Chimpanzee Sanctuary Northwest

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medical

First, Do No Harm

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Primum non nocere.

It’s perhaps the best-known axiom of the Hippocratic Oath, which in various forms has served as an ethical guidepost for physicians since the 5th century BCE. Though the exact phrase appears nowhere in the oath itself, and would not appear until over two thousand years later in an obscure English medical text, the principle has been at the core of western medical ethics from its inception. It’s often explained as follows: “Given an existing problem, it may be better not to do something, or even to do nothing, than to risk causing more harm than good.” While Hippocrates almost certainly did not intend for his oath to be applied to nonhuman animals, I believe his admonition is equally relevant to the medical care of captive chimpanzees.

When I teach about animal welfare, I often draw on the work of David Fraser. In a paper entitled Assessing Animal Welfare: Different Philosophies, Different Scientific Approaches, Fraser reviews the ways in which people concerned with animals have traditionally attempted to promote welfare and summarizes their work into three main objectives: (1) To ensure good physical health, (2) To minimize negative affective states (e.g., pain, distress, fear) and to allow for normal pleasures, and (3) To allow animals to live in ways that are natural for their species. As he explains, the different levels of emphasis we each place on these objectives do not necessarily arise from different sets of facts but rather from applying different sets of values. In the sanctuary world, we often find that people involved in the care of chimpanzees share the same good intentions but weight each criterion differently according to their own unique roles and perspectives. For example, a veterinarian or vet tech may be apt to focus more on the prevention of illness and disease, a caregiver may be more attuned to the emotional state of the animals they care for, and a member of the public may desire to see animals living as close to their wild state as possible above all else.

The challenge we face in attempting to reconcile these different values is that our efforts to promote welfare as judged by one criterion do not always improve welfare as judged by the others. In fact, a single-minded focus on any single objective can lead, somewhat counterintuitively, to reduced states of welfare overall. A classic example of this concerns food. If you want to make a chimpanzee happy, give them something to eat – they will grunt, squeak, and scream with delight. But focusing on this strategy alone and without reasonable limits will eventually lead to poor health in the form of diabetes, heart disease, or other potentially preventable ailments. The same is true for strategies involving natural living. If we choose to deny shelter from inclement weather to the animals in our care just because their wild counterparts don’t enjoy the same advantage, we contribute to avoidable suffering. These examples illustrate how genuine efforts to promote happiness or natural behavior without adequate concern for the other objectives can have the counterproductive effect of decreasing welfare. The same can be true, I would argue, for our attempts to promote physical health through frequent routine exams under anesthesia.

Sometimes I daydream about a world in which we can take the chimps by the hand and walk them into a clinic for a routine physical – just roll out some of that paper on the exam table, plop them down on their butts, and give them a thorough evaluation. If we don’t find anything wrong, we can give them a lollipop and send them on their way back to the sanctuary.

The reality of providing medical care to chimpanzees is, of course, very different. I should state at the outset that much can and should be done cooperatively through positive reinforcement training (PRT). We can treat wounds, take temperatures, collect urine for analysis – even obtain some x-rays – all while the chimpanzees are awake and safely situated on the other side of a barrier. Some captive chimpanzees are even trained to allow blood draws and cardiac ultrasounds through the mesh. But most have not been trained to such an extent, either due to their personal histories or the finite resources of the institutions in which they live. And there are some procedures that cannot be done properly through the mesh regardless of training. Sure, you can try to palpate an awake chimpanzee’s abdomen but you might not get your arm back.

