Boris & Josie

When I set out as the new Project Manager of the Chimpanzee Rehabilitation Project in the River Gambia National Park, I was 34. Boris and Josie were many years my senior. Nobody actually knew their exact age - they had come to the project roughly 12, 13 or 14 years prior to me, as pups. Now they were senior dogs, and incredibly overweight.

My heart broke for the neglect that was apparent in their near obesity. I was told by the local staff members, who came to the project each morning for work, and left each afternoon to go home to their villages surrounding the national park, that the dogs hadn't been on one walk with the previous person in charge (the person I'd be training with for the next two weeks). Granted, it was not in the job description to take care of these dogs. But, it was their home, and, as manager, you and only you shared that home with them. A previous manager had brought them to the project at the beginning of his 5+ years there and then had left them there, perhaps leaving them in good hands at the time. Or, perhaps knowing that if they failed to receive care from a manager then one of the 25 local men on the staff team could handle feeding them and letting them out during their work day.

In any case, that was in the past now and I was in charge for the foreseeable future. I was appalled, but still, I knew myself, and in knowing that knew that their worst days were over. The first reasonable thing to do was give the one who was now leaving after two years, the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the dogs couldn't physically walk for some reason... but, oh, they could, just fine. What else could possibly be the reason for allowing living beings to become this overweight? There was none. She just wasn't "a dog person", and the job role was just too overwhelming. Details I had to avert my eyes from for the next two weeks for the sake of diplomacy. I'd come to learn from her that she had kept them locked inside the office from morning to night, the job was that demanding. I'd soon come to learn how demanding the job was, indeed a morning to night kind of role, but there would always by time for a walk. And at this point in time, these dogs were in a place where they didn't seem to have any interest in anything whatsoever, and were dangerously overweight.

I knew that was all about to change. I had been in the field of rescuing and rehabilitating animals for 10 years prior to this. I was a caregiver through and through and giving care was the name of my game. And by any means necessary that's what they were going to get.

I documented their condition and gave the report from the staff team and the woman herself to the project director, who was based 5 hours away in the city. Unfortunately, it was an example of neglect that wasn't taken too seriously, especially when the nature of the project was caring for endangered species, whose lives were often on the line. As long as the dogs were fed and let out to do their business, they were "taken care of". It really was all up to me and thank goodness I arrived when I did. I got to work with them from day one.

After the first day of training was over I assumed they'd love to get out for a walk. But they didn't show any signs of being the least bit interested in doing so. They were lethargic, and didn't exhibit any comprehension of what I was offering to them. "Walk? Outside? But we're inside", they seemed to say to me. It took them some days to realize that they were going to join me on walks every day and they were going to love it. And they did, in no time, really. Soon enough that stagnant energy they'd dwelled in for so long was aired out and given space to breathe and transform.

Josie would be the first to pass, 12 months after my arrival, and Boris's passing followed hers in a matter of a few weeks. But the year that they were under my care, and I under theirs, were some of the most joyful, exciting and scary times I'd ever had with dog companions (and I've had many!). And they were the best companions a girl could ever ask for. The couldn't-be-bothered and overweight senior dogs turned into young pups again! After just a few weeks, muscle definition formed in their bodies and the pounds dropped. Soon enough they were free in their physical form and their behavior. They were "camp" dogs that I wholeheartedly adopted as my own... as it ought to have been with anyone stepping into that role of living with them.

In the beautiful River Gambia National Park, our typical path was up the steep, stepped cliff side. At the top was an epic view of the River Gambia and all its channels surrounding the river islands - where 80 foot walls of pristine virgin forest stood tall and majestic, an oasis in a land that, surrounding it, was deforested and facing desertification. Chimpanzees inhabited the river islands, where no human has set foot since the 1980s, along with vervet monkeys and endangered western red colobus monkeys. There were 200+ birds species here and the rivers were home to hippos, crocodiles, and even West African manatees! There was a fourth primate species indigenous to the area: baboons. Having worked and bonded with rescued baboons before, I was familiar with their behavior in captivity, but only slightly knowledgeable about their behavior in the wild. Nonetheless, I was surprised to hear stories of how villagers' dogs were ripped to shreds by them in instances where they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. This very cliff side (part of our route on an afternoon dog walk), was a home range for all three of the primate species in this region, save for the chimps...they were marooned on the huge river islands where they would carry out the rest of their lives.

