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Monkey Business

It's Not Funny

By Hugh Jones

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Editor's note: Monkey business implies humor. Not this time. This isn't our typical "feel good" story with amusing anecdotes. It is, however, a subject we need to think about. And Linda Barcklay, of Mindy's Memory Primate Sanctuary, provides the thought-provoking statements about the poor treatment pet monkeys in particular and animals in general too often experience.

It's about the business of buying and selling monkeys. It's about using them for research. It's about the consequences of the unaware and unprepared acquiring exotic pets. It's about why so many of those pets, scarred for life, end up in sanctuaries like hers.

Stick with me, before you turn off and flip the page because you don't want to read yet another sad story. It does have a happy ending, sort of–her monkeys are living pleasant lives, free from the dire situations many of them endured. The unhappy part: those situations still exist. The PetGazette doesn't take a "radical," stance on humane issues. We simply believe in giving God's creatures due respect and in using plain ole COMMON SENSE in how we treat them.

What is it about certain people that compels them to sacrifice for others, both human and animal. And certainly, this suffering ball of life needs those who are willing to care for the less fortunate. Linda Barcklay is an ordinary housewife in rural Newcastle. A "country girl," with a bunch of dogs, cats, a pot-bellied pig, goat, cow and, uh, 40 monkeys.

"Maybe it's their vulnerability," she says while showing me around a back yard full of large zoo-type cages. "And there's something sincere about animals that you don't find in too many people. Not that I'm against people. But when you look in an animal's eyes, you see from the beginning of time."

She shrugs with a chuckle. "Guess I've always had a propensity for them. All the pictures of me when I was young are with a cat in my arms or my arms around a dog. I grew up on a farm–you know, cows, horses, all the usual farm animals. That's where I learned about their basic care. Of course, they need more than just food. These primates especially, because they're social creatures. They need other primates."

So, how did that lead to this? Monkeys are not your common farm stock. Like last month's subject, Safari Joe, who bought his first big cat, Barcklay bought her first monkey, later realizing it wasn't such a wise idea. The monkey needed more than human company, and she added two more. Then came Mindy, a rhesus macaque, given to her by a woman who ran another sanctuary.

"We had a special bond," she says. "But Mindy had big problems. She was used in some kind of chemical research, probably chemical ingestion. Lots of companies use animals to see what happens if somebody mistakenly swallows their product. I had Mindy for five years, but she had violent episodes during that time. I thought about putting her to sleep. But she had her good days, when she ate and was happy. It's hard to put down an animal that shows some degree of contentment. After she died, I thought there has to be a place for these animals to go."

Former research monkeys
Another chuckle and a wave of the hand. "Who'd think an old woman would start something like this? I began at an age where others are thinking about retirement and traveling or going off to lake homes. But once you have it running, there's no backing out."

So began the process in 1998 of building a sanctuary–the physical labor, and taking the long tedious steps necessary to incorporate and earn non-profit status. She joined the Association of Sanctuaries, which has very strict rules. Along the way, she won grants to build the enclosures and found volunteers to help her. Still, she toils seven days a week, and they can be 16-hour days. Then, there are nagging PR duties: always the need for donations and more volunteers.

"Finding and keeping volunteers is difficult," she says. "This is hard work. Some come once and never return."

She has a variety of macaque, capuchin, patas and guenon monkeys. Her mission: to let them live out their lives peacefully in the company of their kind and in as normal–monkey-like–conditions as possible. That and to educate people about the drawbacks of exotic animals as pets.

"People buy monkeys as pets and don't realize they suffer without their own kind," she says. "Just like if I locked you away and you never saw another human being."

Mistakes are easy when you're uninformed, she admits. "I bought my first monkey when she was a baby. She was just as dependent as a human one. And I approached it that way. But she wasn't human. These are wild animals. You can force them to behave a certain way, but you're not training them. Given the opportunity to act like monkeys, they will.

"They're cute and cuddly as babies, but as they mature, they can become destructive and unmanageable. An adult monkey is a dangerous animal. Owners don't know what to do with them when they're showing their wild side and biting everybody. So they lock them away or sell them to become a problem for someone else. Sometimes they remove their teeth, fingernails and toenails. I always tell people the word primate is derived from primitive. That's what they are, primitive in nature, and you can't change that."

While on the tour, Barcklay advised me not to approach the cages too closely–no touching, no entering the cages. But they seemed like such friendly little tykes, chattering away and stretching out their arms. Okay, I cheated. When she left momentarily, I reached out and let our cover model squeeze my finger. It was neat. But, she had warned, he might just as soon rip my hair out. Point proven when she returned and I convinced her to stand next to the cage for a photo. In a flash, the same little brat screeched, grabbed her sleeve, a tug-of-war ensued, and, er, well, the PetGazette owes Barcklay a new blouse.