Jody places her foot into the x-ray box

In order to conduct a thorough physical examination, a chimpanzee must be anesthetized. If the thought of anesthesia has you imagining yourself laying in a hospital bed with a mask over your face, attempting to count backwards from one hundred as you peacefully fade from consciousness, you are definitely not a chimpanzee, because chimpanzees have to be anesthetized before they even make it to the hospital. We accomplish this by way of intramuscular injection, which can be administered in a number of ways. Ideally, we use PRT to desensitize them to the stick of the needle and the sting of the injection. They will then learn to present a shoulder or thigh to the mesh and hold still until the injection is fully administered. Jamie and Honey B are among our resident pros at this. When chimps don’t willingly comply but don’t run away either, we can sneak an injection by hand when they aren’t paying attention. Jody can’t bear the thought of watching us inject her but she remains curiously close to the mesh as though she knows what has to happen. Still, her scream betrays her true feelings on the matter. Then there are the chimps that won’t go down without a fight – otherwise known as Burrito. When a chimpanzee must be anesthetized but won’t cooperate, we are forced to use the dart gun.

Hollywood has done a terrible job at depicting remote anesthesia. Many people think of darts as nothing more than sewing needles with red tufts on the end, but anesthetics aren’t effective in such small volumes. We pay good money to have some of our anesthetic drugs compounded at specialized pharmacies so that they are higher in concentration, and thus effective in smaller doses, but the smallest dart we can get away with is still 1cc. And some situations may still call for a 3cc dart. The needles on these darts are gauged to allow the drug to be ejected in just a fraction of a second, lest the dart bounce or be pulled out before the drug is fully delivered, which means that they are large and cause significant pain. I’m sure you know from your own visits to the doctor that injections are typically given in well-muscled parts of the body. This is partly due to the biology of drug absorption but it’s also for your safety. You definitely don’t want to get poked in a bone or major nerve. I once gave myself a needle stick injury with a clean needle in my fingertip (while demonstrating pole syringe safety…ha!) and years later I still have numbness in that finger. Safely darting a chimpanzee requires us to hit a target measured in square inches from a distance of several feet or more – all while the target moves quickly and unpredictably. You can never truly appreciate just how puny Burrito’s little butt is until you’re trying to land a dart in it. Fortunately, the majority of my darts have been on target and all appear to have caused little to no injury, though if they were to cause an injury like the one I gave myself, how would anyone know?

3cc and 1cc anesthetic darts

We employ a number of strategies to help take the edge of the process. A sip of Valium-spiked juice an hour or so before induction can ease their anxiety, and ketamine lozenges or medetomidine-laced peanut butter can even initiate the induction process prior to injection. But eventually they have to go down, and that process is itself often traumatic. We try to conduct all of our “knock downs”, as they are referred to in lab parlance, in a small room with no furniture so that they’re less likely fall and hurt themselves. But they still do on occasion. Waking up is no walk in the park, either. Some chimps experience what’s known as a “stormy recovery”, which can involve anxiety and hallucinations. These effects can usually be mitigated with the use of additional drugs, but a few chimps seem prone to them regardless. And many of the drugs in our toolkit are contraindicated based on a chimp’s age, weight, or clinical history, leaving us with fewer options.

Anesthesia has become relatively safe in human medicine, but it is rarely done without good cause and it is still dangerous enough to require a specialist. While we lack good data for other great apes, the rate of complications would appear to be far higher than in humans. I keep a document on my computer in which I note instances in the public record of great apes dying during routine examinations. Currently, the total stands at 24 great apes since 2003. I would guess the actual number is several times higher, since it’s not exactly the kind of thing you run out and advertise if you don’t have to. Of course, we must ask: out of how many in total? It’s hard to say, but there simply aren’t that many great apes in zoos and sanctuaries. In each unfortunate case, it’s noted that the ape went in for a routine physical and never woke up. Underlying heart disease is often blamed, which is probably accurate in most cases. It may be a relatively small risk overall, but it is one with a severe and irreversible consequence.