If Boris and Josie sensed baboons anywhere near where we were on our walks, they wouldn't walk a step further in that direction. Even if I had no idea what they were stopping for I soon came to learn why. But, with their old age and the tall, tall grasses, sometimes encounters were all too close for comfort! Josie had an incredibly acute sensitivity to snakes, as well, and luckily so! Some of the deadliest snakes were in this area; puff adders, Mozambican black spitting cobras, boomslangs, green mambas and more! I didn't fear them as much as maintained a healthy respect for not being bitten, which was almost always out of being surprised and defending themselves - accidental. The vibrations of human footsteps is usually enough to send them on their way, as they don't want an encounter with a human any more than a human may want one with them! Puff adders, however, are quite different. They don't move much, and do so much slower than the others, and they don't tend to move out of your way, either...so basically nothing that holds true with most other snakes is accurate with them! With all this in mind, every step around project grounds had to be a mindful one, especially in the record heat that year, where gumboots just had to be set aside for flip flops. So, when Josie started her focused barking, directly at a specific point, I would be thankful, for without fail there would be a snake somewhere in that vicinity.

I don't know how she did it: one night, early on in my time there, we were fast asleep up in the second story bedroom above the office, Boris, Josie and I. In the middle of the night she started barking, fixating towards a corner of the room. Sure enough I'd promptly hear the footsteps of the night watchmen outside and see their flashlights shining in all directions. I went downstairs to see what, if anything, they'd found. Lo and behold, about 50 feet from the office door (the front door of my house), in the direction Josie's nose was pointing (from a flight above), there was the cobra. She always nailed it. Boris, bless his sweet soul, was not so perceptive, and didn't seem to have his wits about him as Josie did, but that opinion of my dear Boris transformed during one fateful encounter when we had a brush with the baboons - he was quite impressive!

Back to the snakes, we never killed them, and none of the staff team did either. But at least locating them helped others to be more aware when they walked in that area. One morning I actually saw the whole team painstakingly trying to remove a puff adder from a fishing net we had confiscated from the protected channel in the river. The snake's head was stuck and it would have surely strangled itself to death had it not been rescued. It was a very heartwarming sight, especially since I hadn't asked them to do that: common behavior in the villages would be to kill them for safety reasons. We didnt have any antivenom and the closest hospitals were 2 hours by boat or 4 hours by truck. To top it off, it wasn't guaranteed they'd have any, either. In fact, when one of our senior staff members was bitten by a puff adder, he was taken 2 hours by river and had to turn right around to go to the other hospital for that very reason! At the 8th hour he got the antivenom, and barely survived. Three months later he came back to work, with some lingering numbness around the bite site on his hand. Luckily it was at the far end of a limb - the closer to the heart, the worse the reaction.

We had a handful of close calls with the snakes, Boris, Josie and I. When the seasons turned from dry to wet, all the new insect and reptile life went from invisible to in-your-face thriving! The flying ants emerged from their mounds by the millions -if not billlions- and filled the humid air, slipping up your nostrils and getting into all the layers of clothes you had on. The next days their wings they would be glimmering on pathways, trees and rooftops like a first snowfall. Enormous centipedes were everywhere. Emperor scorpions, bigger than two hands put together, were dazzling with their almost jewel-encrusted texture on their pincers. Feasting mosquitos were unlike anywhere I've experienced. And the snakes! All creatures were delighting in the relief of the parched and ruthless dry season.

There were "resident" black cobras living by my front and back doors, one being about 7' long! One day they were in front of both the doors at the same exact time! Our project chef and I saw the one at the back door so he chose to go out the front door, and that beautiful, shiny beast we didn't see at the front door stood on his tail about 5' tall facing off with Karim! I think both parties gave each other a fright, and both decided to go opposite ways from each other at the same time (both unharmed)!

