Migration Blog

The calves were up earlier than usual today. If you’ve been following you know Ying was delighted by this. I, on the other hand, was not. The two of them went willingly for their morning bath (so I’m told) in the nearby creek, and returned even more willingly. Ying sees the best in them, bless her, so she didn’t find their obedience suspicious (as I would have), and she didn’t see their trunks full of water, evidently for the purpose of emptying onto my sleeping face. Good morning.

We set off in good spirits after that. Today’s route passed through a human town, and the calves were excited to get a good look at them. The youngest piped up: “Did humans really used to be smart, dad? Xi says they used to ride us down their roads.”

It was difficult to answer; not because we don’t know, but because I’ve never cared to find out. Ying is the conservationist, and I’ve never seen how humans play anything like an important role in global biodiversity, so they’re mostly in the basket with wasps and mosquitoes for me. I made an attempt: “Humans did ride us once upon a time, yes. And it’s not that they aren’t smart anymore, Min. We’re just smart now too.”

“I want to ride a human!”, Xi stamped his feet in a galloping motion as he interjected.

“You’ll crush it you big brute!”, Min snapped back.

“Who cares? Ms. Tse says they’re pests. Guo’s dad says they’re an in-“ – a puzzled look overcame him briefly – “evasive species, and - and Yang’s herd kills them when they see them.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as Ying caught up with us to intervene. “Xi, honey, Yang’s herd have special equipment to destroy humans in a way that doesn’t cause them stress.”

“Yeah not like being smashed by your big butt! Big butt Xi!” Min received a stern look from Ying and closed her mouth.

Still groggy, I relished the contemplative silence that followed.

* * *

Peeking over the horizon at us, a distorted haze in the heat of the distant ground, was the human habitat. Ying saw it too, and was ready with a prep talk. “If you’re calm and quiet when we walk through, Min, Xi, you might see a few of the wild humans. They’re easy to provoke, and they might look squishy, but they used to rule this world, remember, so try not to make them feel threatened.”

Up ahead there was a brief commotion. The figure of a human darted out of one of the houses to confront Wei, the herd leader. She’s a no-nonsense woman, and she walked over it like it was nothing. When we reached the spot, the human was a flat, pink, red and brown mess. You would think they’d have learned by now to stay off the road when they hear us coming.

Min scurried to her mother’s side, squealing, and Xi rushed over to poke his nose in it.

“Xi, don’t touch it, they have parasites”, Ying growled.

“Can I just take some hair? I want to make a bracelet for Lin”, he explained.

“Oooo, Liiiiiin”, Min teased, and Xi went as red as the carcass. He slinked away from it as Min continued giggling, and with that they moved on.

Moving through the town I noticed several more spots at the sides of the road. Less wet and much darker, these humans had each been run over by another herd on another day. I peered into the windows of the houses; female humans and their young peered back.

Can they not comprehend the force behind thirty full-grown elephants? Are they so bold they think they stand a chance? Why is it they feel threatened at all? It’s a little funny, and a little sad. Their town was here first of course, but we can’t accommodate every little being with a little life standing in our way. This is the cost of progress.

* * *

Outside town, the dry, cracked ground began to sprout grass, then bushes, then trees, as we marched further north into the cooler, spring climate. Insects buzzed louder in the air the farther we went, and small mammals skittered through brush. We weren’t yet beyond the range of the human habitat – in fact, they stalked the overgrown roadside watching us pass.

One must have caught sight of something it wanted, since it ran full speed alongside us. Unfortunately, it didn’t see the rabbit burrows dotted over the ground, and it plunged its foot right into one. It yelped, its ankle stuck and twisted in the hole, and it tripped head-first into a tree. It laid still on the ground. Ying ambled over to it.

“Oh dear. Poor thing. Those rabbits really shouldn’t build their warrens on the paths humans take.”

Xi laughed. “It couldn’t see those big holes in the ground? Dumbass.”

“Xi!” It was Min who admonished him; Ying’s face was halfway to a scowl, and shifted to surprise at Min’s quick reaction. “Would you be able to see those holes if you were running that fast?”

“Easy, I just wouldn’t run that fast where rabbit holes are, stupid.”

“Rabbits weren’t here when these humans-“ Min began like a hurricane, her eyes wide in a frenzy at her brother. I separated them before it got physical, and summoned my best booming father voice to stifle their rising fevers.

“Hey! That’s enough! Xi, don’t be an insensitive prick. Min,” I paused to soften my tone. “Honey, these things happen. Rabbits need places to live too.”

We tried to nurse it back to health to set it free again. I dripped water into its mouth and kept it in the shade, but it was no good. It had concussed itself pretty hard, and it started to die. Min cried, told it she was sorry, and I took it out of her sight. I broke its neck and tossed it into the bush.

* * *

Towering trees shimmered in the breeze around us as we paraded on. The bark looked delicious, but if I stopped we’d all stop and it could be hours before we got the calves moving again. I thought better, and just enjoyed the songs of the birds. Although they’ve grown intelligent with the rest of us, birds don’t seem interested in developing their own complex language. I suppose they have their musical communication and they like it that way. I have to say, I like it too.

We came up on a farm, with lions prowling the perimeter. They saw us, of course. Likely smelled us before that. It’s strange having heard old stories of lions stalking our herds, the fear palpable in the tales of our ancestors, to now saunter past them. I made eye contact with one. The tense look we exchanged lay atop the understanding that we are no longer adversaries. Agriculture has allowed them to stop hunting us, and humans make far better livestock than we would. Their weak, fleshy bodies are easy to dismember, and being raised in captivity means they have little understanding of their own farm infrastructure, now employed by their captors.