A radiologist obtains an ultrasound of Jody’s abdomen while veterinarians tend to a wound on her foot (photo from 2020)

Is it all worth it? That is, in the absence of a clinical concern, is it right to subject the chimpanzees in our care to the risks and trauma of anesthesia – and in some cases, to abuse their trust and further deny their autonomy? Are we justified in subjecting former lab chimps like Jody to more knock downs when they had already suffered through dozens, even hundreds, before ever making it to sanctuary? Would we do the same if they were not chimpanzees but instead members of our own species? According to Fraser’s framework, it would be equally misguided to forego routine examination under anesthesia solely on the basis that it causes fear and pain. It’s our responsibility as caregivers to find a point of balance. Doing good sometimes requires doing harm, as we all know. But making that calculation requires us to wrestle with the risks and benefits of all possible actions, as well as inaction.

What do we hope to achieve through routine physicals? We can gather a significant amount of information about a chimpanzee’s health through daily observation. Are they eating less? Losing weight? Chewing on only one side of their mouth? Sleeping more? Are their gums bright and pink or pale and gray? Has their respiratory rate changed? Positive reinforcement training for cooperative medical procedures further expands the amount of information we can obtain. What should concern us, then, are those things that remain outside of our ability to diagnose through cooperative means and do not yet present any clinical signs. I’ve spoken to many colleagues and asked what they’ve discovered during routine exams that was both surprising to them and, importantly, led to treatment that reduced suffering and/or prolonged life. And to be sure, there are examples – preclinical heart, kidney, and dental disease most prominent among them. It probably goes without saying that chimpanzees are less able than most humans to share what they are feeling internally when clinical signs are absent.

Let’s stipulate for a moment, then, that routine exams are a net benefit. How often should they be performed? Many Americans are accustomed to the idea of annual physicals, but the practice was largely a product of the medical insurance industry in the 1940s and by the ‘80s most medical professional groups were advocating for a less rigid and more tailored approach. After all, the earth’s orbit around the sun has little direct association with the development of disease. Clearly, other factors like age, sex, clinical history, and the rate of progression and window of opportunity for treatment for diseases of concern would be better guides. And remember, our framework for promoting welfare should caution us from thinking that if some is good, then more is necessarily better. I was once alerted to an online discussion in which someone stated proudly that their institution conducted physicals on their prosimians every three months. It’s possible given their size that the exams were not all conducted under anesthesia, but is that really beneficial under any circumstances?

What, then, is the correct interval? Two years? Five years? Or only as needed? I must acknowledge that my views are at least in part the product of my early influences. The institutions that I worked at prior to CSNW did not conduct routine exams. And one of the Cle Elum Seven’s original veterinarians, Mel Richardson, did not advocate for them either. Dr. Mel was an animal’s friend through and through. He began as a zookeeper and later became a veterinarian for several AZA-accredited zoos, including Zoo Atlanta and nearby Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle. He served as a veterinarian for wild gorillas in Uganda and directed an orphanage for rescued gorillas and bonobos in the DRC. He went on to serve as an expert and consultant in some of the most high-profile animal rescues and animal rights court cases in North and South America. Before CSNW had taken in a single chimp, I asked him, “Do you think we should conduct routine exams?” His answer? “I have never found them to be worthwhile.”

I also can’t rule out that my own personal discomfort with the process affects my views. It can often be unpleasant to inject or dart a chimp, and there’s nothing fun about listening to the various chimes and alarms of the anesthesia machine during an exam or watching them struggle to make sense of where they are and what happened to them during recovery. Of course, my own discomfort should not be relevant – we all have to do things we don’t enjoy. But if it makes me uncomfortable, I can only imagine how the chimps feel.

Today, CSNW relies on a team of veterinary professionals, led by the incomparable Dr. Erin, that includes veterinarians, vet techs, physicians, and nurses, all with impeccable credentials and unwavering dedication to the chimpanzees. And yet we continue to debate, in good faith, the value of exams in the absence of clinical concerns. Some believe, as Dr. Mel did, that we should only intervene when we have a clear reason to do so. Others feel that the risks of inaction, at least in some cases and at some intervals, outweigh the risks of complications and trauma of anesthesia, and I trust them every bit as much as I trusted Mel. Each of them is right to believe as they do. Same facts, different values. No easy answer.

