Saving Barlë the Circus Bear
For 13 years, a polar bear endured abuse and near starvation in the tropics. Here, the extraordinary story of her rescue and recovery
On a south-facing slope in northern Canada, chunks of snow roll down the hummock from an underground disturbance. When the surface finally erupts, out pops the head of a female polar bear. She inhales through her nose and exhales through her mouth.
Four months earlier, the bear had given birth to twins. Delicately furred, they tucked into her belly for warmth and food. She licked her cubs to keep them clean, nudging them back into place when they squirmed away.
At four weeks, they could hear, and at five weeks, their eyes opened fully. By their sixth week, they were trying to walk. Soon it was time for a move – the space was too small and cramped, as the cubs trampled all over their mother and each other.
The female emerges from her den for the first time in eight months. She slides down the knoll on her belly, then wiggles in the snow to clean her fur. In seconds, two little heads pop from the crater. The cubs try to scramble down the hill, until, giving up control, they tumble like balls into their mother. Bärle’s life could have begun this way. It’s thought that she was born and raised on the west bank of Hudson Bay in 1984. Records suggest she may have been sent to Germany in 1986 through the Manitoba Polar Bear Export Program. Developed by biologists, conservation officers and government officials, the programme was dedicated, in large part, to relocating orphaned cubs from the province of Manitoba to facilities abroad. In Germany, Bärle (pronounced “bear-la”) ended up with animal trainer Fredy Gafner. Shortly after 1990, Gafner took his bear show to the Mexican Suarez Brothers Circus. For 13 years, Bärle and six other polar bears ( Alaska, Royal, Willy, Masha, Boris and Kenny) were forced to perform pantomimes of human behaviours: walking upright while climbing stairs, dancing and playing with balls. Bärle was denied not only the ability to run, swim and climb but also the chance to find a mate, raise young and hunt. She endured mental and physical pain – trainers whipped the bears on the face, head and hindquarters – as well as a sweltering Caribbean environment hostile to her polar- bred sensibilities.
Over five million years, polar bears have evolved to handle extreme cold. They can overheat when the temperature rises above 10°C, forcing them to plunge into the ocean or lie on their backs on a frozen surface – options unavailable to Bärle. Heat’s effect on a polar bear is dramatic. While humans sweat to stay cool, bears don’t. They must pant to cool off, so the hotter it is, the more frequent the panting. A polar bear’s normal respiration rate is between ten and 30 breaths per minute, with 30 being the high end after exertion. The suspected rate for the circus bears? Sixty, while lying still. As a result, they were dehydrated and scrawny.
When not performing, Bärle and her peers were warehoused in a trailer divided into six-cubic-metre metal cages. They had to lie diagonally if they wanted to rest on their bellies, curl up into a C shape to lie on their sides, or put their feet against the wall to lie on their backs. Animal investigators documented temperatures as high as 45°C next to their cages.
Bärle would likely never have been rescued had it not been for Ken and Sherri Gigliotti, a Canadian couple. In 1996, the Winnipeg residents took a wedding anniversary trip to Cozumel, Mexico, where they visited the Suarez Brothers Circus. They were shocked by the polar bears’ appearance and conditions, so they brought home a circus programme and shared it with the Winnipeg Free Press. When the newspaper published the photos later that year, it triggered an international outcry. “We were told some of the bears came from Churchill, Manitoba, and we are from Winnipeg,” the province’s capital, said Ken, explaining why they were determined to bring evidence of the bears’ suffering back to Canada. “That made it personal to us, and we were appalled that these magnificent animals could be so out of place and so far from home.”
Soon after the Winnipeg Free Press story appeared, Debbie Leahy, then director of captive animal rescue and enforcement at People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA), began investigating the Suarez Brothers Circus. She watched the bears perform several times, and once she received a behind-the-scenes tour. During each visit, the bears were panting and filthy. The stench of urine filled the tent, and flies were everywhere. “It was horrifying,” she said.
