Betty, Dublin Zoo’s longest resident and oldest chimp in human care, dead at 62

Betty, the chimpanzee that had been at the Dublin Zoo for the longest and the oldest living chimp under human care, passed away last week at the age of 62. She was one of the zoo’s most cherished and well-known inmates.

A zoo blog article claims that Betty had age-related ailments that were impairing her quality of life, and the tough choice to end her life was made to spare her from suffering in the future.

Although it is heartbreaking to lose Betty, she enjoyed a lengthy life that exceeded the average lifespan of a chimpanzee in captivity. According to the zoo, she was also the oldest chimpanzee in human care at the time of her death.

Team leader Helen Clarke Bennett of Dublin Zoo, who has worked as a zookeeper since 1987 and has known Betty for many years, paid tribute to her.

In 1964, a West African chimpanzee named Betty made her way to Dublin. Bennett notes that Betty participated in archaic practices like “Chimp Tea Parties” and that the Dublin Zoo continued to operate in the “style of the early Victorian era zoos” throughout that period.

Betty saw major advancements in zoo standards throughout her decades-long confinement. For example, in the 1990s, the chimp habitat was transformed from a metal-barred concrete “pit” to an island with trees.

Bennett claimed to have known Betty since the zoo’s early years since Michael Clarke, Betty’s father, was looking after her at the time. The chimp was “always strong-minded,” according to him, and would not give up on her goals.

After Wendy moved in 1964, Betty’s best friend, Wendy, became an integral part of her life for the majority of it. One of the cutest pairs in the zoo was formed by the two monkeys.

“Wendy had a cheeky side, but Betty could hold her accountable!” Bennett penned the piece. “When Wendy was obstinately refusing to go outside while the habitat was being cleaned, Betty putting her arm around her to encourage her to go outside with the rest of the troop will always be one of my favorite pictures.”

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Betty and Wendy celebrated their 50th birthdays together in 2012 at the zoo. The zoo workers believed that Betty, who was devastated by Wendy’s death in 2014, wouldn’t be far behind.

She even managed to live on for a further ten years, rising to the rank of dominating female chimpanzee and earning the title of longest-serving inhabitant of the zoo.

Bennett stated that Betty experienced reduced kidney function and chronic arthritis in her latter years, which affected her weight and mobility. She was also under continuous wellness management.

They had to make the tough but humane decision to end the beloved chimp’s life after all medicinal and surgical alternatives had been tried. Even though Betty is no longer with us, she will always be cherished as a unique original and a zoogoer’s favorite for many decades to come.

“Although I am really saddened to bid farewell to a friend I have known since I was a young child, I am sure that Betty’s euthanasia was the right choice, ensuring that she didn’t suffer needlessly and preserving her dignity to the very end. That gives me a great deal of comfort,” Bennett wrote.

“Everyone here at Dublin Zoo as well as the many generations of visitors who were fortunate enough to know her will miss Betty terribly; there will never be another like her.”

Peace be with you, Betty. You lived a very long life, and it’s obvious that your loved ones and caregivers cherished you.

I Opened a Mysterious Door in My Cellar—Now I Regret Everything

I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.

You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.

When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.

In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.

Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.

I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.

Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.

Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.

At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.

I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.

I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.

Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.