The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild by Lawrence Anthony (best motivational books .TXT) 📗

most easilydone by slowly easing a broom towards it as it rears up and then gently pushing it along the floor and under the snake until it leans over on top of the bristle-head. It’s then lifted up, carried outside and allowed to slither off.

Although some neurons in my brain still jump whenever I see a snake – the same atavistic impulses that kept our ancestors in caves alive – I have no problem with them. They are vital for the environment and do immeasurably more good than harm by keeping vermin populations from exploding. Like almost all wild creatures, they will only attack if threatened; they’re far happier running away.

I rushed back with a broom but I was too late. Max had already cornered the reptile, now reared to almost a third of its length with its long thin hood flared, exposing a yellowpink underbelly scored with black bars. It was a compelling sight; loathsome yet stunning.

‘Come here, Max! Leave him, boy.’

But the usually obedient Max didn’t listen. Fixated on the mfezi he silently circled the upright serpent, which tried to twist round to face him.

‘Maxie … leave him, boy,’ I commanded. If the snake bit him, he could die. The neurotoxic and cytotoxic (celldestroying) venom would reach his vital organs far quicker than in a human.

‘Max!’

Then Max lunged, biting the mfezi behind its head. I heard the crunch as his jaws snapped shut like a bear trap. He bit again, and again.

He dropped the snake and came towards me, wagging his tail. The snake was chopped into three distinct pieces, its head still quivering from contracting nerves.

Max looked mighty pleased with himself. I was just relieved – until I saw his eyes. He was blinking furiously. The spitting cobra had lived up to its name and hit bang ontarget. Mfezis are extremely accurate up to about eight feet and actually spray instead of spit. This means a fine mist of highly toxic venom comes at you as a sheet, rather than as a single globule and it’s vital to wear glasses and shut your mouth when threatened by them – especially when you’re trying to move them off with a broom.

Françoise quickly got some milk. We bathed Max’s eyes and I rushed him to the Land Rover. The nearest vet was twenty miles away in Empangeni, and if we didn’t get there soon, Max could go blind. However, the fact we had managed to clean out most of the poison with milk so soon after the attack augured well.

The vet agreed that the milk had countered the poison, squeezed some paste into the pupils and said Max would be fine.

As we left, he jumped into the car, tail thumping like an overjoyed windscreen wiper.

‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are?’ I admonished. ‘Rikki-Tikki-Tavi?’

Indeed, Max had been as quick as Kipling’s Jungle Book mongoose. Throughout the fight he had never barked, extremely unusual for a dog. His utter silence had been his key asset. Most dogs prance in front of a snake yapping furiously, giving the reptile an easy target. Instead, Max had slowly padded around it without uttering a sound. The mfezi had trouble twisting to face him on the slippery tiled floor, enabling Max to get behind it.

I stroked his head. ‘You’re a natural bush dog, my boy.’

Later that night David and I returned to the elephants. Max, who adopted an almost bored expression whenever I checked his recovering eyes, came with us.

We inspected the boma and catnapped for a few hours in the Land Rover. Then at 4.45 a.m. I heard a slight rustle near the fence. I knew, with dread, it was Nana preparing for her pre-dawn breakout attempt, as she did every morning.I walked down, by now knowing exactly where she would be. Once again, Mandla was at her side, the rest of the herd queuing behind.

‘Please don’t do it, girl,’ I said.

She stopped, tense as a spring as she watched me. I carried on speaking, urging her to stay, keeping my voice as low and persuasive as I could. I kept using her name.

Then she suddenly shifted her stance to face me head-on. The furious stare from her mucous-rimmed eyes faded for a moment. Instead there was something else flickering. Not necessarily benign, but not hostile either.

‘This is your home now, Nana. It’s a good home and I will always be here with you.’

With unhurried dignity, she turned away from the fence, the others breaking rank to let her through and then following closely behind.

After a few yards she stopped and let the others go ahead. She had never done that before – she had always been the first to disappear into the bush. She turned and again looked straight at me.

It was only for a few seconds, but it seemed to go on forever.

Then she was swallowed up by the darkness.

chapter nine

As the weeks progressed, the herd gradually started to settle down. So much so that we were now able to approach the fence at feeding time without being charged by enraged elephants. We also got some much-needed sleep.

Living rough in the wilderness is a salve for the soul. Ancient instincts awaken; forgotten skills are relearned, consciousness is sharpened and life thrums at a richer tempo.

Unlike being on a wilderness trail where each day is another trek to another place, David and I were not just transients and had to adjust in order to become accepted by the permanent residents on our wild patch. We had to blend into our environment as seamlessly as fish in a lake.

Initially the abundant wildlife regarded us as unwelcome colonizers. They wanted to know who we were, what we were, and what were we doing on their turf. Wherever we went, hundreds of eyes watched. I had that prickly sensation of being under constant surveillance and whenever I looked up, a mongoose, warthog, or tawny eagle would be peering from a distance … taking in everything, missing nothing we did.

But soon we too