Unlikely Friendships : 47 Remarkable Stories From the Animal Kingdom (26 page)

It has fast become one the most famous examples of interspecies friendship ever told. Reptiles aren't typically known for their warm, fuzzy natures. Nor are hippos.

The story goes that when the deadly December 2004 tsunami hit the Kenyan coast near the village of Malindi, the waves swept away all but one hippo of a pod wallowing in the Sabaki River. This lone survivor was a 600-pound baby that villagers managed, with colossal effort, to capture and transport to the Haller Park Wildlife Sanctuary in Mombasa.

Hippos can be aggressive and ill-tempered, even toward their own kind. So baby Owen, named after one of his human rescuers, was placed in an enclosure along with small, gentle
animals like vervet monkeys, bushbucks, and, as it happened, a 130-year-old Aldabra giant tortoise named Mzee.

That's when strange and wonderful things started to happen. Owen immediately approached Mzee and crouched down behind him as if hiding behind a great boulder. Mzee moved away, seeming annoyed, but the hippo persisted. And by the next morning, the two had managed a sort of awkward cuddle. Hippos in the wild crowd near each other, but except for mothers and young, they don't really bond socially. Giant tortoises also hang out in herds without forming any great attachments. The young hippo, perhaps craving motherly attention, found something comforting in an old, set-in-his-ways reptile—a pairing as unlikely as they come.

Hippo babies usually stay with their mothers for four years, learning how to be hippos. In this case, Owen began learning how to be a tortoise. According to Haller Park's manager, Paula Kahumbu, he began copying Mzee's feeding behaviors, chewing on the same grasses. He'd ignore other hippos bellowing elsewhere in the park, and he was most active during the day, which is the opposite of typical hippo behavior but in line with tortoise preferences. The two followed each other around, wallowed together in the pond,
and slept side by side, meaty torso against timeworn shell. Owen became protective of his reptile companion and affectionate toward him, licking Mzee's face as the tortoise rested his head on Owen's belly.

Scientists have been most fascinated with how the two animals developed their own physical and verbal language. With gentle nips and nudges to feet or tails, they told each other when to move and in which direction. They sounded off, back and forth, with deep rumbling sounds not typical of either animal. “What strikes me is how sophisticated their mutual communication system became,” says animal behaviorist Barbara King. “It's a dynamic dance between two species with no preset program on how to deal with each other. And it can't just be instinct, because one was shaping its behavior to the other.”

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The Rhino and Lion Nature Reserve, located on the high plateau region of inland South Africa, is named for two of its most charismatic beasts. Owned by stockbroker Ed Hern, the place in its early years was just an old farm with a modest collection of two white rhinos. It now houses more than 600 game animals representing twenty-five species.

One of the animals was a six-month-old rhino calf that had been brought to the reserve after her mother was killed by poachers. The calf was spotted cowering by her mother's carcass, and it was decided she should be hand-reared until she was old enough to fend for herself among other rhinos. But a half-year rhino gulps down gallon after gallon of milk each day, and acquiring a trough of
the drink on a daily basis was difficult. Fortunately, a South African dairy supplier offered to sponsor enough milk-replacement formula to feed the beast. The charitable company was called Clover. And from then on, so was the rhino.

Clover craved constant attention, says Lorinda Hern, the daughter of the reserve's owner. That's not surprising for an animal typically inseparable from its mother for its first eighteen months of life. For a while, a human handler kept her company—virtually a full-time job. At this point, the youngster's daily milk intake was at fourteen gallons; at mealtimes she'd impatiently await her massive drink with childlike squealing and foot stomping. But as the rhino ballooned to over 600 pounds, the position of rhino chaperone became increasingly dangerous. Although Clover was extremely gentle, her sheer bulk meant that she could easily crush a human foot—or worse—by simply being too rambunctious. Human efforts at discipline were useless at tempering the little rhino's exuberance. And anyway, it was not ideal to let her become too attached to humans, as it would make her an easy target for poachers in the future.

But solo living wasn't good for Clover, and she soon fell ill. A local vet diagnosed her with a stomach ulcer, a condition he believed was related to stress and loneliness. Clover needed a new friend, but no other young rhinos were on hand. So, in an experimental move, a tame adult billy goat was ushered into Clover's pen.

As expected, Clover was very curious about the new resident, sniffing and nudging him at every opportunity. Unfortunately, her
new neighbor was annoyed by the invasive behavior. He charged at her, head lowered aggressively in the same way that goats establish a hierarchy when they're among other goats. Clover meekly retreated to a safer distance. But within minutes she'd take her chances and approach again. Even though Clover loomed like a giant over the goat, the smaller animal wasn't intimidated and proved himself the dominant member of the pair. Clover was so thrilled at having a friend—even a moody and temperamental one—she seemed happy to consent to his terms.

Within a week or two, the rhino and the goat—aptly, if somewhat unimaginatively, named Goat—were inseparable. The gruff billy patiently indulged Clover when she wanted to play “chase,” marked by the rhino's excited squeals and satisfied grunts. When Clover was napping, Goat would deftly clamber onto her back and use her as a lookout point to scout the area. Clover, meanwhile, generously shared her shelter, food, and toys, and was totally devoted to her new companion. She followed him relentlessly—his 1,200-pound lapdog. Despite Goat's occasional irritation at her persistence, Lorinda says the two cuddled up together at bedtime. Reserve staff worried that Goat might be flattened under his weighty sleeping partner, but no such accidents happened. And it was Goat's presence day and night, they are certain, that brought about a complete turnaround in Clover's health. She fattened up and her mood brightened. With a companion nearby, all was well.