I lost a good friend of mine a few weeks ago. We hadn’t been friends for too long, but I considered him one of my best mates. We spent a good part of my last year in Adelaide Zoo talking every day, me more than him of course, but it was always good conversations. We didn’t always speak though, a lot of time was also spent just enjoying each other’s company, just sitting, listening and watching what the other was doing and trying to sense each other’s thoughts and moods. You may have met him if you were one of the many who visited Adelaide Zoo, his name was Pusung and he was the male Sumatran Orang-utan. It was a gentle friendship which grew in to a trusting bond that I cherished, and was my greatest loss when I left for New Zealand. He died a few weeks ago, due to a medical condition in his throat which lead to other complications and I never got to say goodbye or even see him. I didn’t even know how ill he was until after it was all over. I feel so alone because no one over her knew him and so my sadness remains inside.

When I first started working in the industry, a supervisor told me that the golden rule is to never get attached to the animals in your care. It was seen as a flaw or a sign of weakness. I have never believed in this, and indeed have strived for the complete opposite. I would challenge anyone who says a good animal keeper must remain disconnected from their charges for fear of becoming emotional involved in making decisions based on this, not on reason or ethics. The loss of Pusung is devastating, but I have no regrets in becoming so attached to him.
This isn’t just a personal loss either; everyone who worked with him over the years is feeling sad right now. Even people who had brief encounters with him through tours and visits to the zoo are overwhelmed.
Pusung trusted me enough to allow me to do some training with him. He would open his mouth wide and I could check all of his teeth and make sure he was taking care of them. He would push his nose in my direction so I could clean it when he had a cold. I could clean his eyes, check his hands and feet for injuries and prod and poke him almost anywhere to make sure he was all OK. With minimal training, he learnt a lot. This isn’t a reflection on me, it was he who had to do all of the learning and hard work, I was just the weird human that wanted to clean his nose.
So now, his imposing presence and personality have gone from my former workplace. No longer can he turn his back when offered celery instead of banana. No more shutting his den door to indicate that he doesn’t like the person that came to see him. No more offering his head for a kind pat. No more gentle throat rumblings to say he has had a good nights’ sleep. Nothing. Only the memories I have, the pictures I saved and this feeling of sadness and loss remain.