I'm not sure why, in the aftermath of Knut's untimely death at the young age of four, this story haunts me the way it does. Maybe I'm just exhausted (which I am), but in an age when so many things seem so futile, Knut's story is starting to seem like just another adventure in futility.
It was bad enough when Knut's handler, zookeeper Thomas Doerflein had to break away from his young charge because beyond a certain point, a polar bear, even one who which one is as closely bonded as these two were, can cause some serious damage. But when Doerflein died suddenly shortly thereafter from a heart attack, it was the first sign that Knut's story was a star-crossed one as much as a star turn.
In the two years since then, there have been intermittent reports that Knut simply could not adjust to being a polar bear. Just like a human child star, he seemed to become addicted to fame, needing an audience 24 x 7. If we anthropomorphized this bear, it's because he seemed almost human at times. We ascribed a feeling of abandonment to him just as we would feel if abandoned by the only person who ever meant anything to us. Whether he actually felt this sense of abandonment we can only guess. His would-be beary romance with a female polar bear borrowed from the Munich zoo came to nothing, and when recently the zoo put him together with his mother and two other female bears, reports said he was being "bullied" by them. Too big and dangerous to be with humans, unable to fit in with his own kind, with his "Papi" inexplicably gone, it's easy to understand how Knut Agonistes resonates with all of us who have ever in our lives felt lonely or abandoned or simply that we did not fit in.
There seems something so cruel now about the videos of the adorable fluffball and his human companion that remain on YouTube in perpetuity, now that we know that Knut was a product of a certain amount of inbreeding, with another bear in his lineage dying in a very similar way. There was always the possibility that Knut and the other cub delivered by former circus bear Tosca were rejected because there was something wrong with them. Animals have a sense for this.
Back in the early 1980's, not long after Mr. Brilliant and I moved in together, a stray cat took up residence under the porch and a while later delivered a litter of kittens. We knew about the litter because we found one of them by the trash cans. After consulting with the local animal shelter, we laid in a supply of KMR formula, tiny nursing bottles, and cotton balls, and proceeded to care for this kitten whose eyes were open but couldn't have been more than a week old. We were told that as long as her eyes were open already, she would have gotten some immunity from her mother and that it was worth trying to save her. Mr. Brilliant trotted off to work with a cat carrier so he could feed the little thing every two hours. This did not endear him to his employers, so after a few weeks we had to enlist the help of the shelter to find the little kitten a new foster home.
The kitten, named China at the shelter, died at the age of four months from Feline Infectious Peritonitis. Apparently she didn't have that immunity after all. There was obviously a reason the momcat ejected her from the nest under the porch.
Preliminary reports from the autopsy of Knut shows what's being called "brain damage." Whether it's a birth defect, a result of the seizure he appears to have had before falling in the water and perhaps drowning, or something else, it's becoming clear that perhaps Tosca knew what she was doing. All of which begs the question: Was it really all worth it? Is the reason so many of us find ourselves getting blubbery at the thought of the short, largely unhappy life of Knut because what seemed like a lovely, sweet story of life triumphant and the bond between man and animal has had such an ugly, sad, and futile-seeming end? Did Thomas Doerflein essentially give his life for what turned out to be something so pointless other than to provide the Berlin zoo with a revenue stream?
It's hard to fault the zoo for wanting to save two cubs from an endangered species. It's hard to fault the zoo for realizing that this adorable, charismatic little bear and his handler meant needed revenue for maintenance and improvement of the zoo. We can second guess endlessly, but Monday morning quarterbacking is easy -- and pointless.
But this just seems wrong:
Knut, the Berlin polar bear who rose to fame after his mother abandoned him to be hand-reared by zookeepers, may be stuffed and exhibited in the city’s Natural History Museum after his premature death, the museum said.
Knut collapsed and died in his enclosure on March 19 at the age of four. Zoologischer Garten Berlin (ZOO) AG said yesterday in a statement on its website that an initial examination of his corpse showed brain abnormalities that may be the reason for his sudden demise. Many fans would welcome the chance to visit a stuffed Knut at the museum, bearkeeper Heiner Kloes told Radio Berlin Brandenburg today.
What captivated people about Knut wasn't just the fur or the black button eyes. It was the expression in those eyes, the light in them, the trademark "wave". It seems that even in death, Knut cannot escape exploitation.
It's enough to make one hope that the Rainbow Bridge story that's meant to comfort us when we lose a pet is really true.