Past the shelterbelt, we could see young humans playing in the fenced field. A group of them kicked around a ball, hollering and laughing as they chased each other. One took swipes with a stick at another who defended herself with a round of tree bark.

Min swooned. “Dad they’re so cute! Don’t you think? Can I have a human this year?”

“A human is a lot of responsibility, Min. You have to train them, feed them - keep your brother from riding them”, I winked. Min didn’t find this funny; she looked a little dejected.

The tired looking mothers trudged over to feed the children, already pregnant with the next season’s brood. A group of young males sat crowded in a pen, waiting to be slaughtered and turned into feed. Min turned her sad eyes away from me, back to the farm. I quickly offered, “Uh alright, when um, when Mei gets hers we can see. You can train them together.”

She turned back to me, her face bright with glee. “Thank you dad! Thank you, thank you! I promise I’ll look after it, it’ll be good practise for when I have calves of my own one day.”

Ying grumbled, and whispered to me firmly, “When she loses interest in it and it starts vandalising things, it’ll be your problem.”

My gaze drifted back toward the farm. I let myself see their chubby, happy faces, their stubby, awkward limbs, and their mops of dark hair fluttering behind them as they ran. They are pretty cute. A while after we passed, I heard their cries as the lions bled out the males one by one.

* * *

We rolled onward through the cool, damp evening air, the tranquil, purple sky draped above us. Ahead, beneath the distant fires of the sunset, I saw the mighty silhouette of the Yang’s herd. A brief recap: they left three days before us, so I suspect they had been here a night or two already. As we drew closer, I found the raucous play Yang would be leading at this time of night curiously absent.

We approached, and our numbers began mingling with theirs. There was an air of discomfort, and irritation. Nobody greeted us particularly warmly; the reception, though familiar, was oddly cold. I looked around for someone I knew.

“Yang! Yang, we saw so many humans today, baby ones, dead ones, eww it was so cool!” Xi bounded over to his friend, so I decided to speak with Yang’s father, Zhou.

“Who shat in the bamboo?” I asked him awkwardly. (For my out-species readers, this is an elephant idiom, meaning “what happened that upset everyone?”)

“You didn’t see them?” He asked, a little sardonic, but that’s what I get for being blunt. He gestured with his trunk toward the bushes in the darkness. I followed his gaze, and noticed the leaves cease their rustling under our attention.

“Humans.” He said scornfully.

My eyes swept the wider area and I saw them, crouched in the penumbra, their vision trained on us. They were close, close enough to see us in the dwindling twilight. Their sight is weaker than ours in darkness, but it doesn’t seem that they know that.

“They’ve been watching us all night and day. We went to their habitat nearby, looking for an explanation, and it’s… well, they had to leave it.” He let out an annoyed sigh. “Beavers dammed their river, that flooded most of the buildings, moles undermined their crops, wolves started farming them nearby and the waste poisoned the lake. They’re vagrants, and now they’re hunting us. We can’t leave here with them following us.” He spit on the ground. “Fuckin’ rats.”

“Zhou!” His wife scolded. “Don’t use ‘rat’ as a pejorative.”

“Well, can’t we trap them?” I asked, referring to their herd’s regular pest control practices.

“We have been. Trappin’ ‘em and killin’ em, all day. There’s a ton of the bastards.” He whispered this word, eluding another chewing-out, and then declared, “We’ll take shifts sleeping and wipe out the rest in the morning.”

“Dad, dad!” Xi lumbered to my side. “Yang says they’re going on a human hunt tomorrow, can I go with them?”

“That’s very gallant of you, Xi. Sure, but ask your mother so she can tell you to be careful, okay?” With my approval, Xi trumpeted off back to his friends.

Ying found me through the crowd and made her way over. “What’s he all excited about?”, she asked casually.

“Hunting, in the morning.” I tried to sound equally casual.

Ying’s face creased in an expression that I love so much on her. It was one of concern, deep and gentle indignation, and a trace of fear. She held so much love and care for our little ones in her heart that even the slightest danger could draw it out in force.

I pre-empted her words with my own, “I know, but he wants to help, and he’ll be safe with everyone around. We should encourage his initiative,” I trailed off briefly, “even if it is driven by morbidity.”

Ying pressed her side against mine, and tucked her head into my neck. “They’re growing up. It’s hard to think they’ll never be this way again, innocent and precious.”

I said nothing, but shifted to nestle her closer to me.

Min wended, glowing, through the crowd, smiling up at each person she passed. She adopted a serious look upon drawing nearer, and sat down to face us.

“Dad.” She said frankly.

“Min.” I replied in kind.

“Mei is getting her human when we arrive in Nanjing for the summer. With your endorsement I will go with her and choose a small human, which I will rear all by myself, and protect from harm. Do you agree to my terms?”

“Your terms are acceptable. I’ll require the buy-in of my partner, Ying, before we can proceed.”

Ying smiled at our little game. “Yes, honey, if you promise to take care of it, you can get a human when Mei gets hers.” She confirmed warmly.

Min nodded solemnly, but a slight upward curling of her lips let her excitement show. She gave in to it, blew a trumpet high into the air, and galloped away calling out to Mei.

“There’s a rumour the Orangutans are developing a virus to eradicate humans once and for all.” Ying said quietly.

“That might be for the best”, I said, “look at all the trouble they cause.”