Part 5
A camera on the service fence could wait through things Samuel’s hurried notes had missed. Over the next months the recordings held long pauses, lost contact and wrong turns along with the walks that went smoothly. The university team studied those, too; Hank could leave the frame without anybody bringing him back for another try.
Samuel was used to care records intended for whoever came on duty next. This account went through reviewers before a veterinary journal with a wide readership published it as a case report. Its authors could offer observations of Toby and Hank; they had only that one pair from which to draw conclusions.
Questions about animals elsewhere soon reached the office. Keepers at other rehabilitation centers were taking another look at bonds that already existed in their care, and Marian filed their messages with Toby’s records. Meanwhile the growing bull needed more ground than Samuel had marked on that first plan. In time his pasture covered twenty acres; its stronger facilities, reliable water supply and recognizable routes accommodated his size.
In the spring twelve years after the calf arrived, Samuel was sixty-four. He brought his thermos to the pasture gate one morning and watched nearly eight thousand pounds of elephant fail to advance toward the water. There was nothing obstructing Toby. The dog had fallen behind.
Hank’s fourteen years showed most plainly when he had to start moving. Samuel could treat the arthritis and adjust his care, but the first cold steps still took work. As one shoulder rose and fell, the old scar showed through the thinning coat; white hair surrounded the dog’s eyes and spread along his muzzle.
Ahead of him, Toby waited with a forefoot already set for the next stride. Samuel followed the curve of the tusks down to the trunk, whose tip lowered when Hank finally came alongside. It touched his back with a gentleness difficult to reconcile with the bark that same trunk could strip from a live oak.
The elephant went on only after the touch. For months Samuel had seen their progress interrupted this way: Hank needed to ease a leg, and the much larger body stopped ahead of him. What Samuel had once watched for a second occurrence now regularly determined the length of the walk.
It also determined how carefully people watched. Hank had exits the elephant could not fit through, and shared time still required somebody present. Samuel followed the placement of Toby’s feet even when he knew exactly which path the animals usually took.
Hank was losing more than speed. Cataracts had been confirmed on examination after Samuel noticed him having trouble placing objects; hearing faded with the sight. A nearby low sound might still reach him, or the louder water at the basin. A voice across the pasture often did not.
Samuel had learned to make his presence known and then stay where the dog could find him. He might have to wait for Hank’s nose to catch his scent after calling. There was no point coming closer while that raised muzzle was still searching; even a familiar visitor had to allow for what the dog could perceive.
Near the basin that morning, the path broadened and Hank lost his line. His nose went down as he turned partly back toward the shelter. Samuel put the thermos on the rail, then followed the outside fence toward the nearer gate, watching the dog between the posts.
An uncertain step took Hank no closer to the water. Toby had stopped, and his trunk passed through the patch of air the dog had just left. Samuel reached the gate; from there he could enter and meet Hank if the wandering continued.
He kept it shut for the moment. The bull was turning toward the pump, using the sound whose position had remained dependable through all the work on his enclosure. Samuel watched him cover the distance to the basin and put his trunk into the water.
The splash made Samuel look from the elephant to the dog.
Hank had lifted his head. Water was falling from the face of a concrete boulder, where Toby had thrown it with a slap that carried above the pump’s trickle. Samuel stayed beside the latch as the trunk went into the basin again.
Another load struck the stone. Spray broke over the edge, and the dog turned toward it, hesitating before his feet began to follow. Samuel could see the route Hank had found and waited while he crossed the open ground.
At the damp edge of the basin, the lowered muzzle finally met water. Hank spread his front feet, easing the load through his shoulders as he drank. Toby remained clear of him, the last drops running off the end of his trunk.
Samuel could have written down exactly what had happened. He also knew that Toby splashed those boulders on mornings when there was no lost dog to bring over. The louder sound had worked this time; the observation could not tell him everything the elephant meant by making it.
His hand came away from the latch. Hank was drinking, and for now Samuel could stay outside.
When the old dog raised his wet chin, the trunk returned to him. Its tip searched beside his body, found his back and passed lightly over it. Under that contact Hank turned a little toward the oak and managed the first step.
Samuel moved along the fence beside them. There was time between Toby’s shortened strides for Hank to take his own small steps, and space around the great feet when the dog needed to stop. The trunk kept coming back to his coat, lifting to search whenever the contact broke.
A faint clink reached him when the dog turned his head. All three brass tags were there under the whitening jaw. They scarcely sounded now, and Toby continued feeling for the smaller body as the pair approached the shade.
At the live oak, Hank began a slow circle in the cool dirt. Lying down required more than finding the place: he rearranged his feet, started to lower himself and gave it up. The bull stayed planted while the dog made another attempt.
This time Hank reached the ground beside the forelegs. Toby’s body broke the little wind passing across the pasture, leaving the old dog in shade and still air. Samuel saw the chin settle onto dirt, then the eyes close; after a while a front paw released its tension.
Beyond Hank’s shoulder, the tip of the trunk came to rest.
Coffee was waiting back at the gate. Samuel went to retrieve it, with no visiting researchers to stop for that morning and no one wanting a photograph. He brought the thermos to a gap in the rails where he could keep the oak in view.
The first mouthful was cool enough to swallow without waiting. Through the rails, Samuel watched the great curve of Toby’s side move with each breath. Near those forelegs, Hank’s ribs kept lifting beneath his worn black coat.