Today it was my turn to shift on the new side of the building with Cy’s group. Shifting, in sanctuary parlance, refers to operating the chimpanzee doors that connect the various enclosures and ensuring that the chimps move between them so that we can conduct routine cleaning and maintenance. We typically structure our shifting routine around meals and forages, which helps to incentivize cooperation—the chimps enter a clean room to snack on sunflower seeds or lettuce and we close off the dirty room behind them. But it doesn’t take much to interrupt the routine. The chimps, possessing considerable intelligence and virtually unlimited free time, have the ability to decide whether we succeed or not. A single stubborn chimp or strategically placed toy can grind the whole morning to a halt.
I should point out that it’s not typically an adversarial endeavor. In fact, some of the chimps go out of their way to be helpful. For example, Honey B, while famous for her flagrant disregard for our cleaning routine in general, often plays Assistant to the Regional Manager while we’re shifting. As we start to move doors, she scans for any blankets or toys that might prevent them from fully closing and helpfully pulls them out of the way. She does this without even being asked. As I worked to close off Playroom 2 (Lupine) this morning, Honey B followed along with me and dutifully cleared each doorway. Of course, in doing so she stationed herself on the wrong side of the door, in a room I was trying to clear. So much for the routine. I remind her that the Assistant to the Regional Manager, regardless of her title, still has to eat breakfast with the other chimps.
The process of shifting inevitably leads chimpanzee caregivers to one of the most important lessons they will learn—never play mind games with a chimpanzee. It’s tempting to try to fool the chimps or lull them into complacency when they are disrupting the routine. You don’t want me to close that door? What if I walk away from the controls (…while my buddy Chad hides behind the fern, ready to close the door when you least expect it!)? It may work once if you’re lucky. And then that chimp will dedicate the rest of her life to thwarting your plans, just to spite you. That is not hyperbole.
Still, there are times when you must take advantage of an opportunity before it’s gone. At CSNW, we utilize several different kinds of chimp doors, and they all have their own distinct advantages and disadvantages. The newer wing contains mostly hydraulic doors, owing to a donation of equipment and material from the former Chimpanzee and Human Communication Institute as it was being demolished. One of the downsides to these particular doors is that they are fairly slow, which leads to an all too common scenario.
By the end of this morning’s routine, I had given up on cleaning Front Room 5, as my Assistant had staked a claim to it and did not look to be changing her mind anytime soon. I reopened Playroom 2 and prepared to move on with the day. As I was leaving the chimp area, I noticed that Front Room 5 was empty. Surely, Honey B must have been camped on the other side of the door, watching my every move. I checked the monitor—she was in the Greenhouse. And so were most of the other chimps! This was my chance! I radioed Chad to tell him of my change of plans and raced to the controls.
When the hydraulic pump kicks on, the chimps can hear that doors are being operated. Before I even touched the lever, I heard a rumbling from the playroom. As Door G inched downward, the rumbling grew louder. The door slowly but steadily made its way down the tracks and would soon be low enough that a chimp couldn’t possibly fit through. It was almost there!
And then, before I knew it, that tiny opening was filled with a whole lot of…
…TERRY! He stopped the door in its tracks and, like Indiana Jones, he had squeezed his way through without a moment to spare.
We encourage cooperation with the chimps, rather than competition, because it’s better for their well-being. But let’s be honest, it’s also because we will always lose.