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Packy the Elephant: Well Loved, