Concord Grapes for Breakfast

I served Concord grapes for breakfast. Big mistake. You would think Bow would enjoy a change from the usual green or red table grapes. But no! They have seeds.   He won't eat them. He goes without eating breakfast and is planning on being grouchy and impossible to deal with for the rest of the day.

Where is it written that a common chimpanzee has to have seedless grapes every morning? Why does he think this is worth ruining the day over?

"Bow, aren't you hungry? Why won't you eat your grapes?"

He spells: "They are so very bad!"

"Good that you bought a bottom wiper!"

I am on a self-reliance campaign with Bow. The first thing he needs to start doing for himself is wiping his own bottom. Now, the truth is, he's made attempts in that direction before. He likes tissue papers, and tries to wipe his own nose and bottom with them, but then he tears them up, scatters bits of them, and eventually eats some of what is left. So toilet paper and tissues are right out. He can't be left with access to them when not directly supervised.

Other things Bow has done, when he used the potty when I had to step out for a moment is to try to wipe himself on the rim of the potty and the grid of his cage. The rim of the potty is okay. I have to clean that, anyway. But the grid of the cage is not okay. It's a no-no and earns a punishment.

In a recent trip to Wal*Mart, I found something that I thought might help. It's a rubber lint brush. It's very soft and feels nice against the skin. It would not cause abrasions if rubbed against a dirty bottom. It has these tiny little bristles that collapse when pressured, and it can pick up even small particles of dirt. And on top of that., it's fully washable and will not collect bacteria. (At least, that's what it says on the packaging.)

Today, I introduced it to Bow. At first he wanted to play with it, but I insisted it needed to stay next to the potty. The first time he had a bowel movement, I wiped him with tissue, but finished off with lint brush. It felt nice. It didn't hurt Bow. He liked it.

After I was done cleaning up, Bow took me to the glass partition and spelled: "Good that you bought a bottom wiper!"

I'm glad he approves. The next step will be to get him to use it unassisted.

Self-Reliance

Bow doesn't like me to go far. He knows that he's not in any danger of abandonment, but he wants to control my comings and goings. On Monday, which was Labor Day, while Lawrence was watching Bow, I took Sword to the mall, nearly a two hour drive away. Bow knew that we would not be back for lunch.

I had no sooner left the house than Bow chose to pee on the floor in several different locations, clearly not an accident. Lawrence disciplined Bow, cleaned up, and then, after they were reconciled, asked Bow why he did it. Bow spelled: "I don't want Mommy to go far."

He's eight and a half years old. I was back by 3:30 pm. Even though we went farther than our usual range, he was not left alone, and I came back soon, way before dinner time. How do I teach my son self-reliance? How do I get him to pull his fair share? How do I make sure that when I am gone someday, he will be able to care for himself and his dependents?

Many primatologists are out in the field trying to protect chimpanzees from human encroachment. One of the dangers for chimpanzees in the wild are the snares set by the bushmeat traders. Some workers in the field try to help by locating snares and de-activating them. Still, many chimpanzees are maimed by the snares.

One group of chimps is taking care of the problem themselves. See the link here. The chimpanzees of Bossou, Guinea have developed their own method of finding and de-activating the snares. As a result, this group of chimpanzees suffers fewer snare-related injuries. In the fight for survival, my money is on them, rather than the chimps who are waiting for do-gooder humans to take care of this problem for them.

I want Bow to be self-reliant. He needs to understand that the majority of people who are "trying to help" do more harm than good. Everybody's got some kind of axe to grind. One group of "pro-chimpanzee" activists are preaching vegetarianism to their followers, even though chimpanzees are clearly not vegetarian. Almost all "pro-chimp" activists want chimpanzees in sanctuaries, where they will not be allowed to start a family. There is a conflict between human populations in Africa and the chimpanzee populations that are vying for the same territories and the same ecological niche. We have killed all the other hominids. Can we expect anything better for chimpanzees?

