Primate Noise

Monkey Captives: Born Free, Chained for Life

2005-11-15T19:34:00.000+08:00

(A personal note: I am in the process of relocating from Malaysia back to America, so there may be few posts between now and the end of the year. I am also participating in this year's National Novel Writing Month by attempting to write 50,000 words of fiction by 30th November, which could be affecting my rate of posting as well!)

This picture of a very young captive monkey in Cheras is blurry because I had to take it through a chain-link fence and quickly, in order not to be observed and stopped.

The following is the original text of an article I wrote that appeared in edited form in The Star (Star Weekend, Nov. 5.)

Think twice before you buy or adopt a monkey as a pet – and then don’t do it. That’s the consensus of animal experts.

As development into forests brings monkeys, primarily long-tailed macaques (kera), and humans into increased contact, more simians than ever before are turning up in cages or on chains in residential areas.

“I personally do not believe people should keep monkeys as pets,” Misliah Mohamed Basir, Director of the Law and Enforcement Division of the Department of Wildlife and National Parks, told The Star. Her office has the authority to issue licenses for keeping captive monkeys, along with other wild animals, but Misliah would like to see that change.

“I understand why people are attracted to them,” she said. “They are cute and playful when they are babies. They remind us of humans. But when they grow up, they become strong, wilful and aggressive. They can be quite dangerous. Nothing can be done about the monkeys currently being kept legally as pets, but perhaps the law should be changed in the future. The government could stop issuing new monkey licenses, except in special cases, such as the use of pig-tailed macaques for harvesting coconuts in some areas.”

She told us that some people, frustrated by the difficulty of keeping an adult monkey, dump the animals on the DWNP, thinking the monkeys will be relocated into the jungle or kept in a sanctuary. “We have no place to keep them,” Misliah said. “We send them to our rescue facility at Zoo Melaka.”

At Zoo Melaka, however, The Star discovered there is no rescue awaiting the unwanted monkeys. “If they send the monkeys to us,” Dr. Choong Siew Shean, the Zoo’s veterinary officer, told us, “we euthanize them.”

The zoo has no room for them and no rehabilitation programme. “Monkeys are extremely difficult to rehab and re-release into the wild,” Dr. Choong explained. “They live in social groups that are unlikely to accept an outsider. Even if we could retrain a captive monkey to live in the wild, when we released him, he would be attacked by the existing troops and find it hard to survive.”

Neither does she see a semi-captive sanctuary as a viable alternative. “Our resources in terms of time, space, manpower and funding are limited,” she said, “and long-tailed macaques are not a priority. They are so common in Malaysia that they are generally considered a pest animal. In fact, we chase the wild ones out of the zoo, from concern for public safety.”

That brings up another problem with keeping captive monkeys. “They are a health risk to humans,” Dr. Choong said. “Not only do monkeys bite and scratch, but they can carry and pass on zoonotic diseases such as hepatitis and herpes-B to humans. It is not safe to keep them in residential areas.”

Occasionally, a monkey turned over to the Zoo may find a home with a staffer, but the issue remains the same – adult monkeys are extremely difficult to keep humanely.

That’s a problem that infuriates Sabrina Yeap, the Animal Investigator for the SPCA. She has seen many heart-breaking cases in the course of her work. “Do you know what happens when a monkey outgrows its cuteness?” she demanded of us. “It gets big and strong and fierce, so it gets locked in a cage all day or tied with a heavy chain. Some people don’t even give the monkey shelter from the sun and rain. The owner ends up beating the monkey repeatedly in a futile attempt to ‘tame’ it. It drags out a miserable life of boredom, frustration and pain in solitary confinement.”

Sabrina would like to see a ban on keeping monkeys as pets, a sanctuary for those who are confiscated from current owners and a change in the public attitude towards monkeys. She decries the labelling of monkeys as “pests.”

“Do the monkeys move into our houses and kick us out? Do they destroy our homes? No, it’s the other way around. Developers push deeper and deeper into their habitat, cutting down forests to build golf courses and housing developments, and the monkeys have nowhere to go. Then people move in and say ‘Oh, those monkeys are such pests!’ but it’s the other way around. We are the pests. We encroach into their natural homes and then blame them for intruding on us.”

She believes the solution is to make the developers responsible for relocating the monkeys (and the other animals dispossessed by development, such as snakes and lizards.) She has heard of such programmes in Europe. “They create a green passageway to another area where the animals can live, and then they use smoke to herd the wildlife from the development site to their new home. That way, they don’t have to try to do the impossible and catch every single monkey, snake, rabbit, whatever.”

She has an ally in Misliah. “Personally, I would like to see the developers have to do an Animal Impact Assessment,” Misliah told us, “similar to the Environmental Impact Assessment they already do. It should be part of their planning, part of the cost of the project.”

Meanwhile, as population pressure spurs more development, and development brings urban people into more and more contact with monkeys, it increases the risks both to humans – of disease and injury – and to the monkeys – of capture, imprisonment and mistreatment, usually based more on ignorance than ill will.

“He’s Like My Own Son”

Manja gets rowdy with his "mom" after a day of hanging out on the sidewalk with not much to do. He likes to try to pull off her head scarf (tudung) when he can.

Nadhirah Yap Bt Abdullah and her pet monkey, Manja, are a well-known sight on the sidewalk in Bangsar where Nadhirah and her husband operate a food stall. Manja appears to be a healthy, well-developed two-year-old monkey treated with great affection and a high degree of empathy by his human ‘mother.’

Nadhirah tells Manja’s story:

“I remember the exact day I first met Manja. It was May 13, 2003. My husband and I were driving home through Rawang, and we stopped to get some dinner. I saw this tiny black monkey, sitting on the ‘Do Not Enter’ sign all alone. He was so hungry, he came right to me when I offered him food. I thought he must’ve escaped from someone’s home, so we waited there for over an hour, but no-one came looking for him, so we took him home with us.

I know he needs exercise and affection and entertainment, so I do my best to give him those things. Sometimes, people come up and scold me, saying, ‘How would you like it if I put a leash on you and kept you that way?’ but they don’t understand. I couldn’t leave him to die as a baby, and he can’t go back into the wild now. He depends on us completely. I have raised him like my own son.

I bring him with me to work every day. He loves to bath, so we keep a big barrel of water next to him. He bathes at least twice a day. I put up a garden umbrella to shelter him from the sun and the rain. He likes to eat fruit – durian is his favourite, that’s why he’s a bit fat – and veggies, especially small onions. I give him a garlic pill every morning for his health. He’s only been sick once, and I took him straight to the vet for treatment.

At home, Manja has a large cage to stay in. We can’t let him roam free in the flat, because he would turn everything upside down. Like a child at bedtime, he delays going into the cage in the evening by begging us for more attention. He especially loves to have his tummy rubbed. Now that he’s getting older, he’s becoming a bit stubborn and aggressive. He has bitten my husband a few times. Sometimes, I have to whack him with a rotan.

We know that he is lonely for other monkeys and should have a female for companionship, but what can we do? I have considered sending him to a zoo, but my husband always says no. He says, ‘You don’t what will happen to him there. They might put him to sleep or even feed him to the tigers.’ [In fact, Manja would be euthanized. See main story.]

I feel that God brought us there that night to rescue this monkey. It was fate. I have to take care of him for the rest of his life. I love him very much, but I don’t think people should run out and buy monkeys from pet shops. We can’t even go out as a family because we don’t like to leave him by himself. Keeping a monkey is not something to undertake on a whim. It’s a huge commitment and very hard work.”

Manja, like other captive primates, has been introduced to some bad human habits. He was quite keen to inhale the cigarette smoke blown into his face by one of his regular visitors.

Risky Business

A frightened or angry monkey, like this one I saw being teased in Cameron Highlands by one of her keepers, can be dangerous.

Humans risk catching a number of diseases and infections from monkeys, including hepatitis, herpes-B, salmonella, measles, monkeypox, rabies and tuberculosis.

If that’s not scary enough, how about this? There is evidence that HIV-1, the virus that causes AIDS, developed from two monkey viruses and spread to humans via contact with chimpanzees. The less virulent HIV-2 was apparently transmitted to humans directly from monkeys. Who knows what might cross over next? Is it worth the risk?

A Case of Cruelty

I witnessed a sad case of monkey abuse in my own neighbourhood several years ago. It was my first glimpse of the plight of monkeys in Malaysia. (See my previous post, The Monkey Man.)

An Indonesian man and his family were living as squatters in an abandoned house near my home. The monkey was kept chained to a wooden telephone wire spool, which provided his only shelter. The only other thing near him was a small tree he could climb a little way up into. He was surrounded by garbage and his own waste. I observed both the man and his young son beat the monkey with sticks and threaten him with a parang. Despite all the abuse this monkey had suffered, I was able over time and with great caution to make friends with him. On one very special day, I mimed picking lice from his back, and he returned the favour by rolling up my sleeve and trying to pluck the freckles from my arm. I offered to buy the monkey from the man, but he refused. I also tried to persuade him to treat the monkey more humanely, to no avail. Finally, I reported the case to the Department of Wildlife and National Parks. At that time, like most people, I did not know they would destroy him. Nothing happened then, but later, in response to more complaints from others, the DWNP confiscated the monkey. I assume now that he was euthanized. It breaks my heart.

An additional note: I recently went to a pet shop that specialized in birds and was told, on enquiring, that they could get me a baby macaque, long-tailed (RM 300) or pig-tailed (RM 600), if I placed an order. On my asking if the monkeys were captive-bred, I was told by the owner that, on the contrary, their man chased the mothers in the jungle until they frightened them into dropping their babies. Or worse, I imagine.

Manja, half-asleep in the late afternoon, watches the crows gather in the trees over his head. I wonder if he was envying, or at least contemplating, their freedom.

Is This Your Dog?

2005-11-01T12:42:00.000+08:00

I found this dog, whom I call Sparky, in PJ on the evening of the 30th (Sunday). He is a yellow mixed breed, about 15kg, very healthy, neutered. Wearing a collar. He seems adult but young, a year or two old, I think.

If you know this dog -- maybe he is yours? -- please get in touch with me ASAP. I can't keep him and couldn't even have him temporarily at my house (one of my dogs is very fierce), so I took him to the SPCA. They will hold him for 10 days for his owner to claim; after that, he is up for adoption. If you want him, you can 'reserve' him ahead of time, in case his owners don't show up.

Sparky is a bit timid, probably due to being lost, but very sweet and friendly once he trusts you. He played very nicely with my friend's dog. He would be good with children and other dogs, or as a spoiled only 'child'!

I am committed to finding Sparky a good home. If you are interested in him, let me know! Or go straight to the SPCA and ask about Sparky from PJ. Talk to Reve, if possible. (Her name is pronounced "Rev.") I would like to line up a new home for him right away, in case his owners don't claim him.

Pigging Out on Malaysia's Endangered Wildlife

2005-10-30T15:47:00.000+08:00

On Oct 2, The Star ran an excellent special feature on the practice of eating endangered and exotic species of wildlife in Malaysia, complete with appalling photographs. Here is a brief excerpt from one of the linked articles:

Restaurants serving exotic dishes can be found in many places in the country.
In one such restaurant in the Klang Valley, the menu included dishes not for the faint-hearted – snake soup, fried squirrel, black pepper serow (mountain goat), turtle soup, stir-fried monitor lizard, stewed crocodile and wild boar curry.... When one of the restaurant workers was asked if they served tiger meat or sun bear paw, she said not for a long time because there was a lack of supplies, apparently due to strict enforcement.
According to Andy Ho (not his real name),...people generally ate exotic food to boost energy and improve health. On his part, he admits, it’s more for the novelty of it....
Since exotic foods are also highly sought after for their aphrodisiac properties, it is not unusual for a group of men to frequent such restaurants. In fact, Ho says, there were usually brothels located near such restaurants for obvious reasons.

And so it goes...the greedy cater to the horny, the ignorant and the thrill-seekers -- I refer to those who want to own exotic pets or display unusual trophies as well as those who want to eat endangered species -- and the animals die.