Leahy devoted herself to the bears’ rescue. She inspired government officials, community leaders, zoo directors, veterinarians and celebrities
WHEN NOT PERFORMING, THE BEARS WERE KEPT IN A TRAILER DIVIDED INTO SIX-CUBICMETRE METAL CAGES.
to advocate for them. In 2002, the Manitoba government passed the Polar Bear Protection Act, which stipulated that only orphaned cubs under two years of age were eligible for zoo placement and that to be considered, zoos must satisfy strict standards.
Rescue at Last
Due to mounting pressure from interest groups, complaints from the public, and regular visits from US Department of Agriculture inspectors, the Suarez Brothers Circus chose to abandon its polar bears in Puerto Rico. On November 5, 2002, the US Fish and Wildlife Service officially seized custody of the animals, and two weeks later, preparations were made for their transit.
In mid- November, the six bears [Alaska, a female, had already been removed by US officials in March] were airlifted out of the Caribbean. A FedEx plane deposited them at zoos across the United States. Detroit – Bärle’s new home – was the final stop. As an animal-behaviour expert who had studied bears for a decade, I had been given the task of her rehabilitation. I went with my colleagues from the Detroit Zoo to the airport, where we took possession of the crate containing Bärle.
After our van arrived at the zoo, our team piled out of the vehicle. A gurney was wheeled near the loading dock, and the back doors of the van were opened. When all was in place, we re-entered the van and surrounded the crate. On the count of three, we heaved our cargo – weighing about 180 kilograms – and slid it forwards to the gurney. Bärle’s conduct caught me off guard: there was no huffing, jaw snapping or crouching in a corner, which seemed out of character for a bear. Thinking about her life, I realised that probably the only reprieve she got from her trainers was while she was travelling. In her crate, she couldn’t get hit or hurt. Maybe that’s why she was so calm. But if her crate offered her the only refuge she’d known in her 13 years, would we be able to coax her out of it and into her new quarters?
We wheeled the crate from the loading dock and into the quarantine area – where she would be spending the next 30 days – and pushed one end of the crate to rest on the entrance of her enclosure. While my colleagues chained the crate onto the enclosure fence to secure it for Bärle’s exit, I began interacting with her, hoping to demonstrate we were harmless. In my years of rehabilitating wildlife, I had learned a valuable lesson: first impressions count. I take no chances with charm; I buy my way in. With Bärle, I had grapes – sweet, juicy grapes.
I crouched in front of her, and we locked eyes. Like humans, bears communicate using a combination of words (in their case, sounds that have specific meaning) and body language. I pushed a grape through the crate’s metal mesh and held it up to her nose.
Never taking her eyes off mine, she gently held the fruit with her lips and then intentionally dropped it, with what seemed to be a smile. I’ve experienced this behaviour before with bears and interpret it as politeness. A bear may not want or need what I’m offering but will take it if it wants the interaction to continue. If annoyed, it will refuse the object, refuse to make eye contact, and express aggression with paw slamming or huffing.
I didn’t know if Bärle had ever tasted grapes before. Her diet in the circus had consisted largely of old bread, lettuce, carrots and cheap dog food. I offered her a second grape, which she took with her lips and ate. Her smile hadn’t waned. It didn’t matter to me if she ate the fruit or not; my objective was to show her we could be trusted so that she’d feel comfortable enough to leave the crate.
Bärle’s face was a curious wash of age and youth. She was a small bear with a head no bigger than mine. Her fur was a mess. The long guard hairs were broken or missing, her undercoat was matted and bald spots revealed flaky black skin. Her facial muscles had atrophied, giving her the sunken appearance of an abused bear. She looked older than her 18 years – in captivity, polar bears can live until their late 30s – yet a cub-like innocence shone through her expression. The complexity of it and her radiance drew me in.
Michelle Seldon, associate curator of mammals, told me the crate was locked in place. “It’s time,” she said. I tossed a trail of grapes from the crate to a room where a straw nest awaited. I stepped out of the enclosure, and we lifted the sliding barriers between the enclosure and the crate.