One evening on our way back from the cliff walk, nearing the steps to head back down to camp, the lighting was low and there was a flat rock in the narrow path, flanked by tall grass on either side. When I hopped over the rock, midair I saw the puff adder nestled along one side of the rock. It was so out of sight from the direction and pace we were approaching that Josie didn't even see or sense it until we were right on top of it! Josie and I were on one side of it already, keeping our distance, and Boris had yet to cross, now knowing that danger was laying in the middle of the path. Walk around it, you may think to say, but the narrow path was within striking distance on either side, and going through the tall grass is very, very unwise, with all these snakes and poisonous things. But in an instant thats what Boris and I chose for him to do, he and I met minds and with the same thought and he bounded with wide berth through the grass in two leaps and we retreated back to homebase safely. It was humbling to understand how fast and unexpected things could happen.

Every walk I took them on, every day, for all of 2018, we had our wits about us, but we also had our fun! They were good dogs (as all dogs are), loyal, trustworthy and life-saving smart! When one of our Peace Corps volunteers had a huge chunk of his calf bitten off by a resident Patas monkey, Boris and Josie notified me before I heard him screaming for me!

Which leads me to the memory that leapt to my mind when I read the name of the challenge: our baboon encounter. Maybe more so than my attentiveness to snakes on our walks was my attentiveness to baboons. Nothing about our chosen path for walks was reckless: I'd check in every day with the coming and going staff team and night watchmen, where the baboons were, or where they'd been last spotted, or heard, which direction they were moving, at what time, etc. The last thing I wanted to witness was a troop of baboons, which generally consisted of about 50 individuals, facing off with my Boris and Josie. It was no joke.

For the rest of Josie's life we managed to squeak by without an incident! We'd seen them on walks many times, but were so keen to the first sight or sound of them that we'd already turned around before we had a chance to appear to be any threat to them. One day, after Josie's passing (which was due to old age), Boris and I were walking the cliff walk. It was sad in those days. We missed our Josie girl. I couldn't imagine what Boris was feeling, losing a lifetime companion. For weeks following her death, before we descended the steep steps of the cliff to go back home, he would wait...for her. Just to be sure she wasn't just around the bend like often times she would be. Well, on our cliff walk that one day, we were at the point we'd always reach to stop and rest, at the one tree that grew out of the volcanic rock. Sitting there peacefully, as the sun set and first planets twinkled, one long arm reached up over the cliff face, and a baboon pulled himself up to the edge that we were on. Not even 20 feet from Boris and I. And before I could think or move, the rest of the troop appeared, by twos, threes, now dozens ascended from the cliff face on to the ledge. The alpha male was huge. It was just the two of us, with 50 baboons of all sized and ages. We didnt have time to dilly dally, at first sight of that first arm coming over the edge we got up and moved away, but the direction we moved was further away from where we wanted to go! And they were plonked in the middle of the path home. There was no calling for the night watchmen, and we were way out of the grounds they do their rounds. But we couldn't run either. I knew from working with 9 primates species that they are so sensitive to human energy, that they pick up on it, if it's anything less than calm, and amplify it tenfold! They were calm, that was our saving grace! But who knew if and what could change that! They were calm - grooming each other and staring at us, also calm, and equally as wary! There was a long stick near me, not to heavy and not sturdy but it looked like it was, and I knew from lots of time in the African bush that if you can weild a good stick well it can keep a wild animals at bay. It was something. But still, they were 50, with young ones, too, I did not want to come off as threatening when they weren't bothered to begin with, and when they had precious young ones worth protecting. I walked calmly and steadily, stick in hand but not pointing towards them, just in hand, my gaze forward, not towards them, Boris had never been on my heels the way he was like that before. I did not need to say a word to him (as I usually had to!), we moved as one, through the dangerous waist high grass giving them about a 10-15' berth. And kept that steady, calm pace the entire time passing all of them. They were curious! They followed us for a ways, but they also kept their distance. And soon, just as it grew dark, we were in neutral territory - by the nightwatchmen who were starting their warm and familiar fire, and it we were safe. Good boy!

Bless their hearts, they're together again now.