Baby Steps and Daily Rituals
Those first weeks were all about Mike showing me the ropes. Every procedure had to be perfect when you’re dealing with a traumatized 5-ton animal.
“Always toss the food from here,” Mike demonstrated, standing well back from the enclosure. “Never, and I mean never, try to hand-feed him. One wrong move and you could lose more than just your job.”
Dumbo’s daily menu was massive—nearly 400 pounds of apples, carrots, hay, and specially formulated elephant pellets. But here’s the thing that broke my heart: he wouldn’t eat a single bite while we were watching. Food time meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant danger in Dumbo’s world.
“In the wild, elephants are most defenseless when they’re eating,” Mike explained as we watched Dumbo ignore his breakfast completely. “For him, having humans around during meals probably feels like sitting down to dinner with predators watching.”
But I kept up my morning routine anyway. Every single day, I’d set up my chair and just… talk. About the weather, about what I’d watched on TV the night before, about the other animals I was learning to care for.
“You know what, Dumbo? I saw this amazing documentary about African elephants last night. There was this baby who got separated from his herd, but his family spent three days looking for him. They never gave up. Families don’t give up on each other.”
At first, it felt like talking to myself. But gradually, I started noticing little things. The way his ears would perk up when I arrived. How he’d position himself so he could see me while still maintaining his safe distance. Small victories, but victories nonetheless.
