Unlikely Friendships : 47 Remarkable Stories From the Animal Kingdom (9 page)

{O
REGON
, U.S.A., 1999}

Have you ever been entranced as the wind dances over water's glassy surface and fish move in perfect unison beneath? A nine-year-old golden retriever named Chino found that enchantment in a suburban backyard pond in Oregon a few years back.

The main draw for Chino was Falstaff, the koi—a large, multicolored goldfish related to carp, a species that has been selectively bred in Asia for centuries to bring out both beauty and personality. Now popular in Westerners' backyard ponds, koi are as gregarious a fish as you'll find. And Chino was no slouch when it came to social graces.

But no matter how forthcoming, consider the obstacles that
these two animals had to surmount in order to show affection. They couldn't take a walk together, or wrestle, or cuddle, or share a bone. In fact, the only physical contact between dog and fish was one wet nose to another. Yet friends they seemed to become.

Mary Heath and her husband had a backyard pond full of koi. Chino, never particularly interested in other dogs he met on the street, was instead enticed by these unfamiliar creatures and their fluid movement beneath the water. He'd stretch out at the pond's edge on the warm rocks, watching as the fish circled and descended and rose up to feed.

The dog's interest grew when the Heaths moved to a new home and built a new pond with a great perch for the pup. Just two of their original fish moved with the family, including the large, tame, orange and black beauty Falstaff. With fewer swimmers to distract him, Chino focused on Falstaff, and the two discovered a mutual curiosity. “They'd meet at the edge of the pond, and Chino would lean or lie down and put his nose in the water,” says Mary. “They'd touch noses or Falstaff would nibble Chino's front paws.” She says Falstaff was one of the few creatures whose presence got a tail wag out of the old dog. “The first thing Chino would do when we let him outside was go look for that fish,” she says, “and Falstaff would come right over.” Then Chino would lie flat on his belly for a half
hour or more, she says, completely captivated by his water-bound pal.

The fish brain is a tiny thing, and no one really knows whether a carp has the capacity for an experience like friendship. But something brought these unlike animals together day after day. Perhaps it was the food pellets Falstaff knew to expect whenever another species approached the pond. Or maybe the mind of a fish can process more complex concepts than just eat, swim, mate, or flee, especially this type of fish—a genetic far cry from your fancy-tailed carnival prize. In parts of Asia, koi, with their regal beauty, smarts, and strength, represent the ability to overcome adversity and move forward with great courage. For some, they are also symbols of good fortune.

And the golden retriever, well, whatever the brain power, it's hard to find one without a lolling tongue and curious nature, ready to offer a friendly wag of the tail.

{C
ALIFORNIA
, U.S.A., 1984}

This tale has become a classic, revealing just how capable of emotion some of our closest nonhuman relatives are.

Koko the gorilla had a best friend that fit in the palm of her hand.

It was 1984 when the 230-pound ape, taught to communicate in American Sign Language, drew two fingers across her cheek like whiskers. It was a signal to her teacher at the Gorilla Foundation, Francine “Penny” Patterson, that she wanted a cat for her birthday. The teacher wasn't surprised; she had been reading to Koko for years, and the ape's most beloved stories were “The Three Little Kittens” and “Puss in Boots.” Unfulfilled by a stuffed animal, Koko
was eventually given her pick from a litter of abandoned kittens. She chose a morsel of fur so tiny the gorilla could have crushed him with barely a squeeze. Instead, she cuddled the tailless gray male like a child would a doll, and named him All Ball.

Koko was smitten. She treated Ball as other gorillas treated their babies, carrying him tucked in her thigh, trying to nurse him, tickling and scratching him, even playing dress-up by draping napkins over his body and head. Seeming to know her own strength, she handled him gently, even tolerating his kitten bites without a hint of aggression in return. When asked by her teacher if she loved her little Ball, Koko signed, “Soft, good cat.”

The relationship was cut sadly short. The winter after Koko took the kitten in, Ball escaped the gorilla enclosure and was hit by a car. Those working with Koko say the ape's tremendous sadness was clear, revealed in hand gestures, her silent language of grief, and her crying calls.

In a
National Geographic
article about the remarkable ape, her signed words were translated this way:

When asked if she wanted to talk about her loss, Koko gestured: “Cry.”

“What happened to your kitty?” her trainer asked.

“Sleep cat.”

Pointing to a photo of a cat that resembled Ball, Koko's big hands spoke again:

“Cry, sad, frown.”

But in gorillas, as in humans, time heals even deep wounds, and there is room in the heart to care for another. Koko soon bonded with two new kittens, Lipstick and Smoky. Her mothering instinct rekindled, the gorilla impressed her human caregivers again by showering gentle affection on animals so unlike herself.