Killing Keiko (13 page)

Step Four
: Seize the moment!

We would immediately begin placing an emphasis on what influenced Keiko’s behavior
outside of training sessions. Getting Keiko in shape, both physically and mentally,
started with cleaning up his training program and sharpening the basics. But training
sessions only constituted about four hours of a twenty-four-hour day. What influenced
Keiko’s behavior the other twenty hours was of paramount importance, and it would
become increasingly so throughout the next several stages of the release effort.

Without delay we instituted a constant “watch.” This meant that we needed to observe
Keiko and his environment at all times.

We had to consider every conceivable variable from boats to birds. Each situation
represented an opportunity to either reinforce (or strengthen) behavior from Keiko
that moved him in the direction of acting like a wild whale or to discourage behaviors
or objects that we did not want to accidentally or indirectly promote. Humans were
the sun in his sky. We had to be supremely aware of what we shone upon.

Accidental reinforcement can occur in numerous ways, such as starting a training session
while Keiko is sitting still and inactive. That would be bad (starting something that
is positive as a result of inactive behavior thus rewarding inactivity). Or say, if
a boat were to approach the bay pen right after Keiko stopped swimming.
The interesting diversion of a boat full of humans arriving at just the wrong time
could reinforce Keiko for the act of being sedentary. The most common and seemingly
innocent events could go completely unnoticed and yet have great influence on the
ways in which Keiko’s behavior developed. Clearly, we needed to start watching and
actively managing Keiko’s world 24/7.

Step Five
: Get rid of the pacifier.

Last in the first series of immediate changes, we had to take Keiko’s “pacifier” away.
Keiko had a very large blue plastic Boomer Ball that stayed in the water in the bay
pen at all times. When no one was interacting with Keiko, he sat motionless, like
a log floating on the surface (logging) next to his three-foot in diameter ball. There
were two rather pivotal reasons why this attachment was not helpful.

First, there are not many blue balls floating around in the wide open ocean, and it
was doubtful he could take this one with him. Secondly, it was incentive for Keiko
to remain inactive, floating all day next to his inanimate companion. The latter of
these two was less obvious to the staff, who considered the artificial object a form
of enrichment.

But there was more. The blue ball also provided Keiko with sexual stimulation. That’s
right, he became “randy” with the favored toy. The deviant affection was an impediment
on too many levels to list. For the reasons stated and more, his attachment to the
blue Boomer Ball could not be allowed to continue.

However, it can be dangerous to abruptly remove something that carries such a strong
attachment. Therefore we began the lengthy process of slowly removing the blue ball
from Keiko’s environment, systematically rewarding appropriate behavior in its absence.

A by-product of this first round of adjustments was the onset of one highly toxic
allergen detested by the human animal: change. As Stephen Claussen frequently reiterated:
“It is change; therefore we must fear it!” As humorous as the statement was, the sentiment
prevailed among the staff in the first several months of our management of the release
effort. Slowly, as the stark reality of
the new edicts were implemented, morale began to break down within the existing staff.
The honeymoon was definitely over.

In complete contrast to the growing friction within the ranks of the reintroduction
team, Keiko himself was actually beginning to respond, gradually at first, but eventually
in leaps and bounds.

Amidst the burst of initial changes we needed to increase Keiko’s activity level,
exercise him, and get him out of the funk in which he was mired. But in order to do
this, we had to reteach him everything he knew. Start over. Why? Keiko’s past training
was exemplified by laziness: lazy responses to signals, lazy movements, lazy everything,
and his trainers not only allowed it, they in fact trained it. In his past, this apathy
had been a hallmark of his conditioning. He was the slowest and fattest killer whale
Robin or I had ever seen.

In nature, a lackadaisical approach to catching food for the day will not fill the
belly. We wanted crisp, awe-inspiring predator-like reflex reactions and alertness.
In order to create an attentive, sharp, and quick animal, we had to go back and start
from the beginning.

