“Let a person walk alone with few wishes, committing no wrong, like an elephant in the forest.” — from the sayings of Buddha.



The scanner in the News & Eagle newsroom provides steady background noise throughout the day and into the night.

Staff members only half listen to the near-constant chatter, much of which is routine.

Thus it was Wednesday night when police reported a traffic accident on north U.S. 81.

Unless the accident involves injury, or was a rollover, we normally don’t pay much attention. Such was the case Wednesday when, at first blush, the accident in question seemed strictly routine.

But then one of the officers used a word that may never have been heard over Enid Police Department radio channels before — elephant.

Call it the case of the panicked pachyderm.

The headline “Car hits elephant,” is as rare as “Man bites dog,” or “Honest politician found.” But that, of course is what happened.

I wonder who was more surprised by the elephant-vehicle encounter, the driver and passenger, the police responding to the call, the media covering the accident, or the animal itself.

It isn’t difficult to relate to the motorists’ confusion. Confrontations with skunks, armadillos, squirrels, deer and even cattle are not unusual. But elephants?

I barely avoided an collision with a group of large animals a few Christmas seasons ago. My bride and I were making our annual tour of the town enjoying the lights, when we pulled into a tony west-side neighborhood. I was gawking at the displays when all of a sudden my bride tensed, grabbed my arm and yelled “horsies!” I immediately slammed on the brakes, convinced she was having some sort of spell, when out of the gloom came a glitter-festooned carriage pulled by a team of horses and filled with people, apparently guests at a local house party. I don’t know what I would have done had she yelled, “elephant!”

It’s hard not to feel sorry for the poor animal. Imagine living your life performing boring routine tasks at someone else’s order, mindlessly jumping, or at least stepping, through hoops on command, all the while working for peanuts. That sounds a lot like my career.

Perhaps the elephant had finally had enough. Perhaps it simply wanted to explore the world outside the circus tent. Perhaps it wanted to get off the road and settle down.

Elephants are widely regarded as intelligent, sensitive and, in the case of females, at least, highly social, normally spending their lives in tightly knit groups made up of mothers, daughters, sisters and aunts. Our elephant, by the way, is a girl. Elephants are said to be self-aware and have a capacity for empathy, altruism and higher social interaction. Elephants are perhaps the only creature besides man to grieve for their dead.

Elephants were first domesticated in ancient India. They have been used for logging, as pack animals and even in warfare. Man’s desire to get close to these fascinating creatures has led us to confine them in zoos and to put them on display in circuses.

Imagine the poor animal’s confusion Wednesday night as it apparently escaped its handlers and set out for who knows where, shambling into the northwest Oklahoma night.

All at once it was struck by a noisy metal beast, left bruised, scraped and with a broken tusk. At that moment there likely was no lonelier creature on the planet.

The poor animal’s name is Kamba. When asked, one of the elephant’s trainers said, “As of now, it is bleephead,” although he didn’t say bleep, instead using a curse word indicating excrement. Perhaps they should call her Enid.

At least this story, which will be told in these parts for many years, has a halfway happy ending. Nobody was killed or even seriously hurt and the elephant is expected to make a full recovery (although good luck to the motorists in question, Bill and Deena Carpenter, when they try to explain this to their insurance company).

The only loser in the whole thing is the elephant, who must continue her life in the circus.



Mullin is senior writer of the News & Eagle. E-mail him at jmullin@enidnews.com.