Bärle stayed seated. I called her name. One ear rotated in my direction. She inhaled, assessing her environment. She took one step, then another over the threshold. Fighting to contain our delight, we slowly closed the slides behind her. For us humans, this moment was deeply moving. Some staff members had tears in their eyes; we were shutting the door on Bärle’s circus life forever.
No doubt she had detected the drop in temperature, the grapes and straw so fresh, you could smell its sweetness. Bärle feigned interest in the grapes. Then she moved forwards, gaining speed down the hall to the straw. She approached it cautiously, first mouthing and smelling it, putting a paw in, then mowing her belly through it, and finally falling over in a full-body rolland-rub dance. With straw caught in
THERE WAS NO HUFFING, JAW SNAPPING OR CROUCHING IN A CORNER, WHICH SEEMED OUT OF CHARACTER FOR A BEAR
her dreadlocked coat, she fell asleep. Like relieved parents, we turned out the lights and softly closed the door.
Road to Recovery
For the first few days, Bärle slept most of the time, as we did routine tests for parasites and disease. Waiting for her was a four-metre-deep saltwater pool in a large enclosure mimicking her original pack-ice environment, along with a separate 4000 square metre tundra enclosure, featuring an outdoor cave, a stream and a smaller freshwater pool with live trout.
I continued my work developing a trusting relationship, greeting her in the morning with a handful of grapes, calling her name. But Bärle was not eating well. We gave her a variety of fruits and vegetables, insects, meats and fish. All she would eat was the grapes, along with some bread and lettuce. I sat in front of her enclosure and ate, to demonstrate the foods were edible. She was interested in the fact that I was eating and came over to have a closer look. I ripped off a piece of bread with my teeth and ate it. I held the other half between the bars for her. Maintaining eye contact, she took it with her lips and dropped it. Again, she was being courteous. I repeated the demonstration. This time she took her share and ate it. I praised her softly. “Good girl, Bärle. Such a good girl.”
I carried on with some lettuce, and then the following day added peanuts to the repertoire. I demonstrated how to shell the nut with my teeth, spitting out the shell. She watched intently, then took a peanut with her lips. She fumbled around inside her mouth for some time. Then out popped the shell, and before long she was eating peanuts just like our other bears.
We moved onto other foods. Demonstrations of eating fruit, vegetables and nuts went seamlessly. But insects, meat and fish posed a problem. I was not keen on demonstrating the delights and techniques of eating live mealworms, raw meat or whole fish. As it turned out, mealworms wiggled and caught Bärle’s attention. With a little smile on her face, she seemed amused by their movement and simply stippled them off the floor with her tongue when they stopped.
It was vital that Bärle develop an appetite for raw fish, since it would become the mainstay of her diet once she was integrated into the bear community. When Bärle came over to sit with me by the fence I placed several dead fish at her feet. I stuck one through the mesh and wiggled it to see if it was of interest to her. It was, but not enough for her to eat it. She just kept looking at me with that little smile on her face.
Desperate, I feigned a fish-eating demonstration by holding a dead herring up to my mouth while pretending to eat. It didn’t work. I repeatedly dropped the fish on the floor, and once down my shirt sleeve. Bärle moved her nose to my sleeve and looked into
my eyes as if to let me know that was where the little carcass had gone, in case I’d missed it.
Another day a live fish jumped out of the tank and landed on the floor. The poor fish leapt around, and that caught Bärle’s attention. She lay down and watched until the fish lay still. Then she touched it with her nose and it flopped around again. Bärle had a broad smile on her face. I was anxious for her to just eat the fish and put it out of its misery, but she didn’t. She sat up and tried to pick up the fish with her front paws, but it slipped out and flopped onto the floor again. She finally did get the fish in her grasp and began to strip off the skin, then biting it in half and eating it. At this point I was more relieved that the ordeal was over than thrilled that Bärle had actually eaten a fish. But after this incident she began to eat fish regularly. Bärle’s appetite improved, and so did her desire to start exploring her new environment.
