Grief and love in the animal kingdom

I'd like to tell you today
about an orca named Tahlequah.

Tahlequah is also known
as J35 to scientists,

because she swims with the J Pod
in the Salish Sea.

These are the waters off of
British Columbia and Washington State.

Now last year, in July 2018,

she was well along
in her 17-month pregnancy,

and scientists were very excited,

because no baby had survived
in this pod for three long years.

Now, orcas are also
known as killer whales.

They're profoundly social
and profoundly intelligent beings,

and scientists are very interested
in their behavior,

because in their social networks,
they share habits, information,

and even affection.

They create true cultures of the ocean.

But this pod has been in trouble.

The Chinook salmon that the orcas favor

has been way down in the region,

and pollution has been up.

But on July 24th, Tahlequah
gave birth to a daughter,

and scientists were so excited
by this development.

But unfortunately, the same day,
in fact shortly after birth,

the calf died.

Well, what happened next
electrified animal lovers

across the world,

because Tahlequah refused
to let her baby slip off into the water.

She kept it on her body
and she swam with it.

If it did fall off,
she would dive and rescue it,

and she battled stiff currents to do this.

Now she kept this behavior up

for 17 days,

and during this time,

she swam over a thousand miles.

At that point, she let the little baby
slip off into the water.

So today, Tahlequah
swims on with the J Pod,

but her grief still moves me,

and I do believe that grief
is the right word to use.

I believe that grief
is the right word to use

for numerous animals who mourn the dead.

They may be friends or mates or relatives.

Because, these visible cues,
these behavioral cues

tell us something about
an animal's emotional state.

Now, for the last seven years,
I've been working to document

examples of animal grief

in birds, in mammals,

in domesticated animals
and in wild animals,

and I believe in the reality
of animal grief.

Now, I say it this way

because I need to acknowledge
to you right up front

that not all scientists agree with me,

and part of the reason, I think,

is because of what I call the a-word.

The a-word is anthropomorphism,

and historically,
it's been a big deterrent

to recognizing animal emotions.

So anthropomorphism is when
we project onto other animals

our capacities or our emotions,

and we can all probably
think of examples of this.

Let's see we have a friend who tells us,

"My cat understands everything I say."

Or, "My dog, he's so sweet,
he ran right across the yard this morning

towards a squirrel and I know
he just wants to play."

Well, maybe,

or maybe not.

I'm skeptical about claims like those.

But animal grief is different,

because we're not trying
to read an animal's mind.

We're looking at visible cues of behavior

and trying to interpret them
with some meaning.

Now, it's true, scientists
often push back at me,

and they'll say,

"Ah, look, the animal might be stressed,

or maybe the animal's just confused
because his or her routine

has been disrupted."

But I think that this overworry
about anthropomorphism

misses a fundamental point,

and that is that animals
can care very deeply for each other.

Maybe they even love each other,

and when they do,

a survivor's heart
can be pierced by a death.

Let's face it,

if we deny evolutionary continuity,

we are really missing out
on embracing part of ourselves.

So yes, I believe in the reality
of animal grief,

and I also think that if we recognize it,

we can make the world
a better place for animals,

a kinder place for animals.