I took this picture of Nicky at the Malacca Zoo recently. She is amazing. And I love the spikes on her beautiful red collar -- as if she's not plenty macha without them!

The case of Nicky, the Malayan tiger cub recently rescued from being killed and cooked, has focused media and public attention on the issue. (The Star, in fact, is sponsoring Nicky at her new home -- sadly, in permanent captivity -- at The Malacca Zoo. A recent Star story reported the Zoo's plans for breeding Nicky in the future.

Please, Star and other media, continue to cover the issue, keep it in the public eye and help us push the government for stronger action. Otherwise, the day will come, and soon, when the only tigers, rhinos, elephants and other endangered species will be captives, and they will be the lucky ones.

The bushmeat trade is an epidemic in Africa, as well, where our closest primate relatives are often the victims of choice. When you see a gorilla being barbecued, you suddenly question where the line demarcating cannibalism lies. Planet of the Dead Apes is a heart-wrenching brief article about the bushmeat tragedy in Africa. Be warned, the accompanying pictures are nauseating. They were taken by Karl Ammann, an activist, writer and nature photographer who campaigns relentlessly against the bushmeat business. His website is chock-a-block with information about the problem, and a lot more photos, not all of them gruesome.

STOP! Don't Report Captive Monkeys to Wildlife Dept!

2005-10-27T15:16:00.000+08:00

I interviewed several officials of the Dept of Wildlife and National Parks (DWNP, aka Perhilitan) in the course of researching an article on captive monkeys recently. What they told me made cringe.

The Director of the DWNP's Law & Enforcement Division, Misliah Mohamed Basir, told me: "If someone doesn't have a license, we will confiscate the monkey and send it to our Rescue Centre at Zoo Melaka."

The veterinarian at Zoo Melaka, Dr. Choon Siew Shean (aka Dr. Sandie), told me: "When they send us a monkey, we euthanize it."

This confirmed the rumors I had been hearing. She was referring to long-tailed macaques. She said that the Zoo did manage to integrate two confiscated pig-tailed macaques into their resident population in the past year. There is no government rescue, rehab or re-release programme, or sanctuary, for long-tailed macaques in Malaysia.

Here's why:

They are common and regarded as pests.
The DWNP/Zoo has no resources to devote to them.
It is nearly impossible to release a formerly captive monkey into the wild. Existing monkey troops will attack it.

Under the circumstances, I would only report a captive monkey to the DWNP if it were being abused to the point that euthanazation might be preferable.

Please DO continue to report captive monkeys to the SPCA at 03-4256-5312, so that Sabrina can monitor their living conditions.

What else can we do? Write/e-mail the DWNP to urge them to stop issuing new licenses for people to keep monkeys as pets or in captivity. Pn. Misliah told me she is in favour of such a ban but that it will take public support to change the law.

Here is the contact information: Pn. Misliah Mohamed Basir, Law & Enforcement Division, Department of Wildlife and National Parks, Km 10, Jalan Cheras, 56100 Kuala Lumpur

Tel: 03-9075-2872

E-mail:pakp@wildlife.gov.my

Website:http://www.wildlife.gov.my

I will try to post a petition as soon as possible, asking the government to prohibit the keeping of captive monkeys as pets. My idea is that monkeys already in captivity should be left as they are, with increased monitoring of their welfare, but that no new licenses should be issued.

This debonair long-tailed macaque has been a pet since infancy. He struck this pose for me with seeming deliberation. His human 'parents' love him and do their best for him. He gets to bathe as often as he likes, he is properly fed, and he is extremely attached to his 'mother,' who frequently holds and grooms him. Of course, he still suffers all the deprivations and discomforts of being a prisoner: He has no monkey companions, he has no hope of mating, and he has very little freedom of movement; he is probably bored, frustrated and lonely some of the time, and he is definitely exposed to exhaust fumes, occasional teasing by passers-by and, sometimes, physical punishment for 'misbehaving'. However, he can never be returned to the wild and he definitely should NOT be confiscated and euthanized. Given the circumstances, I think this is one of the captive monkeys who should stay where he is.

Categories: Animal Welfare

Pet Store Reform: Can You Teach an Old Dog Seller New Tricks?

2005-10-24T16:17:00.000+08:00

The Goh family and their new puppy accompanied by Tracy Heng (left), one of the Pet Lovers Centre staffers trained to do new owner orientation at Pet Safari.

The Wonderful World of Pets, the pet store at Ikano Power Centre that left a puppy to die without medical attention, has been given a new set of rules to follow by Pet Safari, its landlord. My article about the reforms appeared in Star Weekend on October 22nd.

Pet Safari was unable (or unwilling, due to the expense?) to terminate its lease with WWoP at this time, so they set up this system to keep owner Lewis Tan's operation under tight control. Here is a summary of the reforms:

When a puppy is sold, a designated staffer from Pet Lovers Centre takes charge of the process. The buyers are given vouchers for a health check, grooming discounts and other basic necessities. The staff person accompanies the new owners and the puppy around Pet Safari for an orientation about feeding, handling, training, grooming and health care. The puppy is given a basic health check on the spot, with a voucher for a more extensive health check to be redeemed within three days. If any life-threatening illness or congenital defect is found, the buyer will receive a full refund for the puppy.

Damansara Animal Centre is the excellent vet clinic located in Pet Safari. The clinic's Dr. Amilan and Dr. Chris are making daily inspections of the puppies on display. If there is any doubt about a puppy's health and well-being, they can compel WWoP to remove the puppy. They will also, of course, recommend medical treatment -- but the decision about treatment will still be up to Tan. At least they will be able to prevent the display and sale of ailing puppies.

Dr. Amilan insisted on the clinic's role in the new process, because, as he told me, "We don't want our clinic to be associated with a bad set-up like that. I told Pet Safari we'd leave if they didn't fix the problem and let us monitor the situation."

A lot of the reforms were suggested by Shameem Abdul Rahman, aka Meem (above, with doggy friend). She is Pet Safari's Marketing Communication Manager, and a trained vet nurse. She is also an impassioned animal lover. She pushed to include the Five Freedoms for Dogs in the information pack given to new buyers. Here is Meem's "Bill of Rights" for dogs:

Freedom from hunger and thirst – this includes an appropriate diet, not just rice or bread, which are not suitable for dogs, and plenty of fresh, clean water at all times.
Freedom from discomfort – a dog needs shelter from the sun and rain, and a comfortable place to sleep.
Freedom from illness – this starts with vaccinations and heartworm medication on a proper schedule and includes the right to be taken for treatment at a clinic when necessary.
Freedom of movement – a dog needs exercise and activity. He should not be chained up or kept in a cage for more than a short time. A daily walk is important for his mental and physical well-being.
Freedom of speech – dogs must be allowed to express themselves. They bark for a reason. You should never have their vocal chords cut. (One of several non-medical operations which Damansara Animal Centre will not perform. Others include ear clipping and tail docking.)

It remains to be seen how the system will pan out. Can you teach an old dog like Tan new tricks? I certainly hope so! Or at least keep him so tightly fenced in with restrictions that he can't wriggle his way through any loopholes.

Categories: Animal Welfare, My Articles

Please Help Captive Monkeys

2005-10-08T09:54:00.000+08:00

This captive monkey has it better than many, with a long chain and access to the lower limbs of some trees, but he is still a prisoner with no freedom of movement, no hope of parole and no monkey companions. We condemn monkeys to life in prison for no crime except being weaker than us.

If you see a monkey being kept as a captive -- especially under bad circumstances (i.e., no shelter, no water available, no companions, signs of physical abuse) -- please report it to the authorities.

Call: Sabrina Yeap, Animal Inspector, SPCA at 03-4256-5312. Be sure to ask for Sabrina and let the staff know you want to report an abuse case; the first time I called, I didn't know to ask for Sabrina and the person who answered the phone told me the SPCA only deals with dog and cat abuse cases -- not true! Sabrina is compiling as much evidence as she can to take to Perhilitan in order to make the case for better treatment of monkeys.

Call: Department of Wildlife and National Parks (Perhilitan) at 03-9075-2872. Be sure you speak to the Law & Enforcement Division; don't let them shunt you to the Complaints Division, which handles public complaints about animal nuisances. Their mission is only to make sure a monkey or other animal is not being a pest to people. They won't care if a monkey is being kept chained or caged.

In fact, Perhilitan is not against the keeping of captive monkeys, but they require that the keeper have a license (few do) and they are supposed to ensure the monkeys are kept under humane conditions. No-one at Perhilitan has been able to define for me what their standards for humane conditions are, but I know that they will confiscate monkeys in certain cases.

As development encroaches further and further into the monkeys' forest habitat, more people are going to have a chance to catch monkeys. The abuse is only going to increase unless we persuade the government and the public to change their attitude.

Public pressure -- an outcry against the inhumanity of keeping monkeys as captives -- is the only thing that will convince the government and its agency, Perhilitan, to change the way they perceive the issue. Please help the monkeys by reporting every captive you see to the SPCA and Perhilitan.

We need to make it loud and clear: Monkeys are not criminals; they are not pets; they are not "advertising" for your food stall or other business. They are wild animals with the right to live their life in the wild.

Categories: Animal Welfare

Prisoner on the Beach

2005-10-07T10:05:00.000+08:00

[Click on picture for larger version]

I took this picture of a pig-tailed macaque (beruk) at a fishing jetty near Port Klang yesterday. He had a companion in a separate cell, a female with only one arm -- apparently a birth defect. Their keeper said he had raised them from babies. As captive monkeys go, they seemed reasonably well-cared for. They were lunching on fresh carrots and mangos when I saw them. The man said he sometimes takes them on leashes to swim in the ocean. He hopes to breed them when they are older, thus creating more captives -- an appalling thought.

Despite the occasional dip in the sea, these monkeys are still prisoners, confined for life, unable to move about freely or bond with other monkeys. (Of course, it's possible the one-armed female would not have survived in the wild.) At this point, it would be crazy to remove them from their keeper, as they have no experience in their natural environment. Very likely, the authorities would simply put them down. The only way to put an end to the plight of captive animals like this would be for the government to prohibit the keeping of wild animals as pets -- and to enforce the prohibition.

Right now, it is possible to get a license from the Department of Wildlife and National Parks to keep monkeys as pets. The authorities are supposed to monitor the conditions under which the monkeys are kept and ensure that they meet certain standards, however, after repeated queries to the Department, I have not been able to discover what those standards are. I reported the case of a monkey being badly kept -- on a short chain, in filth, being beaten. The Department said they investigated and found no problem with the monkey's living conditions (although later, they apparently removed the monkey in response to a complaint from my Malaysian neighbour).

Ultimately, it comes down to human awareness. Wild animals are not appropriate pets.

Categories: Animal Welfare

Victims of Humans

2005-10-04T19:03:00.000+08:00

This is an article I wrote for The Star, with minor alterations. The photo of the slow loris comes from the Forest Department, Sarawak, Malaysia. I did not have a camera with me on the day in question.

Some older Malays say that slow lorises (kongkang) are bad luck. But for slow lorises, it is human beings who are bad luck, and worse. These slow-moving, nocturnal primates are helpless against human predators.

While on holiday in Cameron Highlands, Pahang in July, I saw an orang asli man sell a pair of slow lorises to a Malay family. I was shocked. I knew I was witnessing something inhumane and tragic. What I did not know was that I was also witnessing a crime.

Some Malaysian friends and I had stopped at an orang asli settlement by the side of the road from Tapah to Ringlet. It was similar to others that lined the way, except that here, in addition to the usual rambutan and wild ginger for sale, there were wild animals on display.

Two long-tailed macaques were chained to a flimsy shelter. Several baby monkeys scrabbled in the dirt amidst a pack of skinny dogs and puppies. A common palm civet (musang) was curled up in a cardboard box on the veranda of the small house, a metal chain slung around its hips.