Nosy Greeting
We decided it was time for Bärle to meet the other bears at the zoo. We moved her into the Arctic Ring of Life, or the ARL as we called it, a building with eight stalls and a long hallway with a 1.2-metre-deep freshwater pool. We would give Bärle access to the entire building, and keep the other bears outside for a few days to give her time to get to know the new area and to view the other bears without having to interact with them if she didn’t want to.
She was due for a veterinary checkup, for which she had to be immobilised. So we anaesthetised her; she was given her exam, then placed in the ARL. She woke up, and an hour later was sitting up and sniffing the walls. She got up and moved around, then we gave her some food and water.
She spent a great deal of time licking her front paws, grooming the fur and the paw pads. This was the first time we observed Bärle taking an interest in
cleanliness. Traumatised animals frequently lose interest in grooming and personal hygiene, so this development was cause for quiet celebration.
The other bears were locked out of the ARL, but that didn’t prevent their intense curiosity or keep them from fact- finding missions. At intervals the bears crowded outside the doors, sticking their noses into cracks as far as they could and sucking back the inside air for information.
The following morning we brought some of the bears inside. We had two groups, because the two unrelated males, Adak and Triton, did not get along. Adak was smaller, so we let in his group, with three females.
Like excited schoolchildren, they all tried to cram their bodies through the doorway at the same time, pushing and shoving and woofing. Bärle was closed into one of the stalls where she could either greet the new bears at the mesh gate or move away from the door and have some privacy. She chose to stay by the gate and observe the bears.
Adak walked up to the gate first and licked Bärle’s nose. Sissy came up and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, and also licked Bärle’s nose. The other two females, Vilma and Icee, hung back, perhaps concerned about the arrival of a new bear and how that could change their daily routine.
When the other bears were shifted back outside, Bärle was given access to the entire building again. She spent her time taking naps and exploring, meticulously collecting information and experiences by smelling, pushing and pulling on the doors, the mesh and the automatic waterers. She spent a few days taking naps, eating, immersing herself in the pool, and acclimatising herself to her new surroundings.
Next we introduced Bärle to the outdoor environment, the two enclosures visible to each other but separated by two moats and a boundary wall between them.
We moved the other bears outside the tundra enclosure and let Bärle meet her next challenge. She stood at the door, breathed in the wind-borne scents for a moment, and then went outside to the 4000-square- metre area. She walked slowly on the grass, looking down and smelling it. She sniffed everything in her path, the rocks, sticks, vegetation, air. She was not smiling. She was working, thinking. She reached the pool and tasted the water, then circled the tundra enclosure twice in her investigations. She lay down in the grass, rolled over, feet in the air, and wiggled and gyrated in the joy of the outdoors. Her adventure only lasted about an hour and a half, but it had gone well.
Social Cues
Bärle suffered a setback when we found she had ringworm, and we had to put her in quarantine for 45 days. When the quarantine was lifted, we decided it was time to introduce her to the other bears. Since Sissy was the
least aggressive animal, we gave Bärle and Sissy access to each other, separated only by a fence. Bärle watched everything that Sissy did, while Sissy seemed completely uninterested.
A few days later, we gave Sissy access to the tundra, as Bärle watched intently. When Sissy settled in at the far side of the enclosure, we opened Bärle’s door. Anticipating she might need some encouragement, I started over to sit with her – but she was out the door by the time I got there.
Bärle moved across the tundra in Sissy’s direction, pausing only briefly to consider Triton, who was standing across the moat in the pack-ice enclosure, eyeing her and surveying the proceedings. For about ten minutes Bärle wandered about, feigning interest in some sticks, rocks and snow, while looking at Sissy. Finally she walked up to Sissy and tried to touch the side of her face with her nose. We had counted on Sissy for a measured response, and we were not disappointed. Sissy sensed Bärle’s complete lack of malice. Still, Sissy faced her off, clucking, huffing and mock-mouthing Bärle’s neck, backing her up.
Bärle tried again to make contact, tobogganing on her side several times across the snow towards Sissy, ask- ing her to play. Again, Sissy moved forwards, huffing in Bärle’s ears and mock-biting. Bärle got the message and went back to her fake foraging business while considering her options. Throughout the day Bärle either slid or amiably walked up to Sissy, but was met with the same repelling response. Sissy clearly wanted to be left alone. But the integration was peaceable, so it was a success.
