No doubt, this is the fourth notice we've been given to prepare. The first in October led me to make my 8-hour round-trip twice in two months, each possibly my last chance to see Shanthi. As I reported after that first trip, it was no longer only Shanthi; for the first time ever, Ambika looked very fragile and didn't move much. On my New Year's visit, after that first article had been reprinted, despite it being the chosen date to celebrate all five older girls' birthdays, Ambika and Shanthi were in the non-public barn until they emerged a mere few steps from the door into the yard in the late afternoon to be given a cake and presents with a small group of keepers taking pictures. Bozie was in the "quarantine yard" champing at the bit to join her two best friends. The only reason for this separation would be that Shanthi and Ambika would be too disabled for Bozie not to easily steal their treats. I don't think there was even any barrier between the keepers and elephants for this brief step outside. And that day, I saw palpable signs of Komala's arthritis and possible discomfort for the first time. But that day brought some encouraging signs about the future dynamics of the herd, post-Shanthi and post-Ambika, and just when I had resigned myself to seeing them for perhaps the last time, there was a more-positive report on Shanthi's quality of life. She seemed stable and comfortable.
Now this. I'm a longtime dog breeder with a lot of experience with medical procedures and medicine itself. I could really relate to the comment that the staff compartmentalizes, being in clinical mode until after a death, with human emotion emerging then and only then. I've been told I have the knowledge and vocabulary of a veterinary ER nurse, able to focus clinically and not emotionally on the most unpleasant and often fatal issues, and was asked to be in the ER many, many times.. And you do It, because it's in the service of your beloved animal.
But I have to say, even with all this experience, I did not react well to this article. This did not serve our beloved elephants. I know it's helping us to get used to the idea of our elephants' deaths. (There hasn't been one since Toni died in 2004, but she had come from the Scranton Zoo not even a decade earlier, and she was nervous and didn't really connect much to us or the other elephants). We probably really do need this advice, which may have even been recommended by counselors, but this article was too clinical and too graphic for even me. If the chief vet finds the image of our elephants falling over after euthanasia disturbing, imagine how horrifying and emotionally-evocative that is for lay people? I frankly found the descriptions of cartage, dismemberment, and incineration unnecessarily distressing and above all beneath the dignity of our elephants. Such morbid details may be necessary for zoo staff to know and prepare for, but not us. The reason for closed-casket funerals is to spare the deceased from being remembered as anything less than what they were in life. Now that it's been written, we can't un-hear it or fail to envision these details when we should be celebrating their lives. There's joy in a picture of Ambika being lowered in a big sling from the ocean liner that brought her here as a 14-year-old in 1961. However, there is only pain for us seeing images of hoists and forklifts, saws and incineration, or of a beloved elephant falling over. They're magnificent animals who gave us something priceless. Maintaining their dignity should have prevailed over everything else. We should be remembering them as figuratively fallen, not literally falling over. I never thought anything could be more painful than their actual deaths, but thinking of them in this way is just devastating.