My friend called my attention to a pair of slow lorises huddled in a rusty wire cage by the side of the house. I could see that these animals were in terrible trouble. Only their backs were visible as they hunkered down, clinging to each other, their fear and misery palpable.

Suddenly, a Malay family drove up. The orang asli swiftly toted the caged slow lorises to their car. My friend, who could understand what was being said, told me: “They just bought them for RM50.” We watched in horror as the men shoved the animals into the boot and the family drove off. It was over in the blink of an eye.

I reported the incident to the Wildlife and National Parks Department (DWNP). What the Pahang DWNP director Zainuddin Abdullah Shukor told me was stunning: The slow loris is totally protected under Malaysian law.

It is possible to get a special permit to catch or keep a totally protected species, but it is not easy. A committee within the DWNP considers such applications and makes a recommendation to the Natural Resources and Environment Minister, who is responsible for the final decision. According to the DWNP, it is extremely unlikely that such a permit would be issued for commercial purposes.

Zainuddin said he would send the Wildlife Crime Unit (WCU) to investigate the site where the sale took place. As the weeks went by with no news, I grew increasingly concerned. I arranged to meet Misliah Mohamed Basir, director of the department’s Law and Enforcement Division. Her office in Cheras, Kuala Lumpur, is cluttered with books on plants and animals and with “trophies” confiscated from the illegal wildlife trade – a cobra in a bottle, a bird of paradise in a glass case.

She confirmed that while the orang asli have the right to use anything in the forest, they do not have the right to sell wildlife without the proper authorisation. But might an exception be made for them because they are often among the nation’s “hard-core poor”?

Misliah bristled at the thought. “We do not give them any special treatment,” she said fiercely. “They may have been ignorant of the law in the past, but not anymore. They’re professionals. If they want to trade in animals, they must get a licence and follow the rules, just like everybody else. And we still would not recommend that they be given a special permit to sell totally protected species.

“The middlemen warn their orang asli suppliers about us. When we show up at their villages, they know who we are and what we’re after. As we go from house to house, they are ready for us, with no animals in sight and with all the right answers.”

As for the slow loris case, Misliah confirmed my fear that there was nothing to be done after the fact. “We have to catch them in the act of selling the animals. Otherwise, it’s just your word against theirs.” She said the DWNP relies on informers to tip them off when animals are being concealed or when a sale is going to take place, for that very reason.

Chris Shepherd, of TRAFFIC South-East Asia, a non-governmental organisation which monitors the wildlife trade in the region, said slow lorises were sold as pets in Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines.

“Their captors rip out their teeth with pliers to render them completely defenceless. If the animal doesn’t die of a mouth infection, it still won’t last long in captivity. The buyers have no clue about how to feed them or take care of them. These are wild animals. They should not be kept in someone’s home.”

A TRAFFIC report, Open Season, reveals that slow lorises are commonly available in the markets of Medan, Indonesia, being observed in more than 90% of the survey counts undertaken by TRAFFIC. Some were sold for “medicinal” uses, while most were sold as “tame” pets. Despite being protected under Indonesian law, 692 slow lorises were recorded on sale in Medan’s markets between 1997 and 2001.

“Many wildlife species in Malaysia and the rest of South-East Asia are going to disappear before most people are even aware of their existence,” Shepherd said grimly. “There have got to be more serious penalties for wildlife law violations, not just a slap on the wrist.”

So what is happening in the case I reported? As it turns out, the Perak DWNP has jurisdiction over the area where the sale took place.

“I sent my men to investigate,” says Perak director Shabrina Mohamed Shariff. “All they saw was a chained monkey. The orang asli said that the man who did the trapping was away. They also said the slow lorises you saw were for their own consumption. They denied selling them.”

After suggesting that perhaps I was mistaken about what I had seen, Shabrina admitted that the orang asli might have been lying.

“My men are still in the area. We’re going to monitor the site. We will also ask our informers in the area to be on the alert. But it is difficult to trap slow lorises, so I don’t know how soon we will catch them with any again.”

Maybe the Perak DWNP will catch these particular orang asli red-handed, maybe they will not. The odds are that the pair of slow lorises I saw being sold are already dead, victims of human ignorance and abuse.

I am deeply saddened and more convinced than ever of the importance of reporting suspicious activities with wildlife to the authorities. The DWNP needs all the public help it can get if Malaysia’s endangered species are to have any chance of survival.

I returned a few weeks later to the same site in Cameron Highlands, this time with a camera. The civet was gone, as was one of the adolescent monkeys. The young female monkey above was highly protective of the babies in the area. She was sitting in a pile of trash, digging through it for scraps to eat. When the orang asli woman approached her, she reacted with fear and anger, as you can see. The orang asli said that the "elder brother" who did the trapping was away. Officials of the Department of Wildlife and National Parks told me that although it was unlikely the orang asli had a license to keep and possibly sell the monkeys, it would be better to catch them at something bigger. As for the palm civet? They could get a license to kill it, but not to keep it or sell it. But most people thought of them as pests, anyway, I was told with a shrug. The implication was that the fate of a "pest" wasn't a high priority. Maybe it's a case of choosing your battles.

A young female captive macaque staring at the jungle in Cameron Highlands, taken in July, 2005. Notice the chain around her hips. [Click on picture for larger version]

The same macaque, reacting to one of her keepers, an orang asli woman. [Click on picture for larger version]

To report a suspected wildlife law violation, contact:

Law and Enforcement Division
Wildlife and National Parks Department
Km10, Jalan Cheras, 56100 Kuala Lumpur
Tel: 03-90752872
Email: pakp@wildlife.gov.my
Website: http://www.wildlife.gov.my
TRAFFIC South-East Asia
Unit 9-3A, 3rd Floor, Jalan SS23/11
Taman SEA, 47400 Petaling Jaya
Tel: 03-78803940/Fax: 03-78820171
E-mail: tsea@po.jaring.my
Website: http://www.traffic.org

Categories: Animal Welfare, My Articles

Pet Fair 2005 -- This Weekend!

2005-10-01T17:00:00.000+08:00

There is at least one event going on here in conjunction with World Animal Day (Oct. 4th). Pet Fair 2005 is taking place today and tomorrow at Hall C, The Mines Exhibition Centre, next to the Mines Shopping Fair.

The entrance fee is RM5 for adults, kids under 12 free. You can bring your dog(s) along, too, according to the SPCA website. (I think there is a RM5 registration fee per dog.) I like any activity that dogs can join in, especially in a country where dogs are commonly banned from the public parks.

Best of all, the SPCA, and, I think, PAWS will be there, offering information and pet adoption opportunities. They will have adoptable dogs on the spot, as well as being able to answer any questions potential adopters might have. It's a great idea!

Bonnie, a three-month-old Sharpei mix hoping to be adopted from the SPCA. She looks like Bongo, my adopted Sharpei mix, when he was a puppy. He grew up to be the handsomest, healthiest, most lovable dog you can imagine! I wish I could adopt Bonnie myself.

Brains as Well as Beauty & Brawn: Wild Gorillas Use Tools

2005-10-01T14:37:00.000+08:00

The wild gorilla known as Leah uses a walking stick to help her wade in a marshy pond in the Republic of the Congo.

Biologists in Africa have reported the first scientifically observed instances of wild gorillas using tools, a skill previously thought to be limited in the wild to chimpanzees and orangutans. Click here for the full wire-service story.

Here is the abstract from the original paper, published on-line by The Public Library of Science (PLoS):

First Observation of Tool Use in Wild Gorillas
Thomas Breuer, Mireille Ndoundou-Hockemba, Vicki Fishlock
Descriptions of novel tool use by great apes in response to different circumstances aids [sic] us in understanding the factors favoring the evolution of tool use in humans. This paper documents what we believe to be the first two observations of tool use in wild western gorillas (Gorilla gorilla). We first observed an adult female gorilla using a branch as a walking stick to test water deepness and to aid in her attempt to cross a pool of water at Mbeli Bai, a swampy forest clearing in northern Congo. In the second case we saw another adult female using a detached trunk from a small shrub as a stabilizer during food processing. She then used the trunk as a self-made bridge to cross a deep patch of swamp. In contrast to information from other great apes, which mostly show tool use in the context of food extraction, our observations show that in gorillas other factors such as habitat type can stimulate the use of tools.

There are more stunning photos of Leah and Efi, the other tool-using gorilla documented, at the PLoS website. The observations occurred almost exactly a year ago.

This story has a nifty personal dimension for me as well -- my name is also Leah!

Map showing the location of the Republic of the Congo in Africa, from Wikipedia.

Categories: Primate News

Urgent: Sign SPCA Petition for Tougher Animal Protection Laws

2005-09-29T18:47:00.000+08:00

The current edition of the SPCA's newsletter included this appalling story, to persuade people that Malaysia needs much stronger laws to protect animals:

On the 18th of August, the SPCA, with the assistance of the Enforcement
Division of the Veterinary Services Department, rescued a very ill dog which was in terrible condition.

As the dog was too weak to be saved, it was finally euthanized at the
Veterinary Services Department's clinic. Post mortem revealed that the dog
could have been suffering for at least 6 months already!

The irresponsible owner had intentionally neglected the dog's welfare and
caused unnecessary suffering to the dog. The Kuala Lumpur Enforcement
Division is carrying out investigations to trace the dog's owner.

The SPCA hopes that the irresponsible and cruel owner will be prosecuted
and not only fined a measly RM 200 but also be imprisoned for six months under the Animal Ordinance Act, 1953, Part IV: Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

The SPCA initiated a petition last year asking the government to amend Animal Ordinance 1953 to:

1. Increase the cruelty fine from RM200 (since 1953) to a significantly higher amount of around RM 10,000.00 and increase jail time;

2. Impose a life time ban on animal ownership for those charged with cruelty to animals --- animals therefore cannot be returned to the owners; and

3. Urge the public to be responsible pet owners - spay/neuter their pets, provide adequate food, space, exercise, love and medical attention to their pets, and to be considerate neighbours.

Sadly, only 20,000 signatures towards the goal of 100,000 (both national and international) were collected. The SPCA is circulating the petition again and urgently needs signatures. Please help them send a message to the government: Serious offences against animals require serious punishments. The abuse won't stop as long as the penalties, both as written and as applied, are a joke.

World Animal Day...But Not in Malaysia?

2005-09-28T12:18:00.000+08:00

World Animal Day, which was started by a group of ecologists in Florence, Italy, in 1931, takes place on Oct. 4 every year. According the UK site, the goals of World Animal Day are:

To celebrate animal life in all its forms
To celebrate humankind’s relationship with the animal kingdom
To acknowledge the diverse roles that animals play in our lives – from providing food, through being our companions, to supporting and helping us, to bringing a sense of wonder into our lives
To acknowledge and be thankful for the way in which animals enrich our lives

Sounds good to me! I asked some likely people in the animal world here (SPCA, National Zoo) if they were going to hold any events in conjunction with World Animal Day, and was told that they were not. The reason? It isn't well-known here. Is this really a case of the chicken or the egg? I don't think so; I think you have to publicize something like this first, and then people will know about it. I am pushing to get an animal-welfare related article of my own into The Star on Tuesday; I don't know if it will make it or not.

My cat Dickens came from the Singapore SPCA

Meanwhile, the SPCA in Singapore is going to hold a three-day event to promote pet adoption, kindness to animals and the SPCA's activities. Good for them! Let's hope that next year, we'll have our own animal-awareness-raising events here in Malaysia. Education is the only long-term method for changing the way we treat the animals around us, but it takes time. The sooner we start, the sooner we will see results.

Bitten by the World's Largest Rodent

2005-09-25T12:36:00.000+08:00

I took this picture of a group of capybaras at the National Zoo, Kuala Lumpur, September 2005.

This is another personal story, this time of an encounter with an animal. It happened when I was very young, perhaps three or four years old. My father, a paleontologist, had taken his first job after university, teaching at the University of Florida, which is in the small town of Gainesville, located in the northwestern part of the state.

