By the time the adults found him, he was trapped.
Now a large female leaned over him, sliding her trunk down his side. Another pressed close from the opposite direction.
They strained together.
The calf rose slightly.
Then the mud took him back.
I felt my own hands tighten around the door frame.
We had tools. We could dig. We could help break the suction holding his legs.
But between us and that calf stood several tons of terrified mother.
Ben eased the vehicle backward.
The female followed our movement with her head, ears spread.
“We push this, somebody gets hurt,” he said.
We waited.
When the herd settled, we repositioned at a wide distance, hoping to find an approach that wouldn’t alarm them.
The adults shifted with us.
Every opening closed.
From the vehicle, I could hear the calf calling. At first, the sounds were sharp enough to carry across the clearing. Each time he cried, the adults reached toward him again.
