me that there are petting zoos in Spain where visitors can interact with and even hold baby chimps.
As for keeping a primate as pet, forget it, but you already know that. You may not be fully aware of what a monumental investment in time, money, and energy it is though. The only possible exception would be a capuchin monkey, but even then this is a very, very serious undertaking and responsibility. Even if finances were no object, there are still high hurdles to jump to successfully pull it off, not the least of which is that doing so would actually dictate where you are able to live. You have to live near a veterinarian who treats these animals, and they are not at all easy to find. Capuchin monkeys also don’t have the requisite intelligence that I subjectively feel you are seeking. If I had to just pull a guess out of my ass, I would imagine that they are about as smart as dogs are. They can’t do things like paint representationally or learn a signed language. They also don’t pass the mirror test—they don’t recognize their own reflection as being themselves. So you would likely be disappointed if you obtained one as a housemate.
Many years ago an older friend was going off to college and his parents didn’t want to take care of a monkey so my family and I adopted “Moses”.
After he got to know you, he loved to be held and to hold you. We had a harness and a 20’ leash that we used to let him climb the large tree in the backyard. Even though he would go very high into the tree branches, he never became tangled up. He seemed to know that he had to come down exactly the same way he went up. As long as you gave him his 10 or 15 minutes in the tree, he would always come down without a struggle. “OK Moses, come on down” and down he’d come.
He lived in a 6’ by 6’ wire cage on wheels. There was a solid plywood 2’ by 2’ box (with a small hole) in one of the upper corners for privacy. When one went up to the cage, he would reach out and grab you by the belt loops and quickly dive his hand into your pockets. Then, again by the belt loops, turn you around to check your back pockets. He loved to find something like keys or a small ball that you “accidentally” left in on of your pockets. He’d scream with delight and “never” give it back!
We gave him lots of fruit and vegetables and the vet said cooked meat was fine once in a while. One day he had a hot dog. With his left hand he stuck it slightly outside the cage just far enough to get my dog’s attention. As my dog went for the hot dog, Moses grabbed his collar with his right hand and pulled the dog’s head into the cage wire 3 times in quick secession. They never really got along and Moses hated it when my dog barked at him.
One day I got home and saw that his swing had broke. He had somehow tangled himself up in one of the hanging chains and died. Still makes my cry when I think of it.
Not friends, but I used to volunteer at the zoo and the gorilla enclosure was one place I worked. Gorillas can be assholes, which I kind of found charming. The one more dickish one liked to scare you; he’d rush the bars and clearly find it hilarious if you made a noise. Which you did because you’d try to be all cool about it but, you know.
I didn’t enjoy him trying to get a rise out of me, but I did find it incredibly human.
I did have a brief interaction with two orangutan kids once! It was at the Denver Zoo one afternoon 30-some years ago when I was in my mid-20s. It was on a weekday, so I was the only visitor in the Great Ape House at the moment ,and I saw them as soon as I went in – two of the cutest little goblin-faces I’d ever seen, who for some reason had been put in an enclosure together with no grown-up in sight. I hurried down to the rope in front of their plexiglass enclosure and – because I was excited and feeling mischievous, and the only person in the Great Ape House–i hopped over the rope and came up close. The ape tots noticed this unusual action right away and came scrambling and tumbling to the plexiglass. One of them grinned at me, I swear it did, and slapped itself upside the head; I responded instinctively like you would with a human baby by putting my own hand over my eyes–and the three of us played a couple hands of Peekaboo. Then I heard someone else come into the Great Ape House so I jumped back to the right side of the rope. My little buddies looked at me with happy goofy gawps on their ugly-cute mugs for a few seconds, hugging each other around the shoulders, then turned around and scampered off. It made my whole day. I doubt that either one of them remembers that moment, if they’re still alive, but I sure do.