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heard an overweight patient with heart disease claim to eat the way
Michael did, they’d start quoting House M.D.: “Everybody lies.”
Other common culprits included lack of exercise and bad genet-
ics. Michael wasn’t exactly an exercise buff (he never went to the
gym), but, on the other hand, he walked everywhere he needed to go.
Maybe Michael was just unlucky and had bad genes.
Now, if the story stopped there, it wouldn’t even have garnered a
brief segment on the local news. What made Michael a medical curi-
osity is that his actual name is Mokolo, and he is a western lowland
gorilla at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo.
In 2005 a twenty-one-year-old male gorilla in Mokolo’s group
died of heart failure. So the staff started to look into ways to improve
the health of the remaining gorillas. At 461 pounds, Mokolo may not
have been obese (for a gorilla), but he was overweight. His blood tests
and cardiac ultrasound were worrisome.
Clearly, Mokolo didn’t smoke, drink alcohol, or eat fast food. He
had always been fed according to the official guidelines issued by
the National Research Council, which specified the caloric density,
macronutrients, and micronutrients for primates in captivity. His
vegan diet consisted of “gorilla biscuits”—fortified fiber bars made
by exotic pet food companies—supplemented with leafy vegetables,
plant stems, and fruit.
Captive gorillas are less active than wild gorillas, which forage
for food most of the day. Mokolo’s “exercise” consisted of walking
around his enclosure and, occasionally, playing around with a few
ropes and artificial tree branches.
As for bad genetics, well, heart disease happens to be the num-
ber one killer of male gorillas in captivity. Heart disease is also the
number one killer of male humans in civilization. Median life expec-
tancy for male gorillas in zoos is thirty-one years, so Mokolo’s age of
twenty-two roughly corresponds to a man in his fifties. While heart
disease may be common at this age, there’s nothing inevitable about
a middle-aged man—or gorilla—dying from a heart attack.
The staff at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo decided to put Mokolo
the team to think about ways to slow, halt, or reverse the progres-
sion of this condition. Elena’s dissertation was part of the effort to
do that.
“At first we actually weren’t sure the gorillas were overweight,”
Elena said, “or if so, by how much. Is a 461-pound gorilla over-
weight?”
It’s notoriously difficult to eyeball whether an animal is over-
weight. Humans are pretty good at eyeballing other humans, but
we aren’t so good when it comes to other species. Zoo visitors often
think that Mokolo and the other bachelor gorilla, Bebac, are preg-
nant, simply because gorillas have the disproportionately large gut
that herbivores use to digest plant matter.
I had always assumed that the zoo staff would know these types
of things, but there was no established “body mass index” for west-
ern lowland gorillas. There are larger differences in size between
male and female gorillas than between men and women, and they
can vary in size considerably based on stature and age, just like peo-
ple. But the staff didn’t have some chart hanging on the wall, like at
the doctor’s office, where they could just look up the right answer. In
fact, as part of her dissertation, Elena was constructing the first body
mass index for gorillas.
But in doing so Elena came upon another statistical problem.
After Elena collected the data on many of the 350 or so gorillas in
North American zoos, she still had no idea what it meant. If Mo-
kolo was “average” in that pool, was that good? The average Ameri-
can was overweight too. Average in Elena’s sample simply meant “a
weight that is statistically common among gorillas in North Ameri-
can zoos.” Furthermore, most captive gorillas have led similar lives,
eating similar foods. As a result, studies conducted on zoo popula-
tions often haven’t revealed large differences in outcomes.
The problem went far beyond weight. It affected every single
thing that biologists measured and observed about captive animals:
internal biomarkers, like cholesterol, testosterone, and blood pres-
sure, and external behavior, like grooming, mating, and aggression.
gorillas, the enlarged heart muscles, the excess weight, the elevated
cholesterol, the chronic regurgitation, and the hair plucking—there
were clear signs that something was wrong with the gorilla habitat
at the zoo.
And that’s when we arrived at their habitat.
“Ready to meet Mokolo and Bebac?” Elena said as we walked
inside.
