Who’s a funny boy?

Now that we’ve almost lost ours (at the altar of hurt sentiments), it’s a good time to ask: do animals have a sense of humour? Well, since we are now almost forbidden to laugh at ourselves or others, it’s comforting to know that animals can at least still make us laugh — as they always have — because presumably they don’t have sentiments that can be upset or hurt. So what’s it that makes us laugh at animals?

In one sentence: it’s when we see them, or teach them to behave like us. We’re rolling in the aisles when we see droves of penguins, solemnly hopscotching across miles of ice, skidding and sliding and falling on their backsides, skedaddling out of control. We love the way ducks walk — just like Charlie Chaplin — what with their legs attached right at the ends of their bottoms. To that add that quack that sounds like a turn-of-the-century motor horn and the way they rotate in the water with just their bums and bright orange flippers sticking out and revolving! And so it goes, we have bears shambling around clumsily on two legs, monkeys being made to wear suits or dresses and have tea parties and smoke cheroots, and even wise-eyed wisecracking parrots, which are taught cycle. In the old days, the circus used to be the repository of animal ‘humour’. Happily at least here, our sentiments were justifiably outraged and animals doing ridiculous things and wearing pink tutus in the ring have been banned. But the penguins still make us laugh.

Baby animals of course have us in splits and leave some of us gooey-eyed at the same time: tiny jumbos trying desperately to control wildly independent trunks that swing around dementedly, gazelle fawns trying to control their spring-loaded legs, each going in a different direction, monkey babies trying to coordinate their limbs as they try high-wire acrobatics. We love it. And, when they get drunk — which many animals do — it is hilarious! Bees drunk on fermented nectar slam head first into hives only to be hauled up by security at the entrance and are charged with drunk and disorderly conduct — and banished to Bihar. Of course you’ be hard pressed to tell a tipsy butterfly from a sober one but they, too, get drunk. Bears go all woozy and wobbly and fall over, and elephants alas, get all belligerent and not funny at all when they raid hooch bars in villages or towns. So yes, animals and birds do make us laugh.

The big question of course is, do they know that they’re making us laugh, thus making us feel good? Do they actually laugh themselves and have a sense of humour?

Some certainly seem to do. Chimpanzees, will laugh if tickled, but whether they find it funny or not is I guess a moot point. Parrot owners will swear that their pets know exactly what (usually rude or colourful) comment to pass in order to generate the maximum laughter. Crows certainly have a wicked sense of humour — and seem to love teasing. I’ve watched them repeatedly hop forward towards socialite peacocks (so aware of their status as National Birds and VIPs) and yank hard at their magnificent trains, hopping back quickly with a happy hoarse caw. They do this with other birds too, enjoying themselves at the expense of their victims. They couldn’t give a damn about their victims’ sentiments.

Of the three dogs we have kept, the two Boxers certainly had a sense of humour and knew how to make us laugh. Chops, whose alias was Bholenath, devised a game with my father which he played every evening. As my dad would settle down to read or watch TV, Chops would hunker down and sneak up to his feet, growling with the bluff menace that Boxers have perfected. One paw would be placed on my father’s slipper-clad foot. My father would ignore him and Chops would rumble some more. Suddenly my father would thrust his foot forwards, releasing the slipper. Chops would grab it and be off with my father in hot pursuit yelling, “ Chor ! Chor ! Chor ko pakdo (Thief! Thief! Get the thief) !” They’d run around the dining table three or four times and then my father would say, “Okay Chops, enough!” and Chops would drop the sodden slipper and settle down with a lugubrious sigh, leaving everyone else in splits. I’d often wonder what passers-by (who loved peering into our windows) thought: do they entertain thieves every evening?

But really it must be the animals that have the last laugh. This is what they must think of us: just look at these guys: they can’t see, hear, or smell properly, they have no fur; they have neither proper teeth nor claws and can’t fight and can’t even run away fast enough from us. And they think they’re on top of the evolutionary scheme of things. Sure they can blast everything to kingdom come, but they don’t seem to get it that they’ll be going down too along with everything else!

Who’s a funny boy now?

Ranjit Lal is an author and environmentalist

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