Bärle spent several days with Sissy, and then, at about twoweek intervals, she was introduced to the other bears. Sissy never warmed up to Bärle – once even charging her and biting her in the rump – but Bärle’s introduction to Vilma went much better. Bärle located Vilma’s position in the enclosure and carefully grazed her way over to her. Bärle and Vilma ate together for about 15 minutes, then Vilma approached Bärle with the traditional cheek-sniffing and mouth-fencing.
After a few minutes Vilma tried to corral Bärle towards the pool. Bärle sat down, so Vilma tried to nudge her from behind. She tried to raise Bärle to her feet. When that didn’t work, Vilma bolted a short distance. This move worked, because now Bärle was facing the pool, and Vilma tried to push her in that direction.
Finally Bärle got the message and followed Vilma to the water. Vilma leapt in and splashed water with both paws. Bärle stood there staring at her. Vilma’s splashing grew more intense, and she slammed her upper torso into the water, drenching Bärle and everyone else who was watching.
Bärle slowly entered the pool. Vilma moved into deeper water and porpoised in shallow dives in front of Bärle, who instantly copied her. Both bears were smiling. They played for hours; and these two bears forged a lifelong friendship based on their water sports. And Bärle got what she needed – a bear friend who had her back.
Bärle Finds a Mate
Triton was the largest bear, and so he was the last one to meet Bärle. As he came out of his doorway, he tried to greet Bärle with a sniff-check, but she backed away and watched him go. She took long, deep breaths through her nose, and exhaled through her mouth, collecting information. Then she started rubbing her body against the walls and the gate. She was nervous.
Bärle crossed the tundra, taking side glances at Triton. When he looked up, she averted her eyes, as if something else had caught her attention. Triton then ate his way over to Bärle, and took the last 10 metres in three giant leaps. Bärle twirled around, and he tried to cheek-sniff her. She reared up and bounced off him, paw punching him in the shoulder. He backed up.
They danced like prizefighters. Both cheek-sniffed and huffed, showing that they were anxious. Bärle sat down, stood up, and backed up a few steps, while Triton stayed where he was. Bärle moved forwards and engaged him. When he tried to flank her, she sat down.
Finally Triton moved off, hanging his head. Then Bär le moved closer to him, and suddenly Tri ton had a bright idea. With his mouth, he picked up a maple branch that had been stripped of its leaves and dropped it in front of Bärle as a gift. She ignored it, walked over it, and sat down. I detected a slight smile on her face as Triton left.
In short order Triton returned, dragging an entire maple sapling in his mouth, complete with leaves that he then dropped in front of Bärle. Although Bärle was smiling, she moved away slightly and looked in the opposite direction, ignoring the gift.
Triton picked it up and put it down closer to her. Again she pretended not to see it. Insistently, he picked it up and dropped it down next to her, and
finally Bärle accepted the gift with a quick sniff and lip-check. She turned and walked away, and he followed in traditional courtship behaviour. Continuing the dance, she turned and half-heartedly chased him off.
Now Icee cut in and sought Triton’s attention by greeting him nose to nose, and Triton momentarily gave Icee his attention. Bärle turned to walk away but looked over her shoulder, beckoning him to follow. Triton looked from one female to the other. Icee huffed softly at him. When he turned to look at Icee, Bärle flew in his face and admonished him. Icee left, and Triton wisely feigned interest in the grass.
Bärle left to go swimming. Triton tried to join her, but she lowered her head in annoyance, and so Triton backed off. Bärle moved away from the pool and rolled in the grass to dry off. Then Vilma wandered over to the pool to lie down, and Triton greeted her briefly while looking at Bärle. Vilma seemed to ignore Triton, both looking at Bärle during the interaction.
The integration was a complete success. Bärle was leaving behind her life as a traumatised circus bear, and was carving out a place for herself negotiating with our other self-concerned, opinionated, well-adjusted mature bears. She was a robust contender to be bartered with in normal bear negotiations.