We lived in a small red prefab house in the country. This was the early 1960s and my parents bought our prefab home from General Electic, which presumably wanted not only to cash in on the prefab home business, but also use it as a way to increase their sales of electrical appliances. It may have been a short-lived venture, but I remember our little house with love.

I have many happy "snapshots" in my memory from our Florida years: an outdoors that was the world's biggest sandbox; green snakes and tortoises to play with; burning blue skies; spiky, spiny plants; my sisters and I riding on Sandy, our palomino mare, as my mother led her; a pet white rabbit whose hide my mother tried to tan after it died (it came out stiff as a board); a beagle and her endless litters of puppies -- memory suggests that she gave birth to at least two sets of eleven; savage thunderstorms that knocked out the power and left us huddled next to my mother by the light of a kerosene lamp, 10% frightened, 90% thrilled. I also remember my father chopping the head off a rattlesnake near the house, then putting it into a glass jar so we could observe it up close.

I do not, however, remember the time I was bitten by a capybara (Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris). Capybaras are the world's largest rodents -- they look rather like guinea pigs on steroids -- and live in South America. They are semi-aquatic and well-adapted to the water, with their nose, eyes and ears aligned like a hippo's at the top of their skull and thus above the waterline. Capys are also excellent underwater swimmers, able to hold their breath for up to five minutes.

So how did I come to be bitten by a capybara, you may ask, without going for a swim in a body of water to the east of the Andes? I attribute it to youthful exuberance -- my parents', mine and the capybara's. We were all quite young and inexperienced, and perhaps a trifle ignorant.

It was a fad at the time, my father tells me, for the zoology students at the university to keep all sorts of exotic animals as pets. One day, one of my father's students made a buying excursion to a large animal importer in Tampa Bay and came home with a baby capybara. Somewhere between the shop and his room at the university, he realized that he had no place to keep it, so he drove to our house in the country and deposited the animal with us.

My parents gave the capybara a home in our chickenyard, which was already living quarters not only for chickens but also chicken snakes, a white rabbit and gopher tortoises who made burrows in the sand. He (or she; my parents don't recall its gender) was a young capy, perhaps only a month or two old, and barely a foot long (adult capys can be up to four feet in length). Sadly, he only stayed with us for a month or two before escaping through one of the holes that tunnelled under the chickenyard fence. I wish my parents had known how to take better care of the capy -- or at least known they didn't know how to take care of him, and sent him to a zoo.

A baby capy snuggling up to an adult in the National Zoo, Kuala Lumpur, September 2005. You can see how damp they were!

It was a mistake of immaturity, not indifference. My mother was very fond of the capy. She says he was a beautiful animal, with big eyes and a sweet face. One day, she decided to put him into the bathtub and let him have a swim. Or perhaps she wanted to bathe him, I'm not sure. At any rate, I was having a bath at the time. I don't know which of us went into the tub first, but the capy obviously decided that I was in his territory and he didn't like it. He nipped me on the knee. I suppose I howled, although, as I say, I have no memory of the incident.

The bite left no scar, either physical or emotional. If anything, hearing that story over the years stoked my interest in animals rather than extinguishing it. I have always felt it to be a mark of distinction; how many other people can say that they were bitten by a capybara in their bathtub?

Categories: My Animal Stories

Chimp Hand, Just Because I Love It

2005-09-22T15:33:00.000+08:00

A great picture of a chimpanzee handprint, from Save the Chimps.

Me Tongue-tied, You Jane

2005-09-20T11:00:00.000+08:00

When I started this blog, I intended to write stories about my personal encounters with animals and other experiences of importance to me. So here is a story about the day I shared an elevator with Jane Goodall, the great scientist, activist and educator and my personal hero.

As a child, I wanted to be Jane Goodall. I couldn't imagine any life more exciting or interesting than hers. I did not grow up to be a primatologist, but I did, eventually, work briefly at The National Geographic Society, which has sponsored much of her work.

It was 1987 or '88. I was part of a team of researchers working on a special project, The Historical Atlas of the United States. One day, I had to ascend, for reasons I have forgotten, to an upper floor of the NGS headquarters building. We're talking deep silence, thick carpets, indirect lighting -- a posh and elegant eyrie for extremely elite eagles. This was the one and only time I ever dared to venture my humble-researcher toes up there.

I got into one of the miniscule elevators, which had a capacity of about four people. Two people were already inside, one of them a giant of a man with an immense video camera and a beard. The other person was a woman. Because of the crowded space, I ended up standing quite close to her.

I glanced at her sideways. She had delicate yet strong features, fine bones and the purest complexion imaginable. My first thought was, "That is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

My second thought was, "Omigod, that's Jane Goodall!"

It had taken me a couple of seconds to register that I was standing a couple of inches from the most famous primatologist in the world. I have no poker face; Jane and her companion could see every thought as it crossed my mind. I blurted out a strangled hello and blushed to the crown of my head. A tiny smile of amusement curved Jane's lips as her eyes met mine and she nodded to me.

The elevator stopped and I blundered out. They rode on, rising higher into the realm of the NGS gods, while I did a jig of uncontainable excitement in the empty elevator lobby. I wanted to shout: I just saw Jane Goodall! I just stood next to Jane Goodall! I just said hello to Jane Goodall!

I have seen her in person once more since then. In the mid-1990s, I attended one of her public lectures at a university. The lights of the vast auditorium were dimmed as a slender figure stepped up to the podium. In the glow of a small spotlight, she began to vocalize. The greeting of a wild chimpanzee filled our ears, rising from a series of increasingly excited pants to a frenzied scream of delight that echoed from the vaulted reaches of the ceiling. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

I think, although I'm not sure, that I hooted in reply.

Jane Goodall went to Tanzania in 1960, chosen by famed anthropologist Dr. Louis Leakey to conduct field studies of wild chimpanzees. In that same year, she made her first ground-breaking discovery: Chimpanzees make and use tools. With that, one of the most sacred barriers between man and animal was shattered. As Dr. Leakey said, "Now we must redefine tool, redefine man, or accept chimpanzees as humans."

The line separating human and nonhuman primates is thinner than we ever thought, and it's getting thinner all the time. The recent mapping of the chimpanzee genetic code has reduced the meaningful DNA difference between "us" and "them" to about one percent.

Jane Goodall now spends an average of 300 days a year on the road, travelling on behalf of chimpanzees, the environment and the future of the planet. She is tireless, apparently, and sublimely calm. One of the things I most admire about her is how centered she is. Despite the horrors she has seen inflicted on chimpanzees and nature, she remains always hopeful, always reasonable, always focused on solutions. She does not waste her time on vitriol and despair. She believes in education and the fundamental goodness of her fellow humans. She explains her optimism in an essay called My Four Reasons for Hope.

Jane Goodall is one of my reasons for hope.

Bittersweet: The World's Oldest Chimpanzee

2005-09-18T14:09:00.000+08:00

Cheeta with Maureen O'Sullivan and Johnny Weissmuller
in TARZAN THE APE MAN (1932)

Cheeta with friend and caretaker Dan Westfall, ca. 2003

I recently ran across the information that Cheeta, one of the chimpanzees who acted in the classic Hollywood Tarzan movies of the 1930s and '40s, is still alive. It's a bittersweet story, told in full by National Geographic News.

Cheeta turned 73 on April 9th of this year, making him the oldest documented chimpanzee in the world. Experts say wild chimpanzees live an average of 45 years. Chimps in captivity tend to live longer, but Cheeta's great age is exceptional. He is the last surviving member of the group of chimpanzees who played the character of Tarzan's sidekick, "Cheeta", in the MGM movies. Over the course of the 10 years the movies were made, it was necessary to change the chimpanzee actor several times, as generally only very young chimps -- two to three years old -- are tractable enough to use in entertainment. That explains why "Cheeta" was always a youngster and why she was sometimes female and sometimes male.

Cheeta lives at the CHEETA Primate Sanctuary in Palm Springs, California, with Dan Westfall, who founded the non-profit sanctuary when he adopted Cheeta. Westfall is the nephew of Tom Gentry, the animal trainer who originally brought Cheeta to America from Africa. (I don't know if Gentry bought Cheeta or trapped him himself. Either way, you can be fairly sure Cheeta's mother was killed in the acquisition.)

Cheeta is not living a normal chimpanzee life; he never has. However, it's obvious that Westfall loves him and is dedicated to giving him and his companions -- more primates "retired" from the entertainment industry -- the best possible life he can. The sanctuary accepts donations, and, for a certain amount, offers "Ape-Stract" paintings by Cheeta.

As a child, I loved seeing Cheeta in the movies, without understanding what his captivity meant. As an adult, I know how cruel it is to force chimpanzees (and other primates) to "act" for our entertainment. No-one can give Cheeta back the life he should have had, but it is comforting to know he is well-loved and well-taken care of in his old age.

"We Will Not Tolerate Such Acts of Cruelty"

2005-09-16T10:46:00.000+08:00

The day before yesterday, I was at Ikano Power Centre, so I decided to go to Pet Safari and see what was happening with the Wonderful World of Pets (what a misnomer!) You probably remember the case last month of the puppy they left to die without medical care.

At the time, Ng Whye Hoe, the director of Pet Safari, which is the pet shop's landlord, told The Star:

“As a responsible pet company with over six years experience in Malaysia and Singapore, we will not tolerate such acts of cruelty. We acknowledge that it happened at our premises and we will not avoid the issue. We pledge to improve our services and care to the animals."

I hoped to find WWoP boarded up and out of business, but there they still were, big, bold and with twenty or more pups on sale. (Who would shop for a pet there, after knowing about that case?) I stuck my head into the Pet Safari management office, and discovered that Ng, who is based in Singapore, was actually on the spot! What a piece of luck!

I asked him what Pet Safari had done in this matter. After all, it's easy to say "we won't tolerate it," but it's action that counts. By coincidence, he was in the middle of preparing for a meeting with Lewis Tan, the director of WWoP, at that very moment.

You remember Mr. Tan, don't you? He's the one who gave Buddhism a black eye when he explained his staff's failure to act by saying, "As Buddhists, we do not believe in putting animals to sleep." (Or, presumably, in getting them medical care.) He also made history when he announced the existence of the world's first "genetic virus," which is what he said killed the pup.

Ng told me that Pet Safari stands by its commitment to put an end to WWoP's bad practices, but that it would take time to research the legal aspects of the issue: the tenants' handbook, the lease, etc. He said that even if Pet Safari doesn't evict WWoP, they would make sure the company followed proper standards from now on.

Let's hope so. Meanwhile, I would avoid that shop like poison if I wanted to buy a pet.

Cool for Cats: An Amazing Photograph!

2005-09-12T16:21:00.000+08:00

This gorgeous picture of a male lion giving some cubs a good soaking comes from National Geographic Magazine. It was taken in Kenya's Masai Mara reserve. To see a larger version, click on the photo or visit the website.

The September issue of NGM is devoted to Africa. In addition to extraordinary animal photographs, there are excellent articles including Oil Boon, Living with Aids and Who Rules the Forest?. I think my favorite piece is Return to Zambia, in which African writer Alexandra Fuller contemplates "the relationship between people and wildlife," with stunning B+W photographs by Lynn Johnson.

On-line, they have the fabulous WildCam Africa. You can see live footage from a watering hole in Botswana. The other day, I spent hours glued to my computer screen, enthralled by the sight of a herd of elephants. My connection is very low-speed, so it was more like a series of snapshots than a video, but I could hear them and I knew I was seeing live pictures, so it was thrilling.

Malaysia, Home of Corrupt Officials

2005-09-11T21:05:00.000+08:00

Primate experts from around the world gathered in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo, recently to consider how to save the great apes (gorillas, chimpanzees, bonobos and orangutans) from extinction. According to the AFP article about it, the main problems in stopping the trade in illegal wildlife are "corrupt bureaucrats, false documentation, [and] mafia-style clashes with armed groups engaged in smuggling."

And who does the expert quoted single out as one example of such corruption?

