By BRITTANY MURRAY
Sure, people go to a zoo to see exotic animals.
But at Parc Safari in Hemmingford, Quebec, the visitors aren't the only ones who get a show.
Limba, the 46-year-old Asian elephant, says trainer Robert Crawford, "... expects you to come to the zoo so she can watch you."
Crawford is an expert in figuring out what Limba needs, wants and feels. Over the four years they've been together, he has become her best friend and she relies on him to take care of her.
"I live, eat, sleep with this elephant," he said one hot sunny day at the zoo just a few miles north of Mooers.
I didn't realize this when I was asked to take an extended elephant ride through Parc Safari's walkways and surrounding wooded area then write about the experience. I certainly didn't know what the "normal" person/elephant relationship was supposed to be.
But it didn't take long to see the two have a very special connection.
There are a couple of different reasons for that, as Crawford explained it. In the wild, Limba would have had an extensive elephant family. After being captured and transported to North America, she lived as a lone elephant for up to 25 years. Because of this, Crawford said, she doesn't necessarily have all of the right social skills for interacting with other elephants.
As for Crawford's part, it basically boils down to a love of elephants that began at age 2. After seeing one of the massive creatures for the first time at a Scotland zoo, his parents literally had to drag him away. From then on, he's had elephants on the brain. I asked Robert about the connection he's forged with other elephants.
"There's a bond, but it's different," he said. With Limba, "it's remarkable; she's just special."
Robert invited me to walk along while they gave rides to the children. It's surprisingly hard to keep up with an elephant (I'm only 5-foot-2), so I was glad that Robert gave Limba frequent breaks. That was when he told her, "Go play."
Limba would trot off to her hay and water, often pretending not to hear when her trainer called her back. The elephant ignored him on purpose, Crawford said, but not because she didn't want to give rides.
She's like a kid who doesn't want to give up playing video games when Mom says it's time to clean her room.
"She's designed to walk hundreds of hours a week ..." he said. "I personally feel that what we're doing is we're giving her exercise, stimulation — and a life."
Limba's life, I was starting to think, was way more interesting than mine.
Walking in parades, charity events, visiting with terminally ill children, taking part in traditional Hindu weddings, making commercials and movies... Later, I Googled her name, and let's just say there are no pictures of me online holding a sign that says, "I will end MS."
And she doesn't even have hands!
BLOWING BITS OF HAY
To me, riding an elephant was a lot like being in a gently rocking boat. After more than 45 minutes, I was slightly nauseous, but that didn't diminish my pleasure any. The morning was very windy, and there were tons of horseflies, but Limba behaved perfectly. While Robert walked alongside us and answered my questions, the pachyderm used her trunk like a hand, grabbing her right ear and twisting it a little. She also made loud clicking noises with her tongue. Robert said that meant she was happy.
A couple of times she raised her trunk back toward me and blew air and bits of hay in my face. Robert jokingly said that she was sharing her bug spray with me. I had no problem with that.
As we passed through the areas outside the animal enclosures, different animals stood like statues, staring at us. The ostriches strode up to the fence and paced as if waiting for something to happen.
They know Limba well, for in the evening, the elephant has almost free rein of the park. Often, Crawford said, she chooses to run back and forth along the fence with the giant birds.
In the wild, he added, elephants are known to chase antelope.
Why?
Robert smiled. "Because they're mischievous."
BUCKET-SIZED SLUSHIES
If the elephant strayed a little to far during my ride, Robert would say, "Here to me, Limba."
If she wasn't close enough to the raised platform from which children climb on her back, the trainer would say, "Move your butt in Limba."
She would.
I was amazed at the number of words and phrases she understood.
"Elephants have the same level of intelligence as us, it's just different," Crawford said.
Several times throughout the day, Limba did things that made me wonder if she wasn't more intelligent than me. For instance, I've tried to learn sign language more than once without luck, but Limba knows plenty of signs. Even when Robert lost his voice one day, she was still able to give rides, for she could interpret all his unspoken commands just fine.
Crawford said he is dedicated to Limba's happiness. "She expects everything in my life to revolve around her, and it does."
He is also very dedicated to elephant conservation. He sees Limba as having an important role in this arena — she's a kind of pachyderm poster child, and when people get to know her, they're encouraged to take an interest in elephants.
"Other people have to care. If they don't care and see that she's special, how are they going to see her species is special?"
As Limba walked the designated path with little kids on her back, I watched her eyes underneath the enormous eyelashes. What do elephants think about? I wondered. Crawford gave me a handful of jellybeans. Limba reached her trunk out and gently scooped them up, using the end almost like fingers.
It was equally as odd to discover that Limba loves ice cream, bucket-sized Gatorade slushies and Pepsi. These are only occasional snacks but a great way to beat the summer heat. And Limba is capable of making her own special snacks. When eating hay, she often stores some in her tusk holes to save for later. I saw her pull some hay out when she was giving rides and heard Robert ask her if she was having a "sandwich."
I asked the trainer how he thinks Limba feels about Parc Safari. He was adamant.
"She likes it here," he said. "She knows she's going to work hard, but she's going to have the best summer ever."
And in case you're wondering, Crawford really does often sleep beside Limba.
I was sure having a 3-and-a-half-ton bedmate must come with some complications. Turns out I was right.
"Oh, she snores, but that's okay," Robert said. "She puts me to sleep."