The system that we settled on to help us navigate this dilemma is to conduct Annual Health and Behavior Evaluations. Anthony, CSNW’s Health and Behavior Coordinator, compiles a summary of relevant information from our medical database for each chimpanzee – age, sex, the date of their last exam, ongoing health issues or concerns, the status of their cooperative medical behavior training, health data such as weight measurements, radiographs, heart rates from PRT sessions, etc. – and sends it for review along with a survey to the staff. Survey questions are designed to solicit feedback on medical and behavioral concerns from those who know the chimpanzees best, from their relationships with other chimpanzees in their group to the presence or absence of stress-related behavior. Results are then reviewed by a medical and behavioral committee along with the chimp’s file and a health plan is formulated for the upcoming period. These plans could include changes in diet if a chimpanzee has gained too much weight, training for specific behaviors if more health data is needed, such as urine collection from an aging female chimpanzee to help monitor kidney function, or increased enrichment for a chimpanzee that exhibits boredom or inactivity. The plan may also include scheduling a physical exam if one is deemed worthwhile based on the individual’s history and clinical status. But there is no requirement for one, and no fixed timeline. We are still left to rely on judgment and consensus, albeit through a formalized process tailored to each individual.

Jody returns from the clinic (photo from 2020)

Do you ever have a strong opinion about other people’s opinions without having a strong opinion of your own?  When I hear people say that chimpanzees should be given frequent exams under anesthesia, I am convinced they are wrong. I am far more sympathetic to the idea that routine physicals without clinical concerns are never warranted, though I am plagued by doubts – what if we miss something that could have been treated? I can play devil’s advocate all day long for any argument on the subject but I can’t tell you exactly what I believe.

I want to make clear that we never hesitate to intervene when a chimpanzee is sick or injured, and any chimp that ends up in the clinic for a known illness or injury receives a detailed and thorough exam opportunistically. In the absence of clinical signs, however, we need to acknowledge the harm we cause and place it into a context that considers every aspect of a chimpanzee’s well-being – their physical health, their happiness, their sense of security, their trust, and their autonomy. We need to take stock of what we can learn through cooperative means and determine if what remains is worth the cost of anesthetic intervention. And we must somehow learn to balance the potential harms of not doing enough with the known harms of doing more than what is necessary, as Hippocrates so wisely advised. Whatever we decide, we will at times fail, because there is no perfect way to care for animals as powerful, strong-willed, intelligent, and independent as chimpanzees in captivity. Acknowledging that fact seems like a good place to start.

Putting Out Fires

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This is the time of the year that the inland regions of the Northwest dry out and burn.

Wildfires are a natural and necessary process in the grasslands and forests of the American West, but that doesn’t make them any less daunting. The flames can turn forested hillsides to ash, drive people from their homes, and engulf any structure left in their path. The resulting haze can block out the sun for weeks and make it dangerous for many people to go outdoors. We know more about the role that such infernos play in our ecosystem, but decades of fire suppression have left abundant fuel laying around. Climate change has brought higher temperatures and drier summers, population growth has brought more people into the woods, and development has placed more anthropogenic structures in harm’s way. It’s no surprise that wildfires have grown more intense, frequent, and economically impactful in recent years.

Right now, almost a thousand personnel are fighting a wildfire that has crossed into Kittitas County and descended into its namesake valley. This agricultural hub contains the towns of Ellensburg and Cle Elum, Central Washington University, and Chimpanzee Sanctuary Northwest. The sanctuary is not threatened by this blaze (although some past fires were way too close for comfort and led us to develop a mitigation and prevention system), but the plume of smoke was visible from the sanctuary and the valley was covered in a thick blanket of haze for a couple of days (below).