My eyes had to adjust to the dimly lit building. It was oval shaped,
with a loop for visitors to follow. There were a few enclosures in the
center, but the rest lined the exterior so that the animals could go
outside when they wanted to.
The gorilla enclosure was the largest, taking up one of the long
sides of the loop. It was split into two long halves connected by a
short passage. Each side had its own big artificial tree and a few thick
ropes. The ceilings were fairly high with a few small skylights. It was
more brightly lit than the human area, making it easier for us to see
the gorillas. The floor and walls were concrete, easy to clean and
disinfect. A few enrichment items were scattered around the floor:
large branches, more rope, and boomer balls designed for pets and
wild animals.
And there they were: Mokolo and Bebac.
They were big. In the left half of the enclosure Bebac was awake
but lying down. In the right half Mokolo was sitting and munching
on some straw that had been scattered around the floor.
Then Mokolo got up and moved. His long front arms came down,
and he gracefully lumbered to the front of the enclosure, looking agile
and awkward at the same time. Even though gorillas aren’t human,
it was hard not to see human-like emotions in his eyes. It was not
surprising that the staff becomes so emotionally attached to them.
“I could watch them all day,” Elena said. “And I have.”
“I can see why.”
Mokolo had presence. His movements were slow, deliberate, con-
fident. Without using force he still commanded respect. The mood
was subdued; everyone knew who was boss.
Gorilla “Diets”
If nutrient zoo cakes and pellets are unnatural food for gorillas,
what about the conventional food items fed to those apes in
captivity?
—Don Cousins, Acta Zoologica (1976)
C
ousins collected daily feeding schedules from zoos around
the world and discovered that Italian gorillas took their
morning tea with milk and biscuits whereas Texan gorillas pre-
ferred horsemeat with a side of Jell-O.
Rome
8 a.m.—Mixture of tea, homogenized milk, half packet of
Plasmon biscuits, 300g bread and sugar
9 a.m.—Juice of 4–5 oranges
10 a.m.—1 celery, 1 banana, or 1 artichoke
12 p.m.—200g of ground meat (cooked with salt in
some oil), fresh fruit of the season (apples, pears, or
2 bananas)
3 p.m.—1 yogurt and 1 banana
6–8 p.m.—200g boiled rice, 2–3 egg yolks in
homogenized milk, fruit of the season and salad
(1 plant), bread and milk, sometimes 2 hard-boiled
eggs.
Dallas
Morning—8 oz. milk (½ condensed, ½ water), ¼ lb.
horse meat, 1 cup Jell-O
Evening—4 apples, 4 oranges, 2 bananas, 1–2 carrots,
1 head of celery, cooked yams, 5 oz. of raw spinach,
kale (when available), bread, cooked rice, raisins,
cooked prunes, sugar cane, 75–100 monkey chow
pellets, vitamin supplement in milk.
nasty reaction was most likely due to a gluten allergy—but other go-
rillas eat bread without getting diarrhea, so it wasn’t obvious in ad-
vance that they would have such a serious reaction.
The team knew that a handful of other zoos had experimented
with removing gorilla biscuits from the diet, with positive results.
The first zoo to try out the “biscuit-free diet” was Busch Gardens
Tampa led by Dr. Ray Ball. Unfortunately, the team didn’t collect
much data about the experiment. Then Dr. Rich Bergl, the curator
of conservation and research at North Carolina Zoo, made the diet
switch and collected behavioral data, finding that time spent feeding
doubled and that regurgitation decreased—but the positive results in
North Carolina needed to be tested on a larger scale. So as part of
Elena’s dissertation she collaborated with Dr. Bergl to include both a
health and a behavior component to the analysis, and to systemati-
cally test the biscuit-free diet at more institutions: Cleveland, Colum-
bus, Seattle, and Toronto.
The team got rid of the gorilla biscuits altogether and replaced
them with a bunch of plants, like those that gorillas would eat in
the wild in Africa. Obviously flying in native African plants would
be exorbitantly expensive, so they bought vegetables from the local
Cleveland grocery store. Gorillas may not eat romaine lettuce in the
wild, but romaine was much closer to their natural diet than gorilla
biscuits were.
