If You Ask Me (11 page)

“Now,” Tom said, “put out your hand.”

I did so, palm down.

“No, palm up, for friendship.”

When I turned my hand over, the horse immediately checked his pace to a walk.

“Point to him.”

As I pointed, the pony stopped completely, his sides heaving.

Tom continued. “All right, now go over and pat his neck.”

It was a little intimidating, but I had to trust Tom.

As I patted the heavily breathing horse, Tom said, “Turn and walk out of the corral, and take Butterscotch home.”

I walked away and couldn’t believe it as Butterscotch followed me, his head almost on my shoulder—all the way back to his stall!

Believe me, I’m not trying to sound like some sort of horse whisperer. I rode my first horse when I was too young to straddle, during those camping trips to the High Sierras with my parents. My horse, Queenie, was big and broad and gentle—and she wanted to eat absolutely everything along the trail. I wasn’t big or strong enough to control her. The guide had to come and tell her, “Queenie, that’s enough!” And shoo her along. So horse-whispering was not my forte.

With Butterscotch, Tom was doing all the work, but it was Butterscotch who was making the choices. I learned later that during the whole exercise, Tom was trying to figure out how he was going to transfer Butterscotch’s attention from himself, since he’d done all the training, over to me.

This lovely horse must have said, “I can handle it—leave it to me.”

Recently, I received a beautiful crystal paperweight engraved with Butterscotch’s image. My heart broke when I read the note, which told me that Butterscotch had galloped on.

Godspeed, dear boy.

PHOTOGRAPH BY ALLEN BOURGEOIS

F
riends are always considered a blessing, but, on occasion, there may be those who are just a little extra-special in their own way.

Not because they happen to weigh more than three hundred pounds and have incredible strength, nor even because they can communicate without words, but simply because they are, well, special. As is my friend Koko.

You probably already know of Koko. You may have seen pictures of her tenderly cuddling her beloved kitten. Koko, of course, is the amazing gorilla who has learned to communicate fluently through sign language, thanks to her mentor and best friend, Dr. Francine “Penny” Patterson.

It was thirty-eight years ago that a young student named Penny Patterson was allowed custody of a baby gorilla from the San Francisco Zoo. Deeply interested in interspecies communication, Penny began an experiment to try to teach Koko to sign. Penny had struck what would become her life’s work.

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

N
ow, 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.

NBCU PHOTO BANK

H
ave 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.