Last night, Elvis followed Bullet’s lead and joined Presley in crow heaven, reunited in birdie Graceland.
It’s so sad, though, how he left this world, the unlucky recipient of Chouchou the genet’s return to the wild, her first known attempt at rekindling her instinctive drive. Chouchou, I hear, initially weaseled her way out of the, now, piggy enclosure a few weeks ago, hanging round the bushes at night for a treat from Michelle.
I see her slither between the boma and camp on occasion, her fast, feline body scurrying along, a cross between a polecat and a serval, lithe and limber. To me, she’s just a shadow creature, an ex-Daktari inmate, and like the night, she falls onto Elvis.
Hillary and Andreas hear his anguished screams, forever unable to fly, fly away due to a perpetually broken wing, and their presence sends Chouchou–such an oxymoronic name, I know–chugging along to another kill. Unfortunately, a wingless crow is no match for a fierce genet, and Elvis suffers massive damage to his noggin, head bloodied and swollen, and for two days, it seems he’ll pull through.
This Friday morning, Elvis is the culmination of our time at Daktari, an untimely and sad ending, a stark contrast to the happy weeks preceding such a gloomy morning.
Farewell, Elvis bird, you hunka, hunka burning love.
Meme ton farewell a Elvis est emouvant. Darn sensibility.