New chimpanzee arrives at Oregon Zoo
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(Gallery by Benjamin Brink, The Oregonian)
She's 35.
He's 42.
When she moves -- so far, anyhow -- he follows.
The separations in between, though, must make the guy pine. The evidence: Last time they were split and he finally relocated to her town, the moving truck's doors opened, he saw her standing there and he burst into applause.
This time, only last month, when he transferred from Oklahoma City to Portland and caught sight of her again, he erupted with excitement, vocalizing, gesturing and reaching out to groom her ... because that's the chimpanzee way.
His name is Jackson.
Her's is Jennifer Davis. Since December 2011, she's worked as the
curator of primates and Africa.
By chance, choice and good fortune, the chimp and zookeeper have kept company on and off since 2001, when she studied zoology at
and volunteered with primates at the
. She planned to enroll in veterinary school but the apes, with their complex brains, intricate social systems and charismatic personalities, hooked her, she says. She's worked with them ever since.
Jackson, the first male chimp at the Oregon Zoo since
, and introduced this week to the zoo's females, was born in the wild in Africa. He was captured and sent to the Jacksonville Zoo when he was 1 or younger, which must have been traumatic for him, Davis says. Same with his early years -- an era before zoos built naturalistic exhibits, held groups of chimps instead of solitary animals, and adopted hands-off handling techniques, letting apes be apes.
For years, Jackson never saw another chimp, Davis says. Humans fed him, watered him, played with him and disciplined him in ways, she says, that often were harsh.
By the time she met him he was 30 and lived with a small group of female chimps that also had come from unfortunate situations. "They were loveable misfits," she says.
In 2005, Davis moved to the
, which had four chimps but wanted more. By 2007, while still with the zoo, she joined the
, which manages the chimp population in AZA-accredited operations across North America. Davis was among the first to know when zoos wanted to move chimps in or send them elsewhere, so she heard right off that Jacksonville planned to phase out its chimpanzee exhibit.
Jackson and his female companions needed a new home. Davis remembered him as "one of the sweetest males I've ever worked with."
"I was like, 'I'll take 'em,' " she says.
Jackson, 42, weighs 111 pounds.
The challenge: Oklahoma City's zoo had three other male chimps. Jackson hadn't been around males in more than 25 years.
Raised by humans, he didn't always behave as typical male chimps do. He didn't understand breeding or display in the usual dominant or submissive ways chimps have, using elaborate postures, facial expressions, movements and vocalizations.
Social hierarchies being what they are among apes, Davis knew Jackson's transition could be tough. It was.
His abnormal behavior caused fights and he was on the losing end.
One missing pinky toe and chunks gone from each of his ears serve as reminders.
"We still think he's handsome," Davis says, "if a little Picasso-ey."
Eventually, Jackson and his troop-mates adjusted and all was right in their world until a dominance battle broke out last year between two males. Jackson took the brunt of their aggression and his injuries grew increasingly significant. He'd be better off, keepers figured, in another zoo.
By then, Davis worked in Portland, where the chimp troop had diminished to three females all deep into middle age: Chloe, 43; Delilah, 42; and Leah, 39.
That sort of company, Davis knew, might suit 42-year-old Jackson.
Plus, he'd remember her and primate keeper Scott Jackson, who also recently moved from Oklahoma City's zoo to Portland's.
(Should you wonder about chimps' memories and bonds with their caretakers, Jackson for years has tried to remove a mole on Davis' forearm by scratching at it when she holds it up to the glass separating them. He tried again this week.)
Jackson arrived in Portland in January. This week, after a routine quarantine, keepers introduced him to two of his new exhibit mates.
First, the animals were placed in hearing range. When Jackson vocalized, Davis says, the females listened without uttering a sound. When they grew noisy, he stayed silent.
Next, they gave Chloe visual access to Jackson. Each could see the other through a metal gate, though they were six or seven feet apart. She shrieked an alarm call to her fellow females and slapped aggressively at the caging.
Keepers moved Chloe away and gave Delilah a try.
Her facial expressions, Davis says, showed interest, not fear. Instead of slapping, she reached her fingers toward Jackson, whose distinguished face sports a few freckles and a graying beard. Instead of screeching, she delivered excited grunts and sounds resembling giggles.
Keepers moved the two closer, with only a mesh barrier between them. Delilah put her fingers in Jackson's mouth and he put his in hers, a submissive, trusting gesture, according to Davis. Through the mesh, they tried to hug.
When keepers removed the barrier, Delilah's lips met Jackson's and stayed there.
"It was one of the longest chimp kisses I've ever seen," Davis says.
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