A true tale from the jungles of Northern Thailand.
The jungles of Southeast Asia, I now call home, squirm with
creepy, crawling, slithering, hair-raising, crazy, slinking, creatures, big,
small and in-between-scary beasties all.
The elephant the exception. They’re
cool! I own a ‘little’ five-year old,
good-looking elephant so I’m prejudice.
Unexpectedly one day, the creepy and elephants collided, a
fascinating and menacing experience, all beginning with elephant poop. So critical is elephant poop to this story a
brief primer is required.
Instead of a stomach elephants have
a long intestine, which requires them to eat and poop continually, regularly. A large 4-ton Asian elephants daily consumes 800
pounds of forage, 10% of their body weight.
What goes in must come out, 50% or 400 pounds of poop. Big problem if it
doesn’t.
That’s where this tale begins.
Early one morning word spread an
elephant had not eaten or pooped during the night. Not good but not too serious either given she
continued to flap her ears and swish her tail.
A trip to the hospital wasn’t necessary but an enema was.
The constipated elephant was walked
to the camp’s jungle clinic and given the procedure. Unsuccessful, the next step was more
invasive. Someone needed to push his arm
up her butt and clear the blockage.
Another disappointment. With two failures
Joe, the elephant camp manager called off any further interventions for the
morning. Time to give the sad
constipated elephant a rest.
I watched her. She looked miserable as she tried to poop but
nothing. Plugged. I wondered, was there anything I could do?
Thunder interrupted my concern as dark
clouds rolled in over the mountains, announcing a storm was approaching. I had a
new problem; my house leaked requiring the windows be closed and the bed covered
with plastic. I raced to get home ahead
of the storm.
Quickly I waterproofed the house. Ready to return to the elephant clinic, I saw
part of the mattress was uncovered. Grabbing
the plastic I pulled it up toward the headboard. An unusual movement caught my eye, stopping
me instantly. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
There under the headboard of my bed
slithered a three-foot snake. I blinked
and it was gone. A million questions arose. Poisonous? Cobra? More? I jumped back, uncertain. Heart
pounding and stick in hand, I slowly walked around the room. No snake.
With only a bed in the room where could the snake be hiding?
Expanding my search I carefully looked
in the clothes hamper, under the rugs and inside my tennis shoes. No snake.
I circled the bed again. Near the headboard I noticed something, a small
hole, big enough for a snake to slither into where the mattress met the wooden
bed frame. I was certain where the snake
was, under my bed. Unable to lift the
mattress alone and knowing the mahouts were in the mountains with guests, there
was only one person who would know what to do, Joe the camp manager.
I called him. Joe was at the clinic assisting the
constipated elephant. With no time to
deal with snakes he advised me to wait, but for what? The snake had to be captured before night or
I’d be sleeping with a venomous reptile.
The thought was unsettling. Distancing
myself from the creature was my only option.
I closed the front door and set off
for the jungle infirmary. Upon arrival I
saw the elephant was eating and pooping, the evidence, one enormous green poo on
the ground. Constipation cured it was time to battle a snake.
Preeda, a camp guide roared up on his
motorcycle, nodded for me to jump on and off we went. Reaching my house it was obvious the news had
traveled quickly. Five mahouts stood
ready to fight the monster.
Opening the massive teak doors I peaked
inside. All was quiet. No movement. No snake. The mahouts, impatient, shoved past
me into the house surveying the interior, silently planning their attack.
Vigorously the mahout shook each of
the 9-foot floor to ceiling drapes. No
snake. My bed came next as the pillows
and blankets were removed. No
snake. The nooks and crannies of the
headboard were checked but uninhabited.
Coming up empty handed the mahout
moved to other possible hiding places. Methodically
they pulled the clothing out of the hamper.
No snake. The bathroom held zip. Using
flashlights the mahout slowly checked every inch of the woven bamboo ceiling. No holes, no snake.
Finally the clothes in the wardrobe
were checked, as were the boxes and suitcases. No snake. Worried, I wondered where the snake could
be. Would we ever find it?
Dead end. The mahouts were about to leave. They’d found no snake. In a state of near panic I remembered where I
thought the snake might be. With my
limited Thai and elaborate hand gestures I pointed to the bed and the hole in
the frame. The mahout exchanged nervous
glances before approaching the bed.
Slowly they lifted the mattress off
the bed’s wood frame to reveal a large sheet of plywood with just enough space
beneath for a snake to hide. Tension
filled the air as carefully the plywood was lifted. No snake.
Undeterred, a renewed search was
launched. The wardrobe was thoroughly checked
again as were my suitcases. No
snake. The floor to ceiling curtains
shook enthusiastically. No snake. The pillows, blankets and woven bamboo
ceiling came under intense scrutiny. No
snake. The mahout scratched their heads
looking for direction.
Preeda’s eyes met mine. “Are you
sure you saw a snake,” he asked?
Had I seen a snake? I re-played the scene in my mind. Yes. There’d
been a snake slithering under the headboard, a long green and black one. I knew it.
But the seed of doubt had been planted.
I wasn’t so sure. I’d seen a snake hadn’t I?
The mahout replaced the mattress
and left laughing. I was alone. Where was the snake? I didn’t know. Could I ever sleep again in my house? I wasn’t
sure. On the one hand I doubted the snake was anywhere inside, but worries
lingered. If a snake could freely slither
in and out of my house, how could I ever feel safe?
The mahouts’ prolonged search was
evident as my house was a mess. Time to bring order. Afraid I’d see the snake I worked fast. Nearly
done I moved to straighten the bed. Standing next to the headboard I began
tucking in the sheets. An unexpected movement
caught my eye and sent my heart racing. The snake, there, slithering under the
headboard, ready to strike!
I stared as the shadowy reptile
coiled mere inches from my hand. Terrified
I stepped back. The snake went wild,
then vanished. I looked keenly at the area. Something was not right. I wasn’t sure what, but then it came to me.
“Could it be?” I asked myself. “Was my own hand the culprit? My hand and an overly active imagination?”
To confirm this revelation I cautiously
extended my hand over the area I’d seen the snake. The shadowy reptile reappeared, slithering
into place. I looked at my hand. I looked at the shadow. I repeated the experiment. Every time I moved my hand toward the bed the
snake automatically reappeared.
Mystery solved! There wasn’t a
snake under my headboard. There’d never been
a snake.
I was the snake!
