Remembering Affie the Elephant
Posted on May 15th, 2009
Trumpets in Heaven.
In the past year I had the opportunity to get to know someone extraordinary. Extraordinary in stature, in personality, in strength and dignity. She had had a long life. Aging had left her arthritic. I had been working with her every week. We did cold laser treatments on her foot lesions, and did acupuncture for her joints.
Affie the Elephant
She died suddenly today. The cause is still to be determined. They found her on her side in her enclosure and couldn’t get her up - she was a 10,000-pound, 40-year-old African elephant. One of the oldest African elephants in an American Zoo. Her name was Affie.
For all her incredible bulk, impressive trunk, and dramatic ears, I remember her eyes. Her small-by-comparison eyes. But not small in expression. It surprised me how much they gave away. Her every mood was apparent there: her comfort with her gentle keepers, her tolerance and suspicion of newcomers or vets, her level of arthritis discomfort (she would shift back and forth on her legs, and her eyes would shift too), her curiosity, her acceptance of something new, and her pleasure (often about food or attention).
Affie getting a treatment.
I gave her treats after each treatment. She loved melons — eyes sparkling she could hold a whole one with just the suction from the tip of her trunk and popped it into her mouth like a lollipop on a stick. The first few times I fed her treats, she would glance at me and sneak a trunky sniff at my arm or leg to get to know me, but after a few treatments she would take food with just a gentle nosing on my hand, with her eye relaxed, but locked on me. I felt our connection was real, but her acceptance of me was always conditional. She was not an unwitting nor unwilling partner in her treatments. I believe that every day she decided about me and accepted what we were doing – just like she allowed necessary foot lesion trimming even if it was painful. She was IN THERE contemplating.
Watching her eyes gave me the clues I needed for successful treatments. As with every animal I treat with acupuncture, it would only work if she allowed me to stick needles in her. A tricky proposition between such a mismatched pair. We had to trust each other in order to perform this hands-on treatment. I had to get close, she had to be willing, and both of us were doing our best not to hurt each other…
She tolerated both the cold laser and the acupuncture well. There had been weekly sessions ramping up on how many needles we could place, and where on her body I could comfortably (and without significant risk) reach.
It was a privilege and an awesome responsibility to be allowed to work with her. There is something about being under the close gaze of an elephant that brings a profound perspective on life.
I will miss her. I will miss her eyes. Affie’s eyes showed me that, yes, elephants never forget, and they are never forgotten.
Barbara E. Royal, DVM