If chimpanzees can learn to de-activate snares, couldn't they also learn to do something productive? Would it be so terrible if instead of raiding human gardens, they traded with humans for goods and services? That's what I want for Bow. But the first step in self-reliance has to be taking responsibility for your own actions. I'm still waiting for Bow to show some sign that he's willing to do that.

Watching A Boxing Match

Yesterday, Bow and I watched a boxing match on YouTube. This is not my normal viewing, but a comment from one of my readers on Hubpages sent me there, and the moment it started, Bow got very, very excited. He insisted that I bring him with me to the other side of the glass, so that he could watch more closely. He was fixated on the screen the whole time it was on. After it was over, we went back to his side of the glass, and he took me by the hand and spelled:

"Every dummy tries to kill."

This surprised me very much. First of all, it was a very civilized boxing match. Nobody killed anybody. There was a referee who kept stopping them every couple of minutes. In the end, the winner was declared and the combatants shook hands and embraced. What made Bow think of killing? And is this really what he thinks about killing?

"You don't want to kill?" I asked him.

"No," he replied.

Is that the truth? Or is that what he wants me to think? Is he worried, because he's heard me talking about chimpanzees and aggression?

But all I could do was reply: "Okay, Bow."

He may not want to kill, but he certainly is interested in hand to hand combat!

Rewards, Punishment and the Indomitable Spirit

The apple tree at Orchard House is loaded down with ripe fruit. It's really a rather small tree, but this year the yield is bountiful. I went over there several times this week to pick the red and green apples, and I have two giant bowls of them over here, and some in the refrigerator at Orchard House, and many more still on the tree.

The apples are a bit on the tangy side and the skin on them is a little coarse, and they come in irregular shapes, not like the apples from Wal*Mart. Still, they are perfectly edible, and I eat them myself. I also want Bow to eat them, but he's not sure he wants to. He's rather picky when it comes to fruit.

Yesterday, for lunch, Bow had a sumptuous feast, including a green apple from the store, a red and green apple from Orchard House, a banana, two Chinese pork dumplings, and some macadamia nuts. He chose to eat the green apple first, then the banana, then he asked for what he called "the little apple".

"Now, Bow, are you sure you want to ask for that little apple before the other things?" I asked. "You know if you don't finish it, you don't get the rest of your meal."

"Yes," spelled Bow.

I gave him the little apple from Orchard House. As I anticipated, after a couple of bites, Bow stopped eating and started examining the apple distastefully.

I waited a while to see what would happen, but when it was obvious he wasn't eating any more, I had two choices: to clear everything away or to try a more diplomatic approach.

Bow is a well-fed chimpanzee, though by most standards he seems slim, compared to chimps in institutional settings who are fed on Monkey Chow. I can and I will clear everything away, if need be, and I know he won't starve. But yesterday I was feeling more conciliatory, and I didn't feel like going through the whole day with Bow bearing me a grudge and me having to be extra tough on him.

I went and sat down next to him. "The apple is good," I told him. I took it from his limp hand and bit into it myself. As I was chewing, I made sounds to let him know I was enjoying the apple. After I finished that bite, I let him smell my empty mouth. Then I gave him back the apple. "Your turn," I said.

He started eating it again, but when he got close to the core, he stopped and gave me a searching glance. I took the apple from him again. "There's still more left to eat," I said and took another bite.

Bow smelled my breath after I was done, then he ate some more. But he never consumed it entirely, the way he does with his store bought apples until nothing is left but the stem. He left a small slender core, which by human standards would be equivalent to finishing the apple. By  chimp standards though, it was a protest against the quality of the produce.

I let that that pass, and he proceeded to ask for the rest of his meal, one item at a time.

One of my readers commented yesterday that maybe the way to get Bow to sit still and work on his penmanship would be to offer a banana as reward. But food rewards are not what motivates Bow to write. Neither would a punishment of denial of food be effective. Bow writes when the spirit moves him, and no threat or bribe can affect his output.