It almost seems common sense that an animal being prepared for a life in the wild
has nothing to gain from continued relationships with humans. Those relationships
would ultimately conflict with Keiko’s long-term survival in the wild. But in order
to move toward a goal of less human contact, we had to start with more human contact.
The only way to physically jump-start this whale was to begin intensive exercise,
and we had to do this using the trained behaviors that Keiko already knew well. More
to the point, we were going to push Keiko beyond any work level he had ever known
in the care of man. To be able to push Keiko out of this daze, I would have to be
prepared to offer him something worthy of motivating him. I would need to establish
a solid relationship with the Big Man that could withstand the test of the grueling
months to come.

Stepping up to the side of the med pool, I glanced to my left and waited. I wanted
to make sure Keiko was moving in my direction before calling him over. It was an unusually
nice day, sunny and with very little wind. The air was still enough that snow accumulated
on every horizontal pocket in the cliffs and nearly blanketed the nearby town. In
the easiness of the afternoon the birds overhead were loud, a ceaseless cacophony
of chirps and whistles.

Recognizing my best opportunity, while Keiko was moving, I bent down and slapped the
surface of the water. Keiko didn’t show any response to my slap. He casually continued
his movement in my direction and eventually arrived right in front of me. He didn’t
lift his head or make any motion to acknowledge that I was there; rather, he only
came to a slow stop with his nose pressed lightly against the side of the med pool
structure.

I waited. Keiko didn’t move. I could see he was watching me, rolling his eyes just
so. But that was it. After a few moments I stepped back and walked away from the side
of the pool. Behind me, Karen and Stephen had been watching.

“What was that?” Stephen asked with a smirk, finding the whole situation slightly
humorous. After all that we had talked about during the last week, they probably anticipated
that I would wield some magical power over Keiko and were expecting to be impressed.
It couldn’t have been less impressive. I had to jump up to touch bottom.

“I’m not accepting that—if he wants my attention he’s going to have to sit up and
give me his.” I didn’t mean for it to sound arrogant, but to Stephen and Karen it
did. We stepped out of Keiko’s line of sight and continued debriefing the short session.

“If we’re going to get this boy moving we have to start looking for more energy …
tough love,” I said. Karen didn’t like it.

“He came over the first time, though.” It was more a statement than a question (and
a measure of what they were used to). She asked what was next, more to test me than
out of genuine interest. We were leaning against the north side of the green research
shack,
staying out of Keiko’s view. Peering around the corner, I could see that he remained
in the same position where I had left him.

“I’m going to wait until he moves away and is actively swimming, then I’ll call him
over again and see if he gives me anything worth reinforcing.” I avoided a direct
answer, hoping instead to illustrate my point. We weren’t even scratching the surface,
and yet I could tell Karen was already uncomfortable with how I was pushing Keiko.
A few minutes later, Keiko was swimming in the north pool again. I stepped back up
and called him over, again waiting until he was facing in my direction before giving
any signal.

He approached much the same way and stopped, nose pressed against the side of the
pool. I made no reaction and waited.

Behind me Stephen asked, “What are you looking for?”

“Any sign of movement—even at the molecular level at this point,” I replied.

Finally Keiko lifted his head, and for the first time that morning his eyes appeared
above the surface. I immediately reacted, giving the whistle bridge a short burst
and tossing him a single herring. I moved quickly down to my right about thirty feet
and slapped again. This time he came over slightly faster, not much, but arrived with
his head up and looking at me intently. I made a huge difference in my energy and
posture, reacting to Keiko’s improved attention. I reinforced him again, this time
with a small handful of herring, then broke away from the session.