"Once we found four young gorillas from Nigeria in a zoo in Malaysia, with certificates bought from corrupt officials." [John Sellar, who heads the fight against trafficking with the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES)]

How nice for Malaysia to be recognised internationally for something; too bad it isn't something to be proud of.

The Fight Against Female Genital Mutilation

2005-09-11T19:20:00.000+08:00

Waris Dirie: Nomad, Supermodel, Activist

“Allah saved me from a lion in the desert after I ran away from home and since this experience I have known that He has got something in mind for me, that there is a reason why I was allowed to live on.”

My article about Waris Dirie, her new book, Desert Children, and her fight against female genital mutilation appeared in today's Star Mag. Below is the slightly longer original version, which includes more of Waris's remarks and a comment about FGM in Malaysia.

Desert Warrior

Waris Dirie was born into a family of desert nomads in Somalia. Growing up, she endured hunger, physical and sexual abuse and female genital mutilation (FGM). At the age of 13, she fled into the desert rather than be forced into marriage with an older man chosen by her father. Her story might have ended there. She might’ve been killed by a lion or died of dehydration. The world might never have heard of Waris Dirie.

Instead, the desert was only the beginning. She survived and became an internationally famous model, UN Special Ambassador against FGM and best-selling author. She told the story of her childhood and her escape in her first book, Desert Flower (1999). Her second book, Desert Dawn (2002), chronicled her return to war-and-famine-ravaged Somalia to find her family, twenty years later.

Her new book, Desert Children, written with journalist Corinna Milborn, focuses on the hidden problem of FGM in Europe. What their investigation revealed is staggering: an estimated 500,000 women and girls in the European Union have either already undergone FGM or are at risk of it. According to The Waris Dirie Foundation, 75,000 of them live in Great Britain, 65,000 in France and 30,000 in Germany.

“We have had an avalanche of reaction to the book,” Waris says. “The general public and media simply did not know that FGM was an issue here and were shocked that half a million women in Europe are affected by this harmful practice.”

The medical and healthcare community in the EU suffers from widespread ignorance and insensitivity about FGM. Waris and her team found doctors who were willing to sew a woman’s vagina shut again after childbirth at the request of the husband. Even those with good intentions had little clue about the long-term physical, emotional and psychological effects of FGM. This book may be changing that.

Waris says, “Many professionals – doctors, nurses, social workers – are now eager to know more, and I think we have really changed the perspective of quite a few of them.”

The victims are immigrants and the children of immigrants. The parents either send their daughters back to Africa for the procedure, thereby hoping to avoid scrutiny, or have it performed in Europe, by traditional practitioners or by Western doctors willing to do it on the sly. Currently, only six countries in the EU have laws specifically prohibiting FGM: Austria, Belgium, France, Norway, Sweden and the UK. Of these, only France has been at all active in prosecuting offenders. No EU country recognizes the threat of FGM as grounds for asylum.

“On the political side,” Waris says, “the reaction [to the book] has not been nearly as strong. I think European countries still have to go through the process of admitting to themselves that FGM is their problem, too, before they will start really doing something about it.”

It was the response of the victims themselves that most deeply affected Waris. “Many of them were encouraged to talk about their problems for the first time,” she says. “It was the first time they could admit yes, it was done to them, and, yes, it was awful, painful and wrong. This is a very important step, as much for the women as for their daughters. A woman who truly knows what FGM means will not do it to her daughters.”

Waris is pushing for both tougher laws and more education on the issue. “Without tough laws, education will lead to nothing,” she points out. “How can you tell people something is a horrible crime if it is not even punishable by law? On the other hand, laws without education are equally fruitless. We have met so many people who did not even know about the laws against FGM – how are they supposed to follow them?”

Desert Children does not cover the occurrence of FGM outside Africa and the EU, but Waris is quick to point out that all countries must face the issue. “FGM is a big, big problem among African immigrants to North America,” she says. “It is quite as widespread there as it is in Europe or elsewhere. The USA and Canada must definitely play a role in ending FGM.”

Because FGM is widely practiced in heavily Muslim parts of the world, it is often mistaken for a Muslim practice, although in Africa, animists and Christians also follow the tradition. “Islam,” Waris says, “does not really have anything to do with FGM, or, at least, it should not. The Koran does not even mention it. But there are Muslim preachers who advice parents to mutilate their daughters. I really hope that all religious leaders around the world will stand up and say NO to this. There is nothing as strong as the word of a religious leader in these very religious communities.”

On the personal side, Waris says she has not been back to Somalia since the trip she wrote about in Desert Dawn. “It hurts, but Somalia is in a very difficult situation. There is no government, no law, no security at all. I really hope that I can go back next year and finally see my family again!”

Living as she does at the forefront of this battle, it would be easy for her to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the campaign she is waging. She admits that, sometimes, she wishes she could lead a quiet, private life with her son and not have to keep up the struggle.

“Luckily,” she says, “I am able to take breaks, listen to music, dance, be with friends and not think about my campaign for days at a time – and this recharges my batteries. On the other hand, every time I see a little girl I might have saved, it gives me a huge push forward.” She knows what her priorities are.

“There is nothing as motivating as saving lives, is there?”

To learn more about FGM, visit The Waris Dirie Foundation website at http://www.waris-dirie-foundation.com/ or e-mail Waris at waris@utanet.at.

What is FGM?

The World Health Organisation (WHO) defines female genital mutilation as any procedure under which the female genitalia are wholly or partly removed or damaged, whether for cultural reasons or any reasons other than medical.

FGM includes a range of practices, depending on cultural and geographic background. Eighty percent of FGM victims suffer cutting or excision of the clitoral hood, the clitoris and/or the labia minora, in whole or in part. Other procedures may include incision, perforation, nicking, stretching, scarring of the genitalia with burns, scraping away the flesh from the vaginal opening, or introducing corrosive substances or herbs to the vagina to tighten it.

In Somalia, where Waris Dirie is from, infibulation, the most severe and potentially fatal form of FGM, is practiced. This involves cutting away part or most of the genitalia, including the inner labia. The outer labia are sewn together, leaving only a minute hole for urine and menstrual blood to pass out. The procedure is commonly done without anaesthesia or antiseptics, using a razor blade, knife or piece of glass.

If the girl survives the procedure and any subsequent infections, scar tissue will cover her genital area, leaving it smooth and unfeeling. The nerve damage involved means that she will never experience normal sexual pleasure. Instead, she will endure a lifetime of excruciating pain while urinating, during her periods, during sexual intercourse and when she gives birth. On her wedding night, her husband will either force his way through the barrier with his penis or cut her open again with a knife. Fifteen percent of all FGM victims suffer infibulation.

FGM in Malaysia

According to Waris Dirie, three percent of girls in Malaysia are victims of FGM, making it one of the hot spots for this issue in Asia. “I do not know whether this is due to immigration or other factors, but I do know that Malaysia has a lot of work to do to stop it! I would very much appreciate action by the government. It is definitely necessary.”

The ‘Designer Vagina’

Ironically, while women from Africa and elsewhere are fighting to protect themselves from genital mutilation, Waris found some Western women paying cosmetic surgeons to alter their genitals in a bizarre quest for the “designer” vagina, often disturbingly similar to what is achieved by the most extreme form of FGM: a smooth, tight, almost childlike genital area. Surgical techniques originally developed to help those with medical problems are being used to alter the genitals of healthy, but body-image obsessed, women despite the risk of long-term pain, loss of sexual feeling and other complications.

Update on Scout, the Rescued Polo Pony

2005-09-09T08:15:00.000+08:00

I stopped by the Royal Selangor Polo Club yesterday to check on Scout, the abandoned polo pony I rehabilitated. (For her story, see my previous post, Scout the Abandoned Polo Pony) The retired Army officer who takes care of her now still uses her for light pleasure riding.

I was happy to see that she looked good and seemed to be well-taken care of. Her coat was clean and glossy. She still had much of the weight and muscle we had worked so hard to rebuild. She had a bucket of fresh water and a big bucket for food. Her bedding was clean and fresh (I have seen horses at the Club standing in six inches of urine-soaked shavings and manure.) She was wearing the old fly-mask I had bought her, which was a pleasant surprise. Fly-masks, like other small items, tend to disappear at a rapid rate at the Club, 'borrowed' or perhaps sold on by the grooms.

Her attitude was good, too. Four years ago, when I first met her, she would 'greet' visitors to her stall by putting her head in a corner and showing them her rump. Yesterday, although she was standoffish with me (as usual, since I stopped seeing her regularly) she gave me her profile the whole time, after taking a few sniffs of my hands. Her confidence was high and she seemed quite relaxed.

Nest time, I'm taking carrots and I'm going to reestablish our friendship. I miss my "Golden Girl"!

After the Flood: Pet Rescue, Zoo Survival, Hope and Faith

2005-09-05T12:53:00.000+08:00

Let's Hope He Made It

What about the many lost, homeless and stranded pets left in New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina? Volunteers from The American Humane Society and other organisations are rushing to rescue these animals. One of the AHS volunteers is posting updates on their efforts to the website.

"We Holed Up in the Reptile House"

Audubon Zoo General Curator Dan Maloney feeds the zoo's giraffes in New Orleans, Louisiana in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina (AFP)

New Orleans's Audubon Zoo survived the storm relatively unscathed, thanks to its location on high ground. Zoo workers stayed with their charges throughout the storm, finding shelter in the Reptile House. General Curator Maloney joked about how they are keeping the lions and other big cats fed during the crisis: "We invite journalists in, lock the gates and then they are never heard of again." Click here for the full story from AFP.

Yes, There are Still Good People in America

This is a great story, although the headline, French Quarter Holdouts Create 'Tribes', made me fear I was going to read about violent gangs fighting each other for control of neighborhoods. In fact, it's about people in New Orleans's historic French Quarter banding together in small groups to take care of each other and survive. You have to admire a makeshift bartender-cum-medic who can stitch up a man's torn ear and do a good job of it!

Faith and Hope After the Storm

Holly Lebowitz Rossi's blog is a compilation of stories about rescue and recovery efforts after Katrina with an emphasis on hope. It provides a welcome bit of cheer and encouragement in the midst of all the horror stories.

On Being Groomed by a Monkey

2005-09-04T11:29:00.000+08:00

I opened the book Grooming, Gossip and the Evolution of Language and read the first paragraph:

To be groomed by a monkey is to experience primordial emotions: the initial frisson of uncertainty in an untested relationship, the gradual surrender to another's avid fingers flickering expertly across bare skin, the light pinching and picking and nibbling of flesh as hands of discovery move in surprise from one freckle to another newly discovered mole. The momentary disconcerting pain of pinched skin gives way imperceptibly to a soothing sense of pleasure, creeping warmly outwards from the centre of atention. You begin to relax into the sheer intensity of the business, ceding deliciously to the ebb and flow of the neural signals that spin their fleeting way from periphery to brain, pitter-pattering their light drumming on the mind's consciousness somewhere in the deep cores of being.

Well, exactly. I was once groomed by a long-tailed macaque (as recounted in my previous post, The Monkey Man) and I know precisely what author Robin Dunbar means.

Dunbar is Professor of Evolutionary Psychology at the University of Liverpool in the UK. His book, I understand, makes the argument that as human social groups grew too large to allow person-to-person bonding through grooming, language developed to enable us to maintain intimacy and social cohesion. A good gossip is not, he posits, a waste of time but an absolute essential in our primate lives. I am looking forward to reading the rest of the book, and hope that the writing will continue to be as lively and delightful as that first paragraph.

My own modest theory is that the physical side of our primordial desire to be groomed is satisfied these days through receiving massages, facials, manicures, reflexology, reiki -- any 'treatment' that involves another person making us the centre of their attention and touch. I am not going to venture further down this line of speculation into the areas of sex and prostitution, but you are welcome to go there yourself if you like. Discreetly.