This is one of the things that I find most difficult to explain to outsiders. Yes, Bow loves food. Yes, food and mealtimes are important parts of Bow's day. But even when he is asking for food , or negotiating over food-related privileges, his use of language is not motivated by a direct food reward. Bow uses language to communicate, and one of the things he communicates are his individual preferences, his likes and dislikes.

I could no more motivate Bow to improve his penmanship by offering him a banana, than you could make your child excel at calculus by offering a lollipop. It just doesn't work that way!

Writing Sample

Yesterday, as Lawrence was about to leave for the day, he asked in passing: "Why do you think Bow can't write?"

It seemed like a strange question, since I never said I thought he couldn't write. "It's not that he can't write, it's that he won't."

Lawrence handed me an index card sized rectangle of cardstock and said: "See, this is what he wrote. I wrote the letters on top, and I made a box, and he wrote the letters inside the box."

I glanced at it, and he seemed to be disappointed that I wasn't more enthusiastic. "Now, they don't all look so good, but some of them are pretty close." And then he explained how he had been writing something, and Bow wanted to write, and how he had had to hold Bow's hand to steady him, but it was Bow who had written the letters in the boxes, without being guided by Lawrence. "Now, I know for proof, the fact that I held his hand means it's no good, but he can do  it!"

I reassured Lawrence that I believed him, and that I wasn't surprised because I'd seen it before.  I knew Bow could do  it. He wrote his name in  Hebrew when he was much younger. It was sloppy but recognizable. He did it with nobody holding his hand at all. But after that, he scribbled all over it, so  it wasn't visible any longer. When I let him keep the pen and paper too long, he scribbled so hard there were holes. Bow's problem isn't intelligence. It's self control!

He can read, but if you let him have a book, he will tear it apart. He can write, but even if he does write, he will destroy the paper if you let him keep at it. He can use a computer, but he's rather take it apart.

There are probably hyperactive humans with similar problems. Getting them to settle down is the hard part. Getting them to write is easy. If we had a breakthrough in self control with Bow, everything else would fall into place. But getting to that breakthrough is the hard part, and it's not likely to come with maturity.  Older male chimpanzees are typically less cooperative, not more so. We need to  have the breakthrough now, when we can still  go in.

Let Me Go to School

Sword started her first day of sixth grade yesterday. She has three teachers, each in charge of a major subject area, science, language arts, and math, and these will be her teachers for the next three years. Each year, one of the teachers will be her home room teacher and will be in charge of her overall performance. But regardless of who is currently the home room teacher, those same three educators will get to know her really well, and they will watch over her progress in their particular area of expertise for three whole years.

Sword has been attending the same school since pre-school. It runs all the way through eighth grade. She has known most of the teachers at  the school since she was three years old, and most of the students in her class have been with her since kindergarten, if not earlier. I myself never had this level of continuity, because we traveled back and forth between Israel and the United States for much of my childhood, and we tended to move a lot within the U.S. By the time we settled down in Grand Prairie, Texas, I was about ready to be home schooled. I didn't like school much.

Sword is happy to go back to school, and excited to have finally reached the elite "middle school" area, with its lockers and special teachers, and the greater privileges enjoyed by the older children, who are all at the far end of the building, and rank higher in status and schooling.

Meanwhile, Bow and I are stuck at home doing the same old things. Counting strawberries for breakfast; looking at videos of other chimpanzees for entertainment. After he had asked for all the food that there was this morning, Bow took my hand and started to spell:

תני לי

"Give you what?" I asked. There was nothing left to give. He had eaten it all.

תני לי פעם ללכת לבית הספר

That means "let me go to school once". (In Hebrew, "give me" and "let me" are the same phrase.) "Bow, they won't accept you at school."

He spelled:

כן תני לי בכל זאת

That means: "Yes. Let me, anyway." 

I wish I could let him. But how?