The little lady who brought me joy

On December 16, 2017, Sarah sat and posed for me. This was the result.

I walked into the zoo well before it was open to cover a story for the Star-Herald. When I was done, I decided to walk around and take some pictures before the zoo opened for the day. I strolled past Cyrano, a Lynx rufus at the zoo, and hung out there for a while. I always enjoy paying him a visit even if he sleeps the entire time I’m there. That’s what cats do.

Eventually, I made my way past the bison, zebras, Eurasian Lynx and tigers and walked into the indoor enclosure for the chimpanzees. It was a cool morning and I wasn’t sure if Scooter and Sarah would be outside that day. Sarah was in the right indoor enclosure. She was sitting down and as soon as she saw me, she got up and started to walk toward me.

The chimpanzees normally hang out in the left side indoor enclosure, but this side had recently been cleaned and painted with plans to use it. Somewhere in the distant future I was told, the zoo hoped to bring in more chimpanzees. The other side was also due for a cleaning, so it was likely Sarah and Scooter would be outside that day. I was grateful she wasn’t. Outside, she liked to climb to the top of her jungle gym and lie on the perch at the top, basking in the Sun’s rays all day.

As Sarah walked toward me, her eyes met mine. She looked down at the floor and back at me. She looked down at the floor. I looked at the floor. She looked back up at me. I looked back at her. She looked down at the floor. I’m just a stupid human, but I started to look at where she was looking. There were a few paint drops on the floor, blue and red, but that wasn’t what she was looking at.

At first, I thought the red on her foot was paint. I wondered why she was there if the paint had not yet dried. Then, I realized what she was trying to tell me. She was bleeding.

She walked up to the pane of glass separating us, sat down and pointed at her foot. She must have read the expression on my face. She knew I understood. But she didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Chimpanzee.

I put my pointer finger up and held my hand out toward her. “Just a minute, Sarah,” I said. “I’ll go get help.” She didn’t know what I was saying, but I think she understood.

I ran back outside and found a zookeeper and relayed the information. As it turns out, Sarah and Scooter had gotten into a scuffle that morning. The keepers thought the wound was healing as it had scabbed over, but Sarah must have picked it. The keeper thanked me and hurried over to make sure Sarah was okay.

On every subsequent trip to the zoo, I made sure to stop by and see Sarah. Whenever I was alone, she always came over to see me. Sometimes, she would smile for me. Mostly, we would just keep each other company for a little while. I always stayed until she got bored of me and left.

This is the last photograph I have of Sarah, right, with Scooter. It wasn’t the best photo I had ever taken. Scooter was grooming her until I walked into their indoor enclosure with Education Curator Alex Henwood.

In the summer of 2017, I had the privilege of following zookeepers around all day to report on what they do. The crew I worked with were scheduled on the primate rotation that day. The last stop of the day was dinnertime for Sarah and Scooter.

I learned what they were fed, how much, how well they were cared for, and most importantly, how much Sarah and Scooter were loved. I had access few people will ever have and I was grateful to see another side of Sarah’s life.

It’s not easy taking a photograph with one hand, but when Sarah put her hand up again to me, I reciprocated. I missed the shot where she turned her hand over.

In February, I was having a really bad day. I was already at the zoo covering a story and Sarah was one of the animals that could always cheer me up. She was in her indoor enclosure. The weather was too chilly for her and Scooter to be outside.

Scooter wasn’t interested in me this day. I walked in, sat down on the bench, and didn’t even try to take any pictures. My camera hung around my neck like a giant weight pulling me down. I tossed my camera bag on the bench and just watched Sarah and Scooter.

Sarah saw me from up on high. She climbed down and walked over to me. She settled down next to me, just on the other side of the glass. I put my hand up to say, “Hi,” like I do to just about everyone. She put her hand up. She had never done that before.

I asked her how her day was, but got no reply. She leaned her head in closer to me. “I hope you’re having a better day than I am,” I said to her. I sighed and began reviewing the pictures I had just taken for my newspaper story. As I did, I rested my head against the glass. Sarah moved toward me. So I got up on my knees, turned the back of my camera toward Sarah and began reviewing my photos with her.

“Oh that one’s not good,” I told Sarah. “It’s not quite all in focus.” As I explained what I liked and didn’t like about each photo, I leaned my forehead against the glass for a little better balance. Sarah leaned her head against mine. Our eyes were millimeters apart and we were staring at each other.

I stayed there for a moment before leaning back to take a picture of Sarah. I snapped a few shots and then put my left hand against the glass to balance myself. Sarah looked at my hand and put hers against the glass for the briefest of moments.

I sat back down on the bench. She sat with me for a little while, in all about 25 minutes. This time, I had to go. I needed to get back to the Star-Herald and write my story, but I wanted to stay. Sarah had calmed me and made my day better. And I didn’t want to go.

This is the last photograph I have of Sarah. It’s not a good one and I nearly deleted it. She didn’t feel like coming down to see me on this day, but she watched everything I did. I thought, “Okay, I’ll get a better one next time.”

Much like her human cousins, she had troubles with her heart. Sarah died in her sleep from what was determined to be complications from heart disease. Sarah was 49 years old.

She had helped raise Scooter. She brought joy to everyone’s lives she touched. For me, the joy was in the small moments away from the crowds when it was just the two of us understanding each other in silence.