The firefighting crews of the Pacific Northwest spend lots of time preparing for events like this, and their main goal is always to protect human lives and homes while allowing for nature to do its thing. The Evans Canyon Fire, as it is now called, has incinerated over 75,000 acres of land (an area 1/10 the size of my home state) and is still only partially contained. Even with diverse experts, mathematical models, state-of-the-art equipment and dedicated firefighters, one unexpected breeze could drive the fire past the breaks and into new territory. Containment depends on preparedness and insight, of course, but it also depends on luck. For now, the conditions have been forgiving enough to get us through.

This is where we found ourselves this weekend with Burrito Chimpanzee. You can do lots of things to prepare for a scenario like this, and of course we have discussed the possibility of a chimpanzee being bitten by a venomous snake. Ultimately, though, we were grateful that luck was on our side.

The snake only bit one chimpanzee, not any of the others who mobbed it. The chimps retreated, allowing the team to close off the enclosure and carefully remove the confused rattlesnake. Burrito voluntarily isolated himself in an indoor enclosure, permitting immobilization. We obtained the necessary antivenin, and a little extra, quickly. Our entire staff rushed in to help on a weekend, and Dr. Erin was able to wrangle difficult circumstances to get the life-saving treatment into Burrito. Bubba, despite his initial bad luck, once again proved his resilience and strength. There were so many ways that this situation could have unraveled, but we’re glad it didn’t.

Now, the blaze is mostly contained but the fire is not out yet, and we’re still working around the clock to make sure we can respond to any setbacks. Most importantly, the team is monitoring Burrito’s clinical signs 24/7. Diana and J.B. set up a makeshift bed in the foyer of the Chimp House (above) so that people can be around all night, and we have a supply of emergency drugs loaded and ready-to-go on the clinic counter (also above). We have charts covered in hastily scrawled observations and checklists, and we were ready to give him food, meds, and liquids as soon as he was feeling well enough to sit up. Everyone whooped when he first sat up and urinated, and the atmosphere grew even more exuberant when he reached out and took a grape. We all exhaled in relief as Burrito, our resident phoenix, rose from the proverbial ashes and began to play the “poke” game with caregivers from the comfort of his blanket nest (below). J.B. recently remarked that veterinarians never get to eat dinners in peace, but that also seems true for the rest of the sanctuary staff lately. All day, we’ve been sending texts back and forth regarding Burrito’s status, and we’ve been doing our best to keep the greater CSNW community in the loop. I’ve never been so grateful to work with such a supportive, cohesive, dedicated group of people.

With the consultation of veterinary experts, led by our own Dr. Erin, we’re taking every precaution to give Burrito the best chance at a full recovery. He’s a popular guy, overflowing with charisma, and helps us to know that his loyal fans are also supporting our efforts. We look forward to sending you all some more good news very soon. For now, though, all we can do is continue to monitor Bubba and enjoy tonight’s beautiful sunset- one that only a horrific wildfire could paint.

A trip to the clinic for Jody

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Earlier this year, we took Jody into the clinic to assess a lump developing on her foot. Unfortunately, the mass continued to grow after that procedure and cytology results suggested that further evaluation and testing was warranted.

We’re so lucky to have assistance from people like Dalila Fairchild, CRNA, who ensured that Jody was safely anesthetized and monitored throughout the exam.

Dr. Austin Hardegree assisted Dr. Erin with the foot evaluation and biopsy while Dr. Krystina Stadler, a veterinary radiologist, helped by imaging the foot mass prior to the procedure and following up on a suspected uterine fibroid discovered during Jody’s last exam.

While Dr. Stadler brought her own equipment, she also tried out our brand new Butterfly ultrasound unit, which we recently purchased though a grant from the Ruth Foundation. This user-friendly ultrasound unit works with an iPad (also purchased with the grant) and will help Dr. Erin with both general exams and emergency procedures. We are also grateful once again to Best Friends Mobile Veterinary Care for use of their digital x-ray – the only piece of equipment that we must still borrow. With more chimps joining our family as soon as next year we will undoubtedly be doing even more procedures, so we look forward to purchasing one of our own soon.

