rubbed her head, and her belly when she offered it. I didn't go into the water with her, partly because it was very cold in the first months, and then because Hoss's presence made it potentially hazardous. But despite the distance between us, me on land and Circe in the water, a bond had been created and I was entangled with her. I worried about her future and I anticipated that my departure from her would be difficult.
A few months later, I had to leave Port Barcares for good, to return to Paris and then the United States, and for the first time I experienced the emotional rawness of the loss of a very special relationship; a grieving, really. My time with Dal and Suwa in Florida two years earlier had been short, and in any case, their emotional allegiance had been to Betty, not me. Leaving them was relatively easy. So I wasn't prepared for the pain of saying goodbye to Circe, who had certainly enchanted me. I wasn't prepared for the agony of not being able to explain to her why I was leaving. I wasn't prepared for the searing feeling of guilt about abandoning her. I left, expecting I'd see her again one day. I never did. *
***
Sometimes in science the most jaw-dropping insights come when you are not even asking a profound question. So it was with Circe and what I call the time-out story. The circumstances could hardly have been more mundane.
You will remember that part of my deal in working at Monsieur Stone's marine zoo was that I would teach Circe to come to a particular spot at the side of the pool and stay at a particular location when being fed. Even smart animals need to be trained for such husbandry practices. But just a few weeks into this little training program, Circe gave me a glimpse into her mind that revealed just how
very
smart she was.
I was feeding Circe Spanish mackerel; since they were too big for her to swallow whole, I cut the fish into three smaller sections: heads, middles, and tails. After only a few days, Circe had learned to come to the side of the pool and station (stay in position in front of me) while I fed her. I used basic operant-training techniques to teach her to eat the various sections of fish and to stay at station; that is, I rewarded her with fish and vocal praise for doing the right thing, approaching the side of the pool when given a specific hand signal and then staying in front of me. She had to learn not to leave station until I gave her a signal that meant the session was over. If she left prematurely, I had to communicate to her that it was the wrong thing to do, so I'd give her a time-out, just as parents use time-outs with their children to let them know they've done something wrong and to allow them time to think about it. I'd simply break social contact and move away, leaving her alone for a short while. Time-outs can be extremely brief; just stepping back or turning away for a moment can let an animal know that it has done something wrong, and the animal then has to wait a short time before it can obtain another reward. (Nowadays, time-outs are used less frequently with dolphins because they can lead to frustration on the part of the animals.)
So, I used a time-out with Circe in the first days of teaching her to station in feeding sessions. I would back away from the side of the pool and just stand there looking at her for a few seconds to a few minutes. Then I would return and continue the session. Circe would always come right back to the side of the pool and wait for me to return. The time-out procedure worked well, and Circe soon learned to stay at station. Circe was a good eater, and she usually ate all the food offered; if she didn't want to eat all the fish, that was okay, and I interacted with her at station. But she had to stay with me until the end of the feeding period while the other dolphins were being fed.
During feeding sessions in the first week, Circe readily ate the fish heads and sometimes the middles, but I noticed that she was spitting out the
A few months later, I had to leave Port Barcares for good, to return to Paris and then the United States, and for the first time I experienced the emotional rawness of the loss of a very special relationship; a grieving, really. My time with Dal and Suwa in Florida two years earlier had been short, and in any case, their emotional allegiance had been to Betty, not me. Leaving them was relatively easy. So I wasn't prepared for the pain of saying goodbye to Circe, who had certainly enchanted me. I wasn't prepared for the agony of not being able to explain to her why I was leaving. I wasn't prepared for the searing feeling of guilt about abandoning her. I left, expecting I'd see her again one day. I never did. *
***
Sometimes in science the most jaw-dropping insights come when you are not even asking a profound question. So it was with Circe and what I call the time-out story. The circumstances could hardly have been more mundane.
You will remember that part of my deal in working at Monsieur Stone's marine zoo was that I would teach Circe to come to a particular spot at the side of the pool and stay at a particular location when being fed. Even smart animals need to be trained for such husbandry practices. But just a few weeks into this little training program, Circe gave me a glimpse into her mind that revealed just how
very
smart she was.
I was feeding Circe Spanish mackerel; since they were too big for her to swallow whole, I cut the fish into three smaller sections: heads, middles, and tails. After only a few days, Circe had learned to come to the side of the pool and station (stay in position in front of me) while I fed her. I used basic operant-training techniques to teach her to eat the various sections of fish and to stay at station; that is, I rewarded her with fish and vocal praise for doing the right thing, approaching the side of the pool when given a specific hand signal and then staying in front of me. She had to learn not to leave station until I gave her a signal that meant the session was over. If she left prematurely, I had to communicate to her that it was the wrong thing to do, so I'd give her a time-out, just as parents use time-outs with their children to let them know they've done something wrong and to allow them time to think about it. I'd simply break social contact and move away, leaving her alone for a short while. Time-outs can be extremely brief; just stepping back or turning away for a moment can let an animal know that it has done something wrong, and the animal then has to wait a short time before it can obtain another reward. (Nowadays, time-outs are used less frequently with dolphins because they can lead to frustration on the part of the animals.)
So, I used a time-out with Circe in the first days of teaching her to station in feeding sessions. I would back away from the side of the pool and just stand there looking at her for a few seconds to a few minutes. Then I would return and continue the session. Circe would always come right back to the side of the pool and wait for me to return. The time-out procedure worked well, and Circe soon learned to stay at station. Circe was a good eater, and she usually ate all the food offered; if she didn't want to eat all the fish, that was okay, and I interacted with her at station. But she had to stay with me until the end of the feeding period while the other dolphins were being fed.
During feeding sessions in the first week, Circe readily ate the fish heads and sometimes the middles, but I noticed that she was spitting out the
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