Over the winter, Bärle and Triton began to develop an extraordinarily strong bond. They played together, slept together, ate together and were frequently near each other. As the season progressed Triton actively courted Bärle, and she allowed him to corral her into various areas of the tundra and pack-ice enclosures. They were frequently together, rubbing against each other, playing together and sharing their food.
As summer passed, Bärle grew less interested in social behaviour and began to check out dens and old nesting sites. By early November she was resting most of the day, only getting up to build her nest, fluffing, arranging, and then rearranging the straw bed in the den. By mid-November Bärle slept almost exclusively in the cubbing den. It was time.
A New Life
November 22, 2004, was a beautiful autumn day, sunny and just above freezing. Bärle nestled deep inside her den, scratching and licking her paws, gently rearranging the straw in her nest. She rested as darkness drew in, enveloping her as it likely had her mother, some 20 years before when she was denning in the wilds of northern Canada.
At 11.06pm, Bärle raised her hindquarters and with her head down began breathing heavily in short, quick contractions. Two minutes later a small, pinkish-white cub dropped into the straw. Within minutes Bärle had reoriented herself and was smellchecking and licking parts of the
amniotic sac off the cub. Later, she gently picked up the cub in her mouth while rearranging straw and changing position. Bärle cradled the cub in the crux of her arms as she continued to lick her clean, and dry her with her tongue which was so big that it blanketed the baby each time.
In the morning the cub was nursing, and Bärle seemed completely adept at her nurturing skills. About 7.30am, Bärle quietly stood up, left the baby in the straw, and took a brief excursion. She was stretching, getting a breath of air, and possibly reassessing the safety of her environment.
Bärle proved to be a relaxed and confident mother. She would adjust the cub’s position on her chest to suckle. She experimented with different lying positions, and there was much fluffing and raking of straw while she kept an eye on her baby.
At the age of 39 days the cub opened her eyes and blinked, and yawned for the first time. A few days later she got up and walked, taking a few steps, resting, then taking a few more. On day 67, the cub tried to follow Bärle when she took a break. Bärle picked up the cub with her mouth as if to move her back into the den, but then, as if she
changed her mind, she put the cub back down again. From then on, the cub was allowed to follow her mother.
At 11 weeks, the cub began to mouth Bärle’s food, trying to bite a piece of pear and then a fish head. At 13 weeks, Bärle escorted the cub out to the pool room. The other bears detected their activity, and one of them pounded on the door to get inside to investigate. Bärle curtly huffed distress calls at the cub and pushed her towards her room. The cub didn’t want to leave and tried to dodge back around her mother. On the fly, Bärle grabbed the baby by the rump and dragged her back to the den.
In April, Bärle took her cub out to the tundra, huffing at the other bears who were watching them from the pack ice. It was impossible to know if she was greeting them, introducing her new cub, or warning them to stay clear of her cub. Over the summer we named the cub Talini, and she learned to swim in the outdoor pool. Eventually Talini was introduced to the other bears, and Bärle began to separate herself from her cub.
Bärle could be rather abrupt with Talini, and sometimes chased her away from food and the nest. Bärle didn’t want to play or cuddle with her, and worst of all Bärle didn’t want to nest together anymore. Talini was devastated, and sometimes regressed into a clingy, whiny cublet. But Adak noticed the change, and he took an interest in Talini and swam with her and engaged in mock-fighting.
The seasons came and went. And although Bärle bred with another male, she never again gave birth to a cub. To this day, Talini continues to thrive at the Detroit Zoo, and now has a mate, Nuka. But in July 2012 Bärle lost her appetite, and when the vet examined her she discovered tumours throughout her abdominal cavity. Bärle died at the age of 27 from liver cancer.
Bärle had arrived at the Detroit Zoo an empty worn-out hull, but with a grip on life that would never let go. She bravely took advantage of every opportunity offered to her to learn, to make mistakes, to express herself without consequence. And in the end she transformed herself from an abused circus act back to what she was always meant to be: a true polar bear.