With the exam, biopsy, ultrasound, x-rays, and teeth cleaning done, we wheeled Jody back to the recovery room.

We’ll have to wait for these latest test results to see what, if anything, comes next. For now, Jody is sipping Coke and eating grapes in a sea of soft blankets. She will have to stay isolated for at least a few days to ensure that the stitches stay in place long enough for her incision to heal, but her friends will be able visit her regularly though the mesh.

Midnight bagels

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Whenever a chimp is in the clinic for a procedure, I can’t wait for it to be over so we can put them back into the recovery room.

Drs. Zamzow and Khachatryan perform surgery on Burrito

But as soon as we get them in the recovery room, I almost wish they were back in the clinic.

Diana repositions Burrito, still under anesthesia, for x-rays in the recovery enclosure

That’s because in the clinic, we have tons of information about their vitals and far more control over the administration of analgesics, antibiotics, and other drugs that are essential for well-being and even survival. Once they’re in recovery, we have to hope for a cooperative patient. And chimpanzees are not known to be very cooperative under even the best of circumstances…

If a chimpanzee has a major surgery or shows difficulty recovering from anesthesia, we will stay with them overnight – sometimes for nights on end. We’ll monitor their respiration, give medications, and in some cases just nudge them to get up in order to promote circulation and deeper breathing. Our recent sleepovers with Burrito were actually pretty quiet, though the other chimps occasionally had something to say about the cornucopia of food available only to Burrito.

During critical recovery periods, caregivers sleep just outside the recovery enclosure to provide 24-hour care.

Some of the behaviors we work on in positive reinforcement training come in handy in times like these. While a no-contact thermometer isn’t very scary to begin with, it helps that Burrito is used to holding his temple to the caging while we get a reading.

A no-contact thermometer is an effective way to record trends in body temperature
In addition to charts for medications and procedures, caregivers maintain a log of vital signs such as temperature and respiratory rate

Administering meds is the most difficult part by far. Anesthesia and medications can make a chimpanzee lose his appetite – even a professional eater like Burrito. And some medications taste and smell disgusting. So whenever a chimp is on medication after a procedure, you will find the counters filled with all sorts of goodies – pudding, applesauce, juice, yogurt, soda, smoothie, bread, bagels, baked goods, jam, honey, syrup, dried fruit…anything that will mask the pill or liquid. And in many cases it only works once, so next time it’s back to the drawing board. But they have to take their meds, so there’s no giving up.

Burrito enjoys a midnight snack (spiked with pain relievers).

We’re so grateful that Burrito’s world-famous appetite is beginning to return and his suspicion of being surreptitiously medicated is starting to wane. In the not-too-distant future, he will be back to his old routine. And while I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to go back, I know he’ll miss those midnight bagels…

Burrito and the New Veterinary Clinic

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A while back we noticed that a black spot had developed on Burrito’s gums behind one of his upper incisors. He would let us examine the spot during positive reinforcement sessions, but because of its location we were never able to conclusively determine what it was. Unfortunately, that meant we had to get him into the clinic. This time, however, we would be using our brand new clinic in Phase 1 of the new expansion.

Any time a chimpanzee is anesthetized, we try to get as much information on their health as we can, so in addition to enlisting the help of our secondary veterinarians, Jen Wallace, DVM and Erika Nelson, DVM, Dr. Erin also invited some specialists.

Stephanie Moore, CRNA, managed Burrito’s anesthesia throughout the procedure.

Lynn Nelson, DVM, DACVIM came all the way from the Washington State University College of Veterinary Medicine to do Burrito’s cardiac and abdominal ultrasound. This was her second evaluation of Burrito’s heart.

Diane Carle, DVM, DAVDC and Sara Kessler, LVT from Animal Medical Center of Seattle and Jessica Reed, DVM from Seattle Humane came to take dental x-rays and to do a full dental evaluation and cleaning.