The team still had to follow all of the official nutritional guide-
lines, which increasingly looked rigid and arbitrary. Using an analysis
reported by USDA, they looked at the nutrient composition of typ
ical plants in a grocery store to figure out combinations that would
satisfy the guidelines. They also continued to feed resistant starch to
the gorillas as a fiber substitute, but used one that was corn-based
instead of wheat-based.
This time, there was no diarrhea. But Mokolo and Bebac seemed
anxious, even angry. They finally realized what was probably going
on: The gorillas were cranky. There was less sugar in their new diet,
and they wanted their gorilla biscuits for the sugar hit.
• • •
In the same way that zoo veterinarians learn from and use
human medicine, perhaps it’s time for humans to learn a thing or
two from zoos.
Civilization isn’t literally a zoo. Humans have real freedom that
captive animals lack, and we receive great benefits from living in civ-
ilization. But wild animals in captivity and humans in civilization
share an important quality: we are both examples of species living
outside their natural habitats.
When species live inside their natural habitat they have “normal”
(species-typical) health and longevity. Species are well adapted to
their natural habitat, with a certain amount of balance between an
organism and the challenges it faces. This doesn’t mean that all wild
animals are perfectly healthy—they aren’t—but they are well suited
to the life they lead. Wild gorillas don’t brush their teeth, but they
don’t have to. Their two sets of teeth (baby and adult) have evolved
to be functional given the types of foods that gorillas have typically
eaten. Wild gorillas don’t have perfect teeth—but they certainly don’t
require regular dental exams in order to avoid numerous cavities and
infections, as captive gorillas do.
The history of the health of animals in captivity follows a general
arc: things got worse before they got better.
Things got worse for wild animals living in captivity in early
agricultural civilization. The earliest “zoos” were royal menageries
located in city-states. Powerful rulers, like the Egyptian pharaohs,
maintained a collection of exotic animals as a sign of power and a
source of entertainment, and many of the fierce or “noble” animals
were killed for blood sport. The inaugural games of the Roman Col-
osseum in a.d. 80 saw the slaughter of thousands of animals, includ-
ing lions, elephants, bulls, bears, leopards, and a rhinoceros.
The Tower of London housed exotic animals for more than five
hundred years, usually gifts from foreign rulers to the British Crown.
According to an account from 1720, the conditions were abominable:
“The creatures have a rank smell, which hath so affected the air of
the place (tho’ there is a garden adjoining) that it hath much injured
the health of the man that attends them, so stuffed up his head, that
it affects his speech.” One ostrich died from eating nails, since the
public believed the birds could digest iron. An elephant was given
wine to drink from April to September, because apparently the keep-
ers believed elephants didn’t drink water during that part of the year.
As you might imagine, these captive animals didn’t last very long.
They would have been better off living in the wild.
In 1831 the remaining animals in the Tower of London were
transferred to a London park under the control of the newly created
Zoological Society of London. National zoos sprang up in the early
nineteenth century, not long after the Industrial Revolution.
In the 1850s a gorilla could expect to live about six months in
captivity, sometimes killed by a common cold. As scientists finally
figured out that good hygiene kept the animals alive, cells were con-
structed from materials that could be easily cleaned and sterilized:
concrete, steel, tile, and glass. The top zoos in the world built cells
(and they did look like jail cells) that were clinical, sterile, and com-
pletely devoid of anything that might resemble an animal’s natural
habitat. These measures did accomplish something very important:
they kept the animals from dying.
By the mid-twentieth century the top zoos had learned how to
get members of most species to live beyond their typical life span in
the wild: separate predators from prey; keep members of the same
species from killing one another; provide sufficient food and shel-
ter; and keep the enclosures free of infectious disease. Remove those
sources of mortality, and just about anything will live longer than
in the wild, including humans. Scientifically sound hygiene practices
were more important than fancy medical technology.
But once captive animals matched their natural longevity in the
wild and then exceeded it, chronic ailments came to the fore. Zoos
had succeeded at getting animals to survive, but then they had to
shift their focus to helping animals to thrive.