The Hero Who Sacrificed Heaven for a Dog

2005-09-03T18:55:00.000+08:00

Recently, a Hindu friend shared a wonderful story about compassion from the great Hindu epic the Mahabharata with me. This is my paraphrase of the tale, based on various sources.

King Pandu had five sons by his two wives. In fact, however, these sons were fathered by the gods, and each one was powerful and heroic. The most powerful and heroic of all was the eldest, Yudisthira, King of the Bharata people. After many adventures, including a great war, the time came for the Pandava brothers and their mutual wife, Princess Draupadi, to leave this world and ascend to Heaven.

(How Draupadi came to have five husbands was remarkably casual: After Prince Arjuna won her hand with his unbeatable archery skills, he rushed home and shouted to his mother: "Come see what I have brought home with me!" His mother, who was presumably busy with her chores, said before seeing Draupadi, "Whatever it is, be sure to share it with your brothers.")

At the end of their lives, the six pilgrims set out to make their way to Heaven, accompanied by a small dog who attached himself to Yudisthira. The route they had to follow was arduous and required serious mental and spiritual discipline. One by one, the four younger brothers and Draupadi succumbed to the hardships of the journey. Yudisthira accepted their loss with equanimity, knowing that they died because of their sins and weaknesses, among which were vanity, gluttony and pride.

Yudisthira himself was hardly perfect, by the way. Among other things, he famously told a lie that is still being debated on moral and ethical grounds. He was a compulsive gambler, too, and once lost himself, his brothers and Draupadi in a game of dice!

Shortcomings not withstanding, Yudisthira, with the dog, reached the end of his journey. Amidst thunder and lightning, Lord Indra arrived in his glorious chariot to take Yudisthira to Heaven. Yudisthira, however, started to bargain. First, he said he couldn't go to Heaven without his brothers and wife. Lord Indra assured him that his loved ones were already there, waiting for him. It would be his honor to be taken to Heaven in his human body, without having to die first.

Yudisthira next demanded that the dog that had followed him be allowed to come with him.

Lord Indra was not pleased. "There is no place in Heaven for dogs. Why do you you have attained the perfections of Heaven care about a worthless mongrel like that? Leave it behind and come with me."

"I cannot," Yudisthira replied. (And pretty cheeky he was, talking back to a god!) "He has been my faithful companion on my journey. It would be a sin to abandon a devoted creature who needs me."

"Yet you left your brothers and your wife along the road."

"I did not abandon them while they yet lived and needed me. Neither will I abandon this dog while he and I both live, even for the rewards of Heaven."

At that, the dog transformed itself into Lord Dharma, the God of Justice and the divine father of Yudisthira. "You are the most compassionate of men, my son, and I am well-pleased with you. You were willing to give up the very hope of heaven for the sake of a dog. Truly, no-one in Heaven is your equal."

The gods carried Yudisthira to Heaven in a burst of glory. Once there, he faced a horrifying final test of his compassion -- he was led to believe his brothers and wife were in Hell and he opted to join them there rather than desert them -- before being reunited with his family and entering Heaven for eternity.

Thank you, Saras, for introducing me to this beautiful tale.

Primate News Update: DNA, Extinction and Emergency Plan

2005-09-02T19:00:00.000+08:00

Orphaned chimpanzees in an African sanctuary

Scientists Complete Genetic Map of the Chimpanzee The newly mapped genetic code of the chimpanzee (pan troglodytes) indicates that 99% of the chimpanzee's active genetic material is identical to ours.

This is a sword that cuts both ways. For some, it will reinforce the reasons we should not allow animal testing on chimpanzees; it could be argued that they be accorded the same status as humans who are incapable of giving informed consent to be used in lab tests (i.e., children, adults with mental disabilities, etc.)

On the other hand, unfortunately, there will be those who use this information to justify the use of chimpanzees in laboratory experiments and push to increase captive breeding for that purpose.

Meanwhile, speaking of good news/bad news, how's this for ironic? From Reuters, Sumatran Orangutans Face Extinction:

Rebuilding after December's devastating tsunami and the dawn of peace in Indonesia's Aceh province could mean annihilation for the region's orangutans....Ian Singleton, scientific director of the Sumatran Orangutan Conservation Programme, said of the return to normality after a separatist conflict, "As peace breaks out, so the orangutans could be wiped out."

Orangutan mother and baby

Who would have ever thought that there could be a downside to peace?

But it's not just the Sumatran orangutan whose future in the wild is looking bleak. The United Nation Environmental Program-World Conservation Monitoring Centre has just published The World Atlas of Great Apes and Their Conservation, and the writing is, as they say, on the wall.

Within one human generation -- that's 20 years -- most or all of the great apes (bonobos, chimpanzees and gorillas, as well as orangutans) are likely to be extinct in the wild. Their demise would be a direct result of human activity. We shove into their territory, we destroy their habitat, we expose them to new levels of disease and we hunt them for food, sport and God knows what else. I guess the headlines will read Great Apes Killed Off by Not-So-Great Humans.

There is an editorial in The Herald about this story.

There may yet be hope for some of the great apes, if an emergency plan released this week by conservationists succeeds (reported by Reuters):

Drawn up by more than 70 experts and government officials, the plan designates 12 sites in five countries: Cameroon, Gabon, Congo, Central African Republic, and Equatorial Guinea....
Young bonobo
The plan, with a price tag of $30 million over 5 years, has targeted these sites for emergency programs intended to increase security against illegal hunting and logging and slow the spread of the Ebola virus.

Proposed measures include combating poaching and improving monitoring, response to Ebola outbreaks, training and tourism development.

"The plan represents an urgent appeal to the international community for immediate action, before the damage is irreversible," Conservation International said in a statement.

Silverback gorilla and family

Thanks to Sharon Bakar for alerting me to some of these stories and to UNEP-WCMC for the use of the photographs.

No Freedom for Sidewalk Simian on Independence Day

2005-09-01T07:00:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, on Malaysia's Independence Day, I took these pictures of a long-tailed macaque chained on a sidewalk in Bangsar Baru. His keepers, who run a food stall, said they had found him as a baby. He is kept on a harness and leash and has the shelter of a garden umbrella, which he needed during the downpour today.

He is overweight, so clearly he is fed more than enough. Of course, being tied up all day, he cannot take much exercise, either. He spends most of his life next to a busy street, breathing fumes and going nowhere, with no monkey companions.
I saw no active abuse, although the man told me he sometimes beats the monkey with a stick. "When he's naughty." He showed me bite scars on his legs which he said the monkey had inflicted.

I doubt there is anything actionable here under Malaysian law. In addition, if he were confiscated, he would probably be put down, since he is a male. I offered to buy him, but the couple refused -- just, I suppose, as I would refuse an offer on any of my dogs. It was clear that, in their minds, he was a pet and a well-kept one, to boot.

It is hard to know what to do for the best in a case like this. I do know that he is not living the life he deserves to live, as a wild animal. Monkeys, like great apes and humans (and many other animals), need the company of their own kind to thrive. Without it, they suffer, just as you or I would.

This monkey, although he appeared free of obvious injuries, indulged in bouts of repetitive movement typical of a captive wild animal, just like a tiger pacing in a cage. Such behavior expresses the animal's frustration, boredom and hopelessness. He is a prisoner, without family, friends or freedom. This may be legal, but it isn't humane or compassionate.

The Busybody and the Tree Shrew, or How I Celebrated Independence Day

2005-08-29T15:08:00.000+08:00

This morning, I was walking one of my dogs when I saw a tree shrew trapped in a wire cage in a neighbour's yard. I know the people slightly, an elderly Chinese man and his younger wife, who keep a nice, if underfed, dog named Ah Fook. The Wongs and I are casually friendly, having met through our dogs.

The tree shrew is a fascinating mammal found only in South-east Asia. It is not, in fact, a shrew at all. Neither, despite its appearance, is it a squirrel. Although the 18 species of tree shrew used to be included in the order Insectivora, they now make up their own order, Scandentia, and many scientists group them with the Primate order. That's right! They are related to flying lemurs and the rest of us primates! They are thought to be primitive prosimians similar to our own ancestors. One last tid-bit: Tree shrews have the highest brain-to-body-mass ratio of any animal, including humans.

Of course, I wasn't thinking of any of this as I peered through the gate at the tree shrew, frantically scrabbling at the bars of the cage. Instead, I was thinking "why?" and "how can I get him out of there?" Maybe, I thought, the people were trying to protect the two small mango trees that are the only touch of green in the expanse of concrete that surrounds their house. (Not that I had ever seen any fruit on the trees, but presumably they were optimists.) Or perhaps they wanted to eat it? Or keep it as a pet? Neither idea seemed likely, but you never knew.

I considered the situation. No car, so they weren't home. Ah Fook penned in the rear of the compound, so he was out of the way. There was just me, the caged tree shrew and a fence between us. I needed a tool, something like a very long stick.

I took my dog home and then I looked around. Bingo! The people next door are doing house renovations. The contractors had left a pile of wood scraps on the side of the street. I found just what I needed right away, a long, slender piece of wood, not too heavy for me to carry but sturdy enough to be useful. Off I trudged, stick in hand.

By standing with one foot on the driveway and the other on the base of the wall on the other side of the drainage ditch in front of the house, I could slide the wood between the bars of the fence. The trap had a loop of wire on top of its door. The stick fit neatly through the loop. I scooted the cage closer to the fence and, after a quick repositioning to stand in the driveway, maneuvered it into arm's reach. The tree shrew was alarmed, of course, and made "keep away" faces and noises at me. I talked to it, explaining that it would soon be free, not that I suppose that helped.

But how to open the trap? I tugged at various pieces of rusted metal on it, but nothing happened. I was, of course, being careful to keep my fingers out of nipping range. The tree shrew, however, although anxious and bouncy, kept to the far side of the tiny cage most of the time. He seemed calmest when, to study the cage from different angles, I levered trap-and-tree-shrew into the air with the stick. I felt rather like a chimp in a lab experiment, being challenged to solve a puzzle to get a banana. Finally, after a few misstarts, I got the darn thing open, and the tree shrew was gone in a flash.

I finished my adventure by using the stick to push the cage back into its original position -- with the door shut. I admit I get a laugh out of thinking of my neighbours finding it that way. Will they scratch their heads and try to figure out how the tree shrew got the bait and escaped, shutting the door behind him?

It must be all that brain mass!

Update on Dead Puppy Case

2005-08-24T20:19:00.000+08:00

Sabrina Yeap, the Animal Inspector for the SPCA, says that she has received numerous calls from pet owners after the article about the dead puppy at The Wonderful World of Pets store appeared in The Star earlier today.

According to Yeap, many people who bought puppies from The Wonderful World took them home only to find that the puppies were seriously ill. When they complained to the store, the staff referred them to a particular vet connected to the business. Apparently, Dr. X informed the unhappy buyers that their puppies suffered from a "genetic viral" condition that was untreatable and -- here's the key point -- not the responsibility of the seller.

That would be the same mysterious "genetic virus" that Lewis Tan, director of The Wonderful World of Pets, said caused the death of the poodle pup. Yeap says she's never heard of such a thing. Neither have I, neither have my books on veterinary medicine. I don't know what a genetic virus could be...although I suspect what Tan's puppies suffer from is parvovirus, which, as I mentioned in my previous post, is deadly and infectious. With poor standards of sanitation and animal care, it would spread easily in a confined space like the pet store.

Yeap is still gathering information to use in her investigation of Tan's business practices. If you bought a puppy from The Wonderful World of Pets and it had health problems, please let her know. Contact Sabrina Yeap at the SPCA.

Nightmare at "The Wonderful World of Pets"

2005-08-24T20:00:00.000+08:00

Today, The Star reported that a sick poodle puppy was left to die in a cage by the staff at the ironically named Wonderful World of Pets pet store located in Pet Safari, Ikano Power Center, Petaling Jaya. To read Star reporter Chin Mui Yoon's excellent but heart-breaking article, click here.

