There’s More to Us Than You Can See in an Anatomy Class

There’s more to us than you can see in an anatomy class.

That applies to all living creatures. We are all fearfully and wonderfully made. An example comes from Africa where the famous “elephant whisperer” Lawrence Anthony lived and worked.

Mr Anthony, who is something of a legend in South Africa, rescued wildlife and rehabilitated elephants from all over the world, including going into a war zone in  Iraq in 2003 to rescue Baghdad Zoo animals.

He died a year and a half ago on March 7, 2012.

Mr Anthony’s passing was mourned by his friends and family, including his wife, two sons, two grandsons, and a herd of 20 wild elephants that walked over 20 miles to stand in front of his house after he died.

From Psychology Today:

We all know that many animals grieve the loss of family and friends and here’s a wonderful acknowledgement of broken-hearted elephants mourning the loss of their human friend, Lawrence Anthony, author of The Elephant Whisperer (see also and).

Tonight at Thula Thula, the whole herd arrived at the main house, home to Lawrence and I. We had not seen them here for a very long time. Extraordinary proof of animal sensitivity and awareness that only a few humans can perceive. And Lawrence was one of them. Thank you for your wonderful messages. Lawrence’s legacy will be with us forever at Thula Thula.”

 

  • pagansister

    That is impressive—-how did the elephants know he had died? They mourn like humans.

  • Fabio Paolo Barbieri

    I am irresistibly reminded of the breathtaking climax of Kipling’s TOOMAI OF THE ELEPHANTS:

    And at last, when the flames died down, and the red light of the logs made the elephants look as though they had been dipped in blood too, Machua Appa, the head of all the drivers of all the Keddahs–Machua Appa, Petersen Sahib’s other self, who had never seen a made road in forty years: Machua Appa, who was so great that he had no other name than Machua Appa,–leaped to his feet, with Little Toomai held high in the air above his head, and shouted: “Listen, my brothers. Listen, too, you my lords in the lines there, for I, Machua Appa, am speaking! This little one shall no more be called Little Toomai, but Toomai of the Elephants, as his great-grandfather was called before him. What never man has seen he has seen through the long night, and the favor of the elephant-folk and of the Gods of the Jungles is with him. He shall become a great tracker. He shall become greater than I, even I, Machua Appa! He shall follow the new trail, and the stale trail, and the mixed trail, with a clear eye! He shall take no harm in the Keddah when he runs under their bellies to rope the wild tuskers; and if he slips before the feet of the charging bull elephant, the bull elephant shall know who he is and shall not crush him. Aihai! my lords in the chains,”–he whirled up the line of pickets–”here is the little one that has seen your dances in your hidden places,–the sight that never man saw! Give him honor, my lords! Salaam karo, my children. Make your salute to Toomai of the Elephants! Gunga Pershad, ahaa! Hira Guj, Birchi Guj, Kuttar Guj, ahaa! Pudmini,–thou hast seen him at the dance, and thou too, Kala Nag, my pearl among elephants!–ahaa! Together! To Toomai of the Elephants. Barrao!”

    And at that last wild yell the whole line flung up their trunks till the tips touched their foreheads, and broke out into the full salute–the crashing trumpet-peal that only the Viceroy of India hears, the Salaamut of the Keddah.

    But it was all for the sake of Little Toomai, who had seen what never man had seen before–the dance of the elephants at night and alone in the heart of the Garo hills!


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