The rest of the afternoon I repeated the same sequence of interaction, asking for
a little more each time. I kept my sessions with Keiko short, each four to five minutes
at most, and put a lot of emphasis on a variety of differing reinforcements or rewards.
He never knew when I would show up or how long I’d stay, but the result was always
intriguing. Sometimes I gave him a quick rub down on his pectoral fins using a brush.
Other times I used the water hose to massage his flukes or spray on his tongue. I
made quick and novel changes matching the level of his effort. That day was all about
how far and fast I could push him. I wanted to find his limits, see how far he would
go for the new guy.

Over the first week or more I made few attempts to work with Keiko myself, instead
working him through the existing staff. There was sound theory behind this approach.
We needed to teach the staff solid foundations of behavioral modification, and the
best way to do that was to make them actually do the training, with guidance of course.
I was dead wrong.

Largely because of the gray areas that came with sloppy and inconsistent interactions,
Keiko’s day-to-day life was rife with confusion. This did not lend itself to strong
relationships with his caregivers. Also, most of the staff tried very hard to implement
the instruction they were being given, but ultimately Keiko was learning faster than
they were. I could no longer afford the delayed responses and second tries that came
from working through the existing staff. More and more, I started working with Keiko
directly.

It didn’t take long to get a solid grasp on my relationship with Keiko. In at least
one way, it was easy for him, as I was very clear about what I expected. If he met
the requirement, great things happened. If not, nothing happened. It was black and
white. Keiko responded to this clarity and consistency and began to excel. He was
a quick study and began discriminating when it was me working with him. He knew from
the start of each session that I would ask a lot of him, but he also knew I would
meet his efforts with like energy.

The most effective trainers put a lot of planning into their reinforcements ahead
of time and are ready to respond when the right behavior happens. Contrasting this
elusive principle, it seems human nature to focus on what the animal is doing wrong
rather than what’s right. In the world I came from, the better an animal was doing,
the harder the trainer worked in creating reinforcement. The best training sessions
leave the trainer exhausted and dripping with sweat, no matter the frigid water or
blustery chilled winds. There had never been much energy or planning put into providing
exciting and diverse rewards in Keiko’s daily training interactions. This aspect alone
allowed me to stand out from the
rest of the crowd. Fortunately, the staff was learning also, and the results we were
seeing with Keiko quickly became motivating to everyone.

Animals in a training environment tend to “mirror” their trainer’s energy level. Too
many times I’ve witnessed a trainer plop down on his butt in front of an animal at
the start of a training session only to have that animal take one look at Mr. or Ms.
Boredom and promptly leave the scene for something more interesting, like watching
paint dry. A tried and true method I had utilized in the past proved the easiest way
to get trainers “off their butts” and infuse energy into their interactions with Keiko:
music.

As tribute to one of our favorite Icelandic coworkers, Mr. Iceland, we blasted “Dancing
Queen” by Abba across the bay pen during some exercise sessions (only in the early
stages and weather permitting). The music was for the trainers, and their spike in
energy produced night-and-day results in Keiko. Take a moment to picture the scene:
“Dancing Queen” playing in the mind’s ear, trainers flamboyantly engaging their entire
body presenting to Keiko what would otherwise be a mere “hand signal” moving in tune
with “… young and sweet … having—the—time—of—your—life….” Music provided much levity
but also produced some of Keiko’s most effective “workouts.” It was a pure, uncomplicated
transition for the training staff to grasp and illustrated the fact that food alone
was not a key motivator. By merely energizing the trainer’s posture and creativity
to react to Keiko’s successes, we could extract some pretty spectacular energy from
Keiko in return.

In the beginning my time was dominated with sharpening the effectiveness of each and
every tool in the training environment and eliminating “superstitious” beliefs about
how learning occurs.

In every setting in which I had previously conditioned behavior with animals, we always
“debriefed” after training sessions,
discussing the various observations and identifying areas for improvement. Not only
was this an important part of any environment where success relied on consistency,
but it was especially important when the subject of that discussion was a killer whale.
Small mistakes can lead to menacing consequences with the ocean’s top predator. In
this case, we couldn’t let small mistakes undermine Keiko’s needs.