The problem is, many of the residents have mental and emotional wounds, as well as physical ones. Barcklay can reel off the horror stories. Like the female kept in a birdcage with a collar wired around her waist, and she was chained to the cage.

"The owners were afraid of her," she says. "They'd just open the door and throw food in. She had no physical contact. Now, she suffers flare-ups. If another monkey gets too close, she comes unglued and starts screaming. Then others come up and try to comfort her, and she calms down."

There's the male coming from a research facility in California. "The only reason they're letting him go is his hind legs are paralyzed. He sat in a lab cage for nine years, unable to move. They were going to put him to sleep, but the vet said he was so sweet they didn't have the heart to do it. That's rare, because these animals are looked upon as livestock. They are there to be experimented on, then disposed of."

Then, there's the female owned by a family that thought it was cute, the way the monkey sat and constantly rocked back and forth while holding a blanket. "They worked long hours, and the monkey was alone in a cage. The only comfort she had was that blanket. That's not cute. It's mental illness. If you saw your child sitting on the floor with a blanket, completely oblivious to what you said, didn't even recognize you, you'd know there was a serious problem. People can literally drive a monkey insane."

Barcklay shakes her head. "I don't have a normal monkey on the place. Each one has odd quirks. All I can do is give them more space and comfort with each other. Yes, they're still captive, but there's no where else for them to go. When I started this, I had no idea how many monkeys were out there being mistreated and abused. And when I try to tell people about it, they just tune out, don't want to hear it. But these monkeys share the same emotions we do: love, hate, jealousy, anxiety, fear, sorrow. People need to be aware of what's happening."

Barcklay packs a lot of passion and sense into her argument.

"God put our feet on the ground and monkeys in the air. That's where they belong, not in houses. They adapt to our lifestyle, but they're not happy with it. People don't understand, they're not ground dwellers. Horses and dogs, they're companion animals. The horse will let you ride him, the dog will lie by your side. But the monkey wants to be up there, climbing. That's its natural instinct. Then people stick them in cages. I have one with curvature of the spine from being in a cage so small she couldn't stand up. They suffer psychologically. And people dress them in human clothes, put perfume on them, pierce their ears." She shakes her head again.

Heading for the house, Barcklay examines her newly ventilated blouse.

"I can't save them all. In fact, I'm at capacity now. And, listen, if you have a pet monkey, I'm not out to take it from you. We're just trying to break this cycle of monkeys as pets."

A key part of that cycle, she thinks, are the breeders who make the money and have political pull.

"It's remarkable what you can sell in this state. And people who should know better are buying. I saw a couple once, carrying a baby cougar, bragging about how they had just bought it. They also had a human baby, and they lived in an apartment! Can you believe that? For Heaven's sake, just go to the pound. There are plenty of desperate dogs and cats with only a day to live."

It's clear, Barcklay walks the walk as she wades through her group of dogs. If the monkeys aren't enough, she, like many rural dwellers, is the victim of dumping. Actually, the dogs are the victims, but some have the fortune to find her address. Obviously, they make an offer she can't refuse–a lick in the face will do.

"I heard someone say, 'How would you like to be dumped on a street corner, no clothes, no identification, no money, no food and totally dependent on strangers,'" she says. "I watch people pass by strays, kick at them or throw stuff at them if they come in their yards. Poor things, they're just looking for someone to take them in and feed them."

She stops and gazes at her handiwork. "It's tough. There are times when you think you can't do this another day. You get up in the morning, your feet are killing you, the bank account is dwindling. But this feeds my soul. The animals don't say thanks. But I get satisfaction and an inner peace, knowing I helped."

All right, readers, let's end on an upper. Here's Nona's story, paraphrased from Barcklay's newsletter:

Nona is the one who sat and rocked with the blanket. When Barcklay released her into a holding pen, next to her permanent home, the other monkeys were intrigued by this capuchin who immediately retreated under the security of her blanket. Nona sat there all night. One monkey, Cookie, sat as close to her as she could.

Next morning, Barcklay opened the barrier, letting Cookie enter the pen. Cookie held out her arms, making cooing sounds, and Nona slid next to her to be cuddled and welcomed monkey-style. For the first time, Nona experienced grooming by another monkey. Barcklay looked on with a lump in her throat.

She wondered, though, what would it take to coax Nona into her house for shelter? Nona refused to budge, even during a storm. Barcklay watched as she sat in the pouring rain, covered by the blanket.

Then, as Barcklay puts it, "A terrible, loud blast of thunder echoed through the sky. When I looked again, just the little blanket was in the rain. Nona had found shelter. Nature has a way of helping out her children of the wild."

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