32 years ago tomorrow, Rama the elephant was calved. Yes, he was born on April Fool's Day to Rosy, the third calf born that year. Previously, Hanako gave birth to Look-Chai, and Pet delivered Sung-Surin, who I named (actually, not so - I was in the barn when my co-worker, Roger came in, looked at the calf, and piped "Good morning, Sunshine". That was when I told him we now had a name for that calf. Sung-Surin was the closest Thai we could find for "sunshine".
Rama came along on April first, which was kind of prophetic.
Shine's mother, Pet, was really smart - and Shine took right after her. Rosy was patient and tolerant, and I don't know that Rama inherited a lot from her. Example:
Every Tuesday morning, we cooked the barn to expand veins in the elephant ears, and we drew blood samples. We had a very clear rule that there was to be no violence while we were so engaged, and Shine, born three months earlier than Rama, took advantage of it: while we were drawing a blood sample from Rama's mama, she'd head on over and grab a free lunch. Rosy didn't like it, but she tolerated it.
After a few weeks, Rama decided he could do the same when we were taking a sample from Shine's mom, and Pet wasn't about to put up with it. She couldn't hit him, so she quietly raised a foreleg. Baby elephants raise their trunks to nurse, and she grabbed his with hers and yanked. Well, as she didn't hit him, she technically didn't violate the rules. But she started him up like a lawnmower. He never went for the free lunch again.
When he was 18 months old, we moved him into a quarrantine building for 30 days, prior to sending him to Tacoma. Around 2 a.m. each day, he got loose. Since I was closest, I generally got the call to come round him up. Eventually, Roger and I agreed to take turns on that. We eventually moved him to Tacoma, where he was supposed to live until he hit his early teen years. It didn't end well.
For whatever reason, they started walking him through the public parking lot, prior to opening. I hate that stuff; for one thing, it needlessly exposes the animal to human pathogens, and for another, it's not an easily-controlled environment. Yeah, well, there you go: according to Gary the handler, a passing tractor backfired, which startled Rama. So Rama started to run.
At this point, Gary performed the worst possible of moves: he grabbed Rama's tail.
Rama, now convinced that whatever was after him had now in fact got him, was in full panic mode. He ran through fences, uprooted trees, and kept going. He paused briefly after running though a neighborhood fence and noticing an open window, where the resident was washing dishes. He stuck his trunk into the sink and blew, but then Gary came running through the destroyed fence, so Rama ran through the other fence.
Mile after mile, tree after tree, shrub after shrub, fence after fence, the chase continued until Rama, tired, took refuge in a Piggly-Wiggly parking lot, casually sniffing car bumpers. When Gary got there, he was pretty tired as well.
The Tacoma curator arrived, found them both, and told Gary to go into the store and get some bananas to keep Rama from blowing off again. "I don't have any money!", Gary whined.
"Then steal the freaking bananas!"
Well, as it happened, the store was happy to donate the bananas, but nobody wanted to get into their cars.
Rama was walked back to the zoo, but I knew the call was coming: "Come get your elephant".
Well, duh.
So I drove up and picked him up, and Roger and the curator drove behind. Suddenly, headlights flashed in the middle of a fine August day. Must be a problem. We pulled over, and I walked back to see what was up. Roger rolled down his window: "Son of a bitch! I thought you busted a hose, but I see now it was just Rama taking a leak." The curator worried about his paint job, wondered if there was a car-wash close by.
So we got him back safe and sound - until the new hires at Oregon Zoo managed to kill him.
