The Elephant Whisperer: My Life with the Herd in the African Wild

by Lawrence Anthony

Life and death go hand in glove. Death is cyclical, witnessed more in the natural order of the wild than anywhere else. And my thoughts turned back to Max who was now fourteen years old and too old to accompany me into the bush he loved so much. The old warrior, who had survived poachers, snakes and feral pigs double his size, had succumbed to chronic arthritis in his hind legs. As I left him in his basket early that morning, he tottered about in a vain attempt to come with me. A year back he would have been in the front seat of the Land Rover. Now he could barely walk. And the sight of Hennie running for his life brought this home with unimaginable sorrow. It’s funny how these things happen so quickly. It seemed just yesterday that we were out and about on our adventures. I had been told by Françoise and a few close friends that I had to face up to the fact Max was no longer bulletproof. He was very old and in pain and not going to last much longer, but it was just too dire for me to consider. I countered that with the best veterinary help I could get but recently he had all but stopped taking food and sadly I knew his time was coming. Even so, I was surprised to see Leotti the vet’s car parked in the driveway so early in the morning as I got back. She was sitting next to Max’s basket in the lounge. With her was Françoise. She seemed on the verge of tears. Max tried to get up to greet me and fell over. He tried again . . . he wouldn’t give up. Leotti, who had treated Max ...