A Close Call
Six months after our breakthrough, something happened that showed me just how deep our bond had become.
I was cleaning near Dumbo’s enclosure when the pressure washer hose caught around my ankle. I went down hard, my head hitting the concrete with a sickening thud. The world went fuzzy, and I couldn’t seem to get my bearings.
That’s when Dumbo absolutely lost his mind.
“BRAAAAHHHHH! BRAAAAHHHHH!”
He was trumpeting at the top of his lungs—not the gentle rumbles I was used to, but full-blown alarm calls that could be heard across the entire zoo. It was the elephant equivalent of shouting “HELP! EMERGENCY!”
“What the hell is that noise?” I heard someone yell from across the grounds.
“It’s coming from the elephant house!”
Within minutes, Mike and half the zoo staff came running. They found me semiconscious on the ground with Dumbo frantically reaching his trunk through the bars, trying to touch me, his eyes wide with panic.
“Emily! Jesus, what happened?”
As they helped me to my feet, I looked at Dumbo through my dizziness. This elephant—who’d spent fifteen years wanting nothing to do with humans—had just saved my life by calling for help.
“Thank you,” I whispered to him, and I swear he understood every word.
