The Backstory
That evening, Mike filled me in on Dumbo’s history, and honestly, it was hard to listen to.
“When he first arrived here, I’ve never seen an animal in worse shape,” Mike said, staring off into the distance like he was seeing it all over again.
“He was severely underweight—we’re talking a full ton lighter than he should’ve been. His trunk was covered in old scars from being beaten, and you could still see the marks on his legs where they’d chained him. But the worst part was how he reacted to people.”
In those early years, just the sight of someone in a zoo uniform would send Dumbo into complete panic mode. He’d thrash around with his trunk, sometimes even hitting his head against the walls.
“There were so many times I wanted to throw in the towel,” Mike admitted. “But I kept thinking, if I give up on him, that’s it for him. Game over. So I stuck with it, taking care of him from a distance, day after day.”
For fifteen straight years, Dumbo had accepted the basics—food, medical care when absolutely necessary—but emotional connection? Forget about it. He wouldn’t take food from anyone’s hand, wouldn’t let humans within fifteen feet of him. That was just how it was.