You’ll be glad to hear that everything went great! Dr. Erin removed a small foreign body from Burrito’s gums which should heal in no time. Burrito’s teeth look good and while we’ll have to wait for his full cardiac report, all signs were positive (for a guy of his condition and age, anyway).

The new clinic is larger and better equipped than our mobile unit, and being just steps from the chimps’ indoor enclosures, it is both easier and safer to transport the chimps back and forth.

When procedures are done, we put the chimps back into a recovery room with plenty of blankets to keep them safe and comfortable as the anesthesia wears off. Dr. Erin monitored his heart with a bluetooth stethoscope that records to a phone so that the data can be reviewed and shared.

Curious George kept Burrito company.

Our thanks go out again to everyone who donated to our Phase 1 expansion and to the amazing group of nurses, technicians, and veterinarians who have ensured that Burrito gets the best medical care possible.

Sunning, sleeping, supervising

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This morning, volunteers Rose, Ray, and Fred set out an early lunch forage for the chimps. Negra spent much of her time on the Escher climbing structure – I don’t know if she has a special fondness for this structure or if she just thinks we put more food up there. Either way, it’s great to see Negra climbing so high and enjoying the sun.

Afterwards she showed that in spring you don’t always have to rely on humans for your food. There’s plenty of wild lettuce out here, thank you very much.

Jamie was deep in dreamland after the forage (no doubt dreaming about boots and books and books filled with boots) when she was awoken by some activity out back.

These people look like they need to be supervised.

The welders had arrived with some of the caging that is being installed next week.

While we are still several weeks away from having the new chimp areas up and running, we have already begun putting the human areas of Phase 1 to use. Here’s a shot of the foyer which houses the computer workstation and break areas. I can’t tell you how exciting it is to have so much space after working for over a decade out of a one-room kitchen/laundry/enrichment/office workspace.

More important than the new foyer is the new clinic, which has twice the square footage of our mobile unit and includes much more storage space.

Once everything is done, we’ll put together a video tour of the whole facility. And then it’s on to Phases 2 and 3!

Jody on the mend

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Jody is recovering right now on a big, comfortable pile of blankets after undergoing a procedure to repair an injury to her eye.

Yesterday, during lunch, the chimps got into a fight. There’s nothing unusual about that, as you probably know by now. And it’s not unusual for a chimp to get bitten or scratched during these kinds of fights either but they don’t often require much in the way of treatment. However, during this fight Jody’s eyelid became partially detached and a quick surgical repair was required.

The staff and Dr. Zamzow quickly isolated Jody in Front Room 1, our medical treatment enclosure, and prepared Jody for anesthetization. When Jody was safely under, Dr. Zamzow reattached the eyelid with a few subcuticular sutures and we did a quick health exam before letting Jody recover.

Jody getting prepped in the enclosure for an IV catheter after receiving the anesthetic:

Whenever we do these procedures, we get the other chimps out into the Greenhouse and Young’s Hill to allow the patient some peace and quiet inside during induction and recovery. By evening, Jody was starting to come around while the other chimps were eager to check in on their friend.

Jody recovering after the procedure:

Missy, Jamie, Burrito, and Foxie checking on Jody through the windows to the playroom:

When Dr. Zamzow finished suturing, Jody’s eye looked so good that I had to try to remember which eye had been injured! But the challenge in treating chimps is getting them to ignore their wounds and leave sutures in place. For the next couple of days, Jody will remain separate from the other chimps, though she can have contact with them through the caging. Foxie and Annie in particular have expressed concern for Jody and check in on her regularly.

We’ll be keeping a close watch on Jody’s eye as it heals and hoping that no follow up procedures are necessary. For now, she’s happy being catered to and seems to be really enjoying some quiet time on one of the largest nests she’s ever built.

The Princess and the Pea: