by Betty White
Dr. Patterson and Koko have lived and worked together since then in an effort to see how far Koko can come in learning and using a modified form of American Sign Language. The results have been spectacular. I have seen this firsthand, and it has been my privilege to know Koko—up close and personal.
Koko and Penny are headquartered on a lovely compound near Redwood City in Northern California. They have developed The Gorilla Foundation, committed to protecting critically endangered gorillas everywhere, whose numbers in the world continue to plummet and who, without urgently needed intervention, could face total extinction in the not-too-distant future.
The very first time I ever laid eyes on Koko, on my initial visit, was through a window of her multi-room house (it even has a restroom, which she uses appropriately!). As I passed the window, there was this enormous black face looking out at me, curious to see who was walking across her porch.
I followed Penny into a small entry area, one entire wall of which was chain-link, separating us from Koko’s living room. Pulling a small stool over against the chain-link, Penny invited me to sit down. As I sat, my arm against the wire, this magnificent gorilla appeared on her side of the fence and, totally unbidden, sat down beside me, our shoulders touching.
I was absolutely ecstatic, but that was only the beginning.
We sat there for a few minutes, quietly, before Koko got up and moved along the wire wall to a floor-to-ceiling gate, outside of which Penny was seated beside a small cabinet. Sticking her finger through the wire, Koko pointed to the top of the cabinet.
Penny smiled and nodded. “Koko wants to show you her new television set. She loves to watch movies, don’t you, girl? Her favorite is Pretty Woman.” And with that, she flipped on the TV.
Letting out an irritated grunt, Koko waved her hand back and forth in a gesture that even I could interpret only as an emphatic “NO!” so Penny turned the set back off. Koko immediately started pointing at the cabinet again. Penny turned the TV back on, only to receive the same agitated negative reaction, so she turned it off once more.
Mumbling, Koko began pointing to a top lock on the tall gate, then to a middle lock, and finally to the lock at the bottom, then pointed back at the cabinet across the office once again. You could almost feel her roll her eyes in frustration.
“Oh, Koko, forgive me,” Penny said, as she picked up a bunch of keys that were lying next to the TV on the cabinet. “Now I understand.” She then proceeded to unlock all three of the locks and opened the tall gate.
Without hesitation, Koko came out of the room and over to where I sat. She gently took my arm, pulled me to my feet, and led me back through the gate and into her house. Plopping down with her back against the wall, she indicated she would like me to do the same.
Penny had briefed me on what to expect from Koko. “She’s gentle. But I should tell you—right now she’s very interested in boobs.”
As I sat down opposite her, Koko reached out to finger the collar of my blouse. Not to pull it—she was just investigating. But then she unbuttoned my top button.
“No,” I said. “We don’t do that, Koko.”
So Koko stopped but still held my collar. It was as if she was going to rebutton my blouse, but she didn’t. So I did.
Then I rested my hands on her fat tummy, and I could feel the rough black hair. My zookeeper friends had often told me that when working around gorillas, one should avoid making direct eye contact, lest it be interpreted as a challenge. Well, in this case there was no avoiding it. Here we sat, this beautiful girl and I, gazing into each other’s eyes and both obviously enjoying the moment completely. For Koko, this just seemed like natural conversation!
While all this was going on, Penny and her photographer, Ronald Cohn, were snapping pictures, for which I am eternally grateful, since I would never have been able to convince myself—let alone anyone else—that this had actually taken place.
When people see these pictures, the first question is invariably, “Weren’t you petrified?!” In all honesty, I have to tell you I was so completely caught up in this unbelievable experience that fear never entered my mind.
Can you imagine the absolute trust Penny has to have in this animal? Koko was dealing with a total stranger—not her familiar and beloved Dr. Patterson. And she was taking that stranger into her own private territory while a relaxed Penny sat outside, taking pictures and writing down Koko’s reactions.
Koko and I visited for about twenty minutes. At one point, she got up and disappeared into the back of the house. After a moment, she returned, carrying a toy alligator that was about a foot long. As she handed the toy to me, she frowned and shivered her shoulders. I really didn’t need Penny’s explanation that I was being told that the alligator was “scary.” Koko made it very clear.
I have been back to see this wonderful creature three times, and can’t wait to go again. The last time I was there, Koko kept rubbing her fingers across her mouth—and now I did need Penny’s translation.
“She recognizes you.” Penny laughed. “And she has named you ‘Lipstick.’ Not many of her visitors actually wear lipstick.”
We recently celebrated Koko’s thirty-seventh birthday. Koko, dear: As smart as you are, you haven’t learned as much from us as we are learning from you.
DR. RON COHN/GORILLA FOUNDATION/KOKO.ORG
STUFFED ANIMALS
Now, here is a subject I should stay away from or I risk having a net thrown over me—but since we’ve come this far, I’ll chance it.
You won’t be surprised to learn that I love stuffed animals. Both at my home in Los Angeles and at my house in Carmel there is a special room devoted to them, filled to capacity. I especially love the exotic ones—there is an anteater, a rhinoceros, a beluga whale, an armadillo, a bear—not a Teddy, a grizzly—the list goes on.
Where it begins to get a little weird is that to me, these stuffed animals are almost real. They have their individual personalities—some are looking right into my eyes—and when a new member joins the group, I introduce him to the others. The animals have been collected over the years—I don’t actually go out and buy them.
My fax machine is also in that room, so I go in and out often. (I keep the door closed, because Ponti [aka Pontiac, my golden retriever] thinks anything stuffed with cotton is his territory.) Well, I never enter that room without speaking to the animals. “Hi, guys!” And I never leave it without saying, “See you later. I love you.” Out loud! [Editor’s Note: I am eighty-nine years old!]
Ponti isn’t the only reason the door remains closed. That also happens to be the catchall room that keeps me awake at night.
It shouldn’t surprise you that I don’t often tell anyone what I have just revealed.
Let’s keep it between us.
With a real live tiger cub!
NBCU PHOTO BANK
BEETHOVEN
Have you ever petted a hard-boiled egg? An enormous one that’s in your lap? I have, and it was one of the happiest experiences of my life.
Not long ago, I spent some time in Atlanta, Georgia, filming a movie, The Proposal, with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. As a rule, I try to avoid going on location—being away from home and Ponti is not my favorite thing. However, this was such a good script, and the cast—Sandra and Ryan—was almost irresistible. There was something else that influenced my decision, which you might find strange—Atlanta is home to a famous aquarium.
I have worked with the Monterey Bay Aquarium in California since its inception. It is one of the state-of-the-art organizations known worldwide, as is the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta. I had heard so much about that facility and was thrilled to have a chance to see it. On my first day off of filming, a tour was arranged.
Well, like Monterey, the Atlanta Aquarium has earned and lives up to its reputation. It is a beautiful aquarium, a great learning center, and one of the most popular attractions in that lovely city. It was gratifying to see the support it received from the crowds of visitors absorbing
the message of how fragile our abused oceans have become and what we, as individuals, can do to help the situation.
The first amazing thing you see as you enter is a huge whale shark swimming in an enormous pool. A bridge enables you to stand and watch this incredible creature as he crosses beneath you. He must be about twenty feet long and heavy-set—the biggest animal I have ever seen. That would have made the whole trip for me, but the best was yet to come.
I visited the seals and sea lions, who were enthusiastic hosts. And then I was taken to another pool even larger than the first. There, I was introduced to a very nice trainer, and I could see there was action on the other side of the pool but we were too far away to see what it was. The trainer, whose name is Dennis Christian, asked if I would like to meet their beluga whales.
How is that for the silliest question ever?
Following instructions, I rolled up the cuffs of my slacks, stepped into a pair of waders, and donned a plastic overcoat. This must have been a private area, as there was no one else around as Dennis led me along the edge of the pool. Walking in the waders was awkward, and the ledge was narrow.
I didn’t mention that I can’t swim.
We hadn’t gone far when Dennis stopped and asked me to sit down on the deck at the edge of the pool. Once I was settled and secure, he called out, “Beethoven! Come meet Betty!”
He said it only once, but immediately something big came swimming across the pool—right up to my knees. Wearing a big smile, this giant white head came out of the water and almost onto my lap.
Dennis said, “It’s okay to touch him if you want to.”
Want to? I reached out and stroked the huge head, which felt like a hard rubber ball but looked for all the world like the aforementioned hard-boiled egg. His head was so big I had to look into his eyes, which were very small and bright, one at a time, and he looked right back into mine.
The trainer made the introductions, then said, in a most ordinary conversational tone, “Beethoven, want to show Betty your teeth?”
The white face opened to reveal a large cavern containing a row of white teeth—not jagged or pointy but almost similar to dentures. I was directed to run my finger around them, and I was amazed that this gorgeous creature took it in stride. Remembering my exchanges with elephants, I gently slapped the big pink tongue, and, sure enough, Beethoven made it clear that he thoroughly enjoyed it.
After a few minutes of this wonderful visit, Dennis said, “All right, Beethoven, you go back and send Mauris over.”
Again, he directed the animal only once, still without raising his voice, and in immediate response Beethoven backed away, turned around, and swam to the other side of the pool, where Kim, the girl trainer, sat. As he reached her, another beautiful beluga headed our way. This was the female, Mauris. Again, she greeted me but was a little more tentative. In a very few moments she relaxed, and we became friends.
Of course, I was on cloud nine.
During this whole once-in-a-lifetime experience, I was deeply impressed by the obvious rapport among these animals and their humans. It was clear to me that intellectual connection and trust were what enabled the whales’ immediate response to instruction; this was more than a case of animals obeying orders.
They were obviously involved in the interchange. Nonthreatening communication laced with a measure of passion can accomplish wonders.
It can also result in a visitor falling in love with a great white whale.
PHOTOGRAPH BY ADDISON HILL
PET ADOPTION
I work with the Los Angeles Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals often and if I’m having a meeting there, I always go through the shelter unannounced so they’re not fixing it up for my benefit. I just want to see how it is day to day.
One day about eighteen years ago, I did just that en route to my meeting. After walking through and seeing all the animals, I was just about to exit when I noticed a cage on top of a cabinet with this beautiful little shih tzu in there.
I said, “Where did she come from?”
The director said, “She’s not up for adoption yet. She’s a cruelty case. A woman paid a lot of money for her at a pet store, but when she brought the dog home, the little girl was so sick she couldn’t stand up. The woman took the dog back to the pet store, and they said, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, we’ll take care of her and give you another dog.’ ”
Thank God, the woman went back the next day to see how the puppy was, and it was not being treated or nursed back to health—it was in the window for sale! In a badly managed pet shop, viruses run rampant from one animal to another, and the care (or lack thereof) compounds that.
The woman took the store to court, and that little shih tzu puppy closed the pet shop—all by herself!
The puppy, however, couldn’t be adopted until the trial was settled, which took another three months. So during that time, the woman got another dog, because she wanted to adopt.
Meanwhile, at LASPCA I asked if they would let me know the minute the trial was settled and she was up for adoption.
Three months down the road, I got a call. They said the time was up and the little dog was eligible for adoption.
I said, “When can I pick Panda up?”
I hadn’t even been thinking of a name—it just came out. Panda. At the time I had two male dogs—a little bichon frise rescue and a mini black poodle. I worried that Panda would come in and be intimidated, but the introduction went smoothly—to the point that I could almost hear her say, “All right, boys. There are going to be a few changes in town. I’m now in charge!” And she took over and ran the house until she was sixteen and three-fourths.
With my poodle Timothy.
BETTY WHITE PRIVATE COLLECTION
SPEAKING ANIMAL
I grew up with pets. In our house, they were more than pets—they were members of the family.
During the Depression, my dad made radios to sell to make extra money. Nobody had any money to buy the radios, so he would trade them for dogs. He built kennels in the backyard, and he cared for the dogs.
Now, radios didn’t eat, but the dogs did. So it was not the best business venture.
At one point we got up to something like fifteen dogs—well-loved dogs. We’d rotate them through the house in shifts, but it was clear it was not really a good plan, and we found homes for everybody but one chow and one Pekingese whom we couldn’t part with.
As far back as I can remember, my parents had animals.
My mother always told the story about Toby, their orange-marmalade cat that they had when I was born. Toby would sit on the edge of my crib, and Mom said that if Toby hadn’t approved of the new baby when I came home from the hospital, I would have been sent right back.
When my folks first came to California, we lived in Pasadena for a while. And we had a white Angora kitty named Patsy. I remember her very clearly. I don’t remember the kids across the street I used to play with, but I remember Patsy. I must have been five years old.
One day I went into the closet and came out screaming for my mother, “Patsy broke!! Patsy broke!!”
She’d had a litter of kittens, and I thought she’d come apart.
Interestingly, neither of my parents had pets growing up. But together they fell in love with animals—and, of course, it caught.
Two years ago I lost Panda at sixteen and three-fourths, and my ten-year-old golden, Kitta, and my eleven-year-old Himalayan kitty, Bob Cat. (If you didn’t like cats you called him Mr. Cat.)
I lost them all within two months, and I was just devastated.
I work closely with the organization Guide Dogs for the Blind and sponsor a guide dog every Christmas. When they heard I lost Kitta, they called me and said they had a golden career-change dog if I would be interested.
I explained, “I really am so distraught at this point, I need closure. I just absolutely can’t imagine adopting a dog right now”—pause—“but maybe I’ll come up and meet him.”
The next morn
ing, I got on a plane and flew to San Rafael and met him. And then I got back on the plane to go home and “think it over.”
Did you ever hear anything more ridiculous? You meet a golden retriever and you’re going to go home and “think it over”? Who was I kidding? I couldn’t get my phone out of my purse fast enough when we landed.
And that’s my Pontiac. He was already named. Guide dog puppies in a litter all have the same first initial. Since he was a P litter (no pun intended), they named him Pontiac. I like to think of it as the Indian chief, not the car. Matter of fact, when the car company folded, I sat him down and carefully explained it was not his fault. For which I got a kiss.
Ponti went into career change because he had a bum leg. Some people say these dogs “flunked out” of school, but I absolutely refuse to use that expression. These dogs never “flunked” at anything.
Ponti is my only pet right now.
I want a kitty, and I want a little dog so bad. But I must be home to integrate them. I never took classes to learn how to integrate animals. I think I just learned it organically.
I speak better animal language than human language. I can read them like a book—although not as well as they can read me.
But with my schedule the way it is, I’m just waiting for time to supervise the introductions. That’s on my bucket list.
Now, I also have an age problem. I’m eighty-nine years old. I’ve outgrown my last puppy, but I don’t want Ponti to be my last dog. My friends Tom and Patty Sullivan have arranged that whatever pets I leave, they will take. They won’t find homes for them, they will take them in and love them.
I can’t imagine being without animals. And there are so many older dogs that need homes desperately. So that’s where I’ll look, and we can grow older together.