The case came to light thanks to the prompt action of Sabrina Yeap, the Animal Inspector for the SPCA. Yeap followed up on complaints from shoppers that there was a sick puppy being ignored at the pet store.

I've been to Pet Safari many times. I take my dogs and cats to the Damansara Animal Centre veterinary clinic (03-7725-2257) -- a few steps away from the pet store where the puppy died. It offers excellent pet care and the doctors are top-notch. What kind of people would leave a puppy to die alone in agony, instead of taking it to the vet clinic next door?

Buddhists, according to The Wonderful World of Pets manager Lewis Tan. "Being Buddhists, we do not believe in putting animals to sleep,” he told Chin. Apparently, his compassion does not extend to getting medical attention for a sick animal, either. Perhaps he and his staff are also Christian Scientists.

Yeap suspects from the symptoms that the puppy had parvovirus, which is extremely serious and spreads through contact with infected feces. Guess what? The puppy died in a flood of bloody diarrhea. The staff didn't notice or, at least, didn't do anything about its dead body right away. How quickly do you suppose they sanitized the area?

Tan thinks his staff acted correctly, as far as one can tell from what he told the reporter. I wouldn't trust him or them with the care of a potted geranium, much less a dog. I suspect he is no better a Buddhist than he is a pet store manager.

Equally reprehensible was the response from the Veterinary Services Department, Shah Alam, as reported in the article:

[D]irector Tee Thian See said his department would not take any action because they “did not see anything,” although there were witnesses and photographic evidence. [emphasis added]

“Everything was in order when we checked the shop,” he told The Star.

“We can only monitor the situation. There was nothing there when we visited, so how can we take up the case?”

Lovely. So unless his department can be omniscient and omnipresent, there's nothing they can do to stop animal abuse in pet stores? If only God can do Tee's job, then what is Tee getting paid for?

The only positive note was sounded by Pet Safari director Ng Whye Hoe, who told Chin:

Ng said Pet Safari was horrified at such an incident and promised to revise tenancy regulations. He said as landlord, Pet Safari had the authority to intervene if there were suspected cases of animal abuse under its roof.

“As a responsible pet company with over six years experience in Malaysia and Singapore, we will not tolerate such acts of cruelty,” he told StarMetro.

“We acknowledge that it happened at our premises and we will not avoid the issue."

Someone actually taking responsibility for animal abuse and committing to change the situation? Unbelievable! Kudos to you, Ng. Let's hope you evict the not-so-Wonderful World of Pets and try to find a responsible, knowledgable and humane tenant for the space. Selling dogs through pet stores is a dubious proposition, at best, and prone to all kinds of abuse, but there has to something better than this "Little Shop of Horrors."

Good work on the part of the SPCA's Sabrina Yeap in investigating the case and thanks to The Star for publicizing the incident. We need more strong journalism like this on behalf of the animals in Malaysia. In the interests of transparency, I should add that I am a free-lance journalist whose work sometimes appears in The Star.

TO THOSE WHO WANT A DOG: Why buy from a pet store at all? PAWS and the SPCA have more dogs and puppies than they can take care of, waiting for homes. Paying too much for a pedigree puppy whose background and health you can't be sure of isn't prestigious, it's stupid. If you are keen to have a particular breed of dog, be patient. All kinds of dogs find themselves homeless and in the SPCA and PAWS. Pet store dogs may come from the worst puppy mills imaginable; even the ones with licenses from the MKA may not meet even minimal standards of health and safety, not to mention humaneness. It would be better to try to meet a breeder directly and ascertain the kind of facility -- and person -- your puppy is coming from.

ONE MORE TIP: A dog that is a year or two old often makes the best choice. Puppies are cute but they are also demanding. I am stunned when people complain to me, "My puppy is so naughty, he's peeing in the house and he's chewing up everything!" Well, duh. That's what puppies do. (Babies poop in their diapers and cry at night -- does that make them 'naughty'?) If you can't cope with normal puppy behavior with humor and patience, it would be better not to get a pup. By the time a dog is a year or two old, he or she is better behaved, past the need to chew and yet still young, playful and easy to train.

Scout, the Abandoned Polo Pony

2005-08-22T21:21:00.000+08:00

I knew nothing about polo and cared even less when I walked onto the grounds of the Selangor Polo Club, as it was then called. (The club's patron, HRH Sultan Sharaffudin Idris Shah of Selangor, has since given it a royal warrant, so it is now The Royal Selangor Polo Club.) Situated since the 1960s on prime land just off Jalan Ampang Hilir, with the Twin Towers soaring above the treeline, the polo club is a quiet oasis of greenery in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. Rows of cinderblock stables, clouds of dust, the nickering and neighing of horses, the clop of hooves, the smell of hay, manure and leather, the jingle of tack, the singing of grooms…I was smitten. Not with polo, but with the place.

I wasn’t there to learn to play or even to take riding lessons, at first, although that would come later. The Riding for the Disabled Association of Malaysia, or RDA, has its main branch at the Polo Club. Four mornings a week, a flock of volunteers gather to teach disabled children to ride. This was something I had wanted to do for years, and I was excited about the chance to get started at last. It turned out to be more difficult and more meaningful than I ever anticipated, but this is not a story about the RDA. It’s the tale of an abandoned polo pony.

I was leaving the club one day after an RDA session when an American woman I knew slightly called out to me. She was on the verge of relocating back to the States. She took me to see four horses housed in a block of stalls that had previously been empty. It was a block that stood just to one side of the main gate; in other words, one that everyone had to pass by on their way in and out.

“These horses have been hidden in a block of stables in the back,” she told me. “They are barely alive. I’ve been trying to help them, but now I’m leaving. I managed to get them moved out here, so at least they will be seen.”

I stared at the horses with their protruding skeletons and dead eyes. “Who owns them?”

“The Armed Forces,” she said sadly. “They don’t want to ride them, so they just abandoned them. I know you love animals. Can you keep an eye on them? Can you help them?”

I had no idea what I could do, but I agreed to try my best. After she was gone, I took a closer look at the horses. Two were brown, a mature mare and her stallion son. One was white, and not in quite as bad shape as the others. The most serious case was a palomino mare whose threadbare body hung like a rag from the ridge of her spine. Her eyes were inflamed, her mane almost gone, her legs knobbly and crooked. I took one look at her and fell madly in love.

Scout, one of the abandoned polo ponies

A friend of mine, a Swiss woman who took riding lessons at the club, was equally concerned when she saw the horses. Like many of us, she has more compassion than common sense. We took up the task of feeding and watering these unwanted animals. Before long, the two of them that were the least damaged – the white gelding and the brown mare – were transferred to the riding school, thanks to the efforts of the head of the RDA and the fact that the school was chronically short of rideable horses.

No such succour was in sight for the palomino and the stallion. From what we could dig up, the stallion had never been trained or ridden. He had been left to waste away in a forgotten stall at the back of the club, where he had worn his teeth down to nubs, chewing on the metal pole that blocked the door of his stall, a legacy of the mind-numbing boredom that had been his life. My friend adopted him and named him d'Artagnan -- a good, swashbuckling name to inspire courage in a young horse.

The palomino, on the other hand, had once had a stellar career; she was one of the best polo ponies the club had ever seen, I was told. Fast, proud and a fierce fighter who never gave up on the field. So how had she come to be starving and uncared for in a hidden stall? She got too old to play polo anymore, and, instead of a pleasant retirement to the role of riding horse, she was simply abandoned. Grooms working in the vicinity had kept her and the others alive by skimming off small portions of food from the horses they were paid to watch over.

I was nearly blind with rage, or would’ve been, if there had been time to indulge my feelings. Instead, I wangled permission, again thanks to the help of the head of the RDA, to take sole responsibility for the palomino, whom I named Scout. She was about 20 years old at the time. The man who had bought her in New Zealand, brought her back to Malaysia and ridden her for over a decade – a retired member of the armed forces – arranged for me to take over her care, and also agreed to donate a small amount of money every month towards her upkeep. He said she was the best polo pony he had ever ridden; I wondered, then, where he had been all these years while she was suffering in solitude, but realized it would do her more good to keep my shut, say thank you and get on with her rehabilitation.

Don’t run away with the idea that I knew what I was doing; I knew exactly nothing about how to take care of a horse, much less a seriously malnourished, underfed one. The first step was to bring in the club vet to examine her. In fact, I took advice from every vet I could buttonhole. More than one of them told me she was a lost cause and should be put down. I knew otherwise; don’t ask me how I knew, because I had no experience to draw on, but I knew. Besides, I once worked for an extraordinarily gifted vet in Singapore, who used to say, “No animal ever wants to die. They don’t commit suicide.”

She was tested, dewormed, vaccinated and given an ointment for her eye condition. I bought her a fly mask to keep the flies out of her eyes, a kit full of grooming equipment, a halter and lead rope so I could walk her and had two boxes, one large, one small, made to store her food and equipment in. I went twice a day, morning and evening, to feed her, groom her and exercise her. Ideally, she should’ve been fed three times a day, but that was more than I could handle.

I don’t remember how I put the halter on her the first time, or how I ever had the confidence to lead her out of that stall. Somehow, I did it, with her cooperation. I must’ve gained her trust first by feeding her, because she was the proudest, most spirited damn horse in the club. Whenever anybody she didn't know approached her, her head went sky-high and she dared him to come closer. This was not a horse to be forced!

Maybe that’s how we came to get along. I never forced her, not one step of the way. Instead, I crooned to her. Cowboy songs, like Tumbling Tumbleweeds and Back in the Saddle Again. I don’t know if she liked my singing, but it calmed me down and made it possible for me to work with her. Before long, we were a familiar sight around the grounds, strolling – actually, she stepped out at too fast a clip to call it strolling! – and grazing. I practised little bonding techniques I found in books and magazines, such as pressuring her ever so gently with a finger to her side until she took a step away. The idea being that she should respect my space, lest my toes get flattened someday if she realized exactly how neglible I actually was.

I took her into the ring sometimes and turned her loose to play. She would canter off with a happy little fart and kick up her heels. Rolling in the dirt was obviously a treat. I messed around in the ring with her, trying the Horse Whisperer-technique of pushing her away with a direct stare and then inviting her back by looking away. In what I remember as only a few days, but which might have been longer, she would follow at my heels when I walked away. She would come when I called. We were a team. Sometimes, when there was no-one around, I would even walk her around the grounds and polo pitch without her lead, just to prove to myself that I could.

The absolutely hardest part of the whole adoption was figuring out how to feed her. Horses are somewhat tricky entities that way; feed them the wrong thing or the wrong amount and they can peg out on you in the blink of an eye. I consulted grooms, vets, horsewomen and books. There was a formula based on a percentage of body weight. I had someone experienced eyeball her and estimate her weight for me. Then I took the best advice I could get about the ratio of roughage to concentrated food she should have. I still have some of my notes from back then, and it looks like rocket science to me now. I can’t do math, except, apparently, for when I really have to.

Not content with giving her only sweetfeed and hay, I arranged for bags of fresh-cut grass to be delivered to us. I brought her carrots and apples, only to discover, much to my surprise, that horses here aren’t used to eating apples. She turned up her proud nose at them. Carrots, though, she could eat by the bagful. I bought vitamin supplements, calcium, isotonic powder. I measured and mixed and fretted, in about equal parts.

After a month or so, one of the experienced horsewomen at the Club stopped to take a casual look at her and exclaimed at how thin she still was; what was I feeding her? I explained my ever-so-careful system and how I was gradually increasing the amount of her food so as not to shock her body.

“Good heavens,” the woman said, “go ahead and feed her properly! You’ve done it slowly enough already. She’s got to have more to eat.”

I bet that was one of the happiest days of Scout’s life!

The gruelling schedule was breaking me down, though, so I hired one of the grooms to work for me part-time. He would take over her morning and evening feeds, while I would come in to walk her, wash her and groom her, and then give her a mid-day meal.

Those were amazing days. She gained weight, although she would always be svelte. Her mane grew in a bit, her eyes brightened. Medicated cream cleared up the fungus on her skin and a greasy ointment healed her cracked, dry hooves. I had shoes put on her, after much debate, even though she wasn’t being ridden, because I wanted to exercise her on a longe line. Not that I knew how to, but that hadn’t stopped me yet.

I arranged to take some longeing lessons from the head of the riding school, in lieu of some of the riding lessons I had paid for. I have to admit, Scout did not take well to longeing. My groom and his brother tried to train her to it for me, but progress was slow and intermittent, set-backs frequent. When I took the line, she usually just walked over to stand next to me instead of moving around me in a circle as she was supposed to.

We flirted with having someone ride her. My groom worked patiently to get her used to wearing a bridle and saddle again. He was one of the gentlest people I had ever met, and Scout trusted him as much as she trusted me. However, most of the people I knew were afraid to try to ride her. The head of the riding school made dire predictions about how dangerous she might be. I knew Scout would never deliberately hurt someone, but she was high-strung and spirited, and I didn’t want to pressure anyone into it, for fear they might get hurt.

At last, a Malay horse-trainer I knew only slightly agreed to take on the job. He was bit of a flirt, and I think he had hopes of impressing, not me, but one of my pretty friends. Fine by me, as long as she didn’t mind having to bat her eyes at him occasionally. All I cared about was getting Scout the best possible care.

Somewhat to my surprise, he turned out to have a way with horses. I had been half-afraid he might try to bully her, but he was calm and patient and she responded like the queen she was to his courtliness. I was as proud as a new mom the day I saw him riding her. On days when he couldn’t ride her, he would still lead her behind another pony as he trotted around the polo pitch, so Scout could get some exercise and some companionship. (I’m not sure she really needed the latter; whenever I released in one of the paddocks, she stayed away from the other horses.)

A day came when my husband said we would be transferring out of the country. I panicked. My first wild thought was to send her across the world to live on my parents’ farm in America. My father and mother scotched that idea in no uncertain terms. I tried to persuade the riding school to take her on, but the head was still convinced that Scout was potentially dangerous – besides, she was too old to make it worth the investment of retraining her. I considered trying to find a retirement farm here in Malaysia to send her to, but I didn’t think I could afford it.

Finally, the retired army officer who had arranged for me to take care of her stepped forward. He said he wanted a riding horse for himself and for his children. He had no qualms about getting on her; he had known and ridden her for years. I hesitated; his manner with her had always been brusque and she showed no particular liking for him. I was also concerned that he might try to play polo on her again, something she should definitely not be exposed to. He promised he would not do that, and I felt I had very little choice in the matter.

As it turned out, we didn’t transfer that time after all, but I fell ill for over a year and by the time I started to regain my strength, our circumstances had changed so much that I decided to let the matter rest where it was. I did not try to get involved in Scout’s life again, knowing that someday I would leave Malaysia. I have visited her a few times, though, and checked in with the army officer to be sure she was okay. Scout does not welcome me back, by the way. She is, as I have said, a proud animal, and once I had left her, she was done with me. I took her carrots and she still gave me a cold, scornful eye. What a horse!

The hours I spent with her are some of the happiest I have ever had. They glow with the golden radiance that shone from her when she stood beside me, freshly washed and groomed, glittering under the bright sun. I wish I could go back to that time, and walk with her again. I hope she lives in peace and comfort for the rest of her days.

If abuses like the ones I saw are ever to stop, there would have to be a serious, in-depth investigation into conditions and practices at the Club. New standards would need to be drawn up and enforced by an independent oversight committee not stacked with the cousins, sons-in-law and business partners of the polo club members it was supposed to monitor. Unfortunately, the odds of this happening are about as good as the odds of me becoming a champion polo player. Pity the poor polo ponies who pay the price for human arrogance and indifference.

Some tid-bits from my time at the Polo Club:

Grooms sometimes sell unwanted horses to be eaten.
Status is everything; you can ride a horse with a fractured hip, and, if you're well-enough connected, no-one will stop you.
Inept players sometimes whack their own horses in the head with their polo mallet.
Horses bring out the ugly, macho side of a lot of men. I have only rarely seen the same effect with women.
Since Muslims don't believe in putting animals down, a horse can writhe in pain on the ground and die a slow death while its owners do nothing.

Ripping Out the Heart of Borneo

2005-08-17T11:49:00.000+08:00

Coming right on the heels of the recent haze hell...

Here comes a plan to turn 4.4 million hectares of mostly mountain rainforest in Borneo into the world's largest oil palm plantation. This insane plan, to be funded by China, is supported by the Indonesian government, despite the fact, according to the Worldwide Fund for Nature, that:

Most of this mountainous region, part of the "Heart of Borneo," still holds huge tracts of forests supporting endangered species like orangutans and pygmy elephants, and 14 of the island's 20 major rivers originate there. According to WWF, new species have been discovered there at a rate of three per month over the last decade, making the area one of the richest on the globe for biodiversity.

And despite the fact that some experts are saying it's not a good environment for growing oil palms anyway:

"It doesn't make commercial or conservation sense to rip the forest out of the Heart of Borneo to plant a crop that cannot grow in mountainous conditions," said Dr. Mubariq Ahmad, chief executive director of WWF-Indonesia.

At least it's not a project being funded by Malaysian companies! Small comfort that will be...you can read more about it at http://releases.usnewswire.com/GetRelease.asp?id=51632

The Monkey Man

2005-08-15T22:50:00.000+08:00

While walking my dogs one day about two years ago, I saw a long-tailed macaque chained in a neighboring yard. Immediately, alarm bells clamoured in my head. I knew who lived in this abandoned house surrounded by beer bottles, weeds, broken furniture and rotting food debris: An Indonesian squatter, his Indian wife and their two children. The gossip in the neighbourhood was that he lived by petty crime and by sending his wife out to work as a prostitute at night.

This is a picture I took of another captive long-tailed macaque in similarly sad circumstances. I hope to tell her story another time.

The Monkey Man, as I came to think of him, was tall and husky, with a shiny bald crown, thick moustache and distinctly threatening manner. He followed me home on his motorbike the very day we moved into our house. He tried to question me, although he spoke no English, and I, no Malay. Undeterred, he sat outside our gate on his bike, the engine sputtering, studying me and our house with a speculative look in his eyes.

He came back again and again, apparently just to stare. I assumed he was sizing up our house as a potential target for a break-in. Whenever I walked our dogs, he would trail after me on his bike, alternately scowling and grinning. I avoided him as best I could, and, when I couldn’t, I tried to look tough and unconcerned, despite the flutter in my pulse and the sweat in my palms.

Once, I saw his children – a boy and a girl – keeping kittens in a rusted little bird cage. Seeing them try to feed the kittens scraps of bread, I brought over some kitten food and tried to explain the basics of kitten care to them. The girl, the older of the two, caught on quickly and nurtured the kittens as best she could. I checked on her and them for several days. But one morning when I arrived, the kittens were gone. Neither the mother, nor the girl, who spoke some English, was willing to tell me what had happened to them. Other animals came and went, faster than I could intervene: puppies, rabbits, birds.

The girl not only spoke some English but could also read and write, which the boy could not. Their mother explained that her husband refused to let him attend school, because “he didn’t want his son to know anything he didn’t.” In this case, sexual discrimination actually worked in the girl’s favour, although given her beauty and the rumours about the mother, I worried about what her future might be. I tried to persuade the mother to seek help from family welfare, although I knew very little about what could be done in such a case.

And now, here was a monkey trapped in this hell. He had a metal hoop bolted around his neck and was chained to an old telephone wire spool. His chain allowed him to climb up and down the single, almost leafless tree within reach and inside the drum of the spool. The spool and the area around it were filthy with excrement and garbage.

I started visiting the house, loathe as I was to attract the attention of the man. I took fruit to the monkey (he liked bananas when they were overripe and he was fond of rambutan) and talked to the woman repeatedly. I offered to buy the monkey, despite the obvious drawback that her husband would almost certainly go out and catch another one. A moot point, anyway, as she insisted he wouldn't part with the monkey for any amount of money. (Neighbors told me that they suspected he used the monkey to break into houses.)

The second thing she made clear was that she was terrified not only of her husband, but also of her little boy. I understood that; the boy once charged at me with a parang when I remonstrated with him for beating the monkey. It was a clear case of “monkey see, monkey do.” I had seen the man beat the monkey with a stick himself, while his wife stood by and told me how much he “loved” the monkey. I had no doubt he also beat his wife and children. (Later, the boy disappeared for several days. The mother told me he had run away because his father was angry.) She also said the monkey was “naughty.” If by naughty, she meant that the monkey was hungry, frustrated, bored, hostile and crazed with fear, she was right. And her boy was on his way to turning out the same way.

I called the SPCA for help. They told me that they had nothing to do with the abuse of wild animals and advised me to contact the Department of Wildlife. A number of phone calls later, someone in the Department said they would investigate the situation. I followed up with another call, and was told that the man had a proper license to keep the monkey and was doing nothing wrong.

“You saw how the monkey is kept?” I asked in disbelief. “On a chain with no food or water? Surrounded by its own filth?” I was assured their investigator had seen it and there was no problem. “But he beats it,” I protested. That was of no more concern to the Department of Wildlife than it had been to the SPCA.

I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to see the monkey again. I didn't want to look into his hopeless eyes and know that I couldn't do a damn thing to help him. I made myself go back anyway. Day after day, I went. I had a nebulous idea that if I could gain his trust, I might be able to sneak him away at night eventually – if I could figure out a way to cut the chain or the hoop. I would need the monkey’s cooperation to do that, lest he scream the house awake or bite me. I lay awake nights, formulating and discarding plans for rescuing him from his captor.

The mother and children became used to me hanging around and began to ignore me. I had an idea, even hazier than the one about abducting the monkey, that somehow my being around might be a good influence, might calm the boy and encourage the girl and even lead the woman to leave her husband. I guess I thought a lot of myself and my influence.

The monkey, too, grew accustomed to my presence. Each time I went, I stood closer to him. At first, he would lunge to the fullest extent of his chain – which made me want to cry with pity – shrieking and baring his fangs at me. I persisted, moving closer day by day, always with a wary eye on him. A day finally came when I could stand within his chain-range, sharing his invisible prison cell with him.

He would take the fruit I offered him, keeping his distance and reaching for it at arm’s length. Sometimes, he still lapsed into displays of frightened ferocity that drove me back a few steps, but his outbursts grew less and less frequent.

When the moment of bonding came, it was in classic primate fashion. I feigned grooming myself, plucking imaginary lice from my equally imaginary fur and “eating” them. He watched, utterly absorbed. Without making eye contact, I held out a hand to him. He took it gently in his own and explored it with his fingers. The skin of his hands was baby-soft against mine. Tentatively, I began to pretend to look for lice in his fur.

And then – an amazing moment! – he held my wrist in one hand, pushed up my shirt sleeve with the other and began to groom me. He brushed the delicate hairs on my arm with a black finger nail and peered intently at my freckles. He plucked at them repeatedly, in an effort to remove the “lice” from my arm. I felt like Jane Goodall, Diane Fossey and Birute' Galdikas all rolled into one!

We were friends – but I was no closer to saving him. Depressed and physically ill, I left for a long-overdue trip home, heartsick with worry and uncertain whether I would ever find a way to help him or the children. When I returned, the squatters and the monkey were gone. For many months, I assumed they had taken the monkey with them until a neighbour told me that he had called the Dept. of Wildlife while I was gone and raised Cain until they confiscated the monkey. I think it’s possible that his being Malaysian, and male, made the difference.

I hope the monkey ended up at Zoo Negara, where I understand there is a rehabilitation program in place. Monkeys are retrained to live in the wild and released into protected areas, with the hope that they will go deeper and deeper into the forest, away from humans.

I worry about what happened to the children. If I had known they would be gone when I got back, I would have pushed harder to get the woman to do something, anything, to get her children away from the Monkey Man. Would she have left him? Would the authorities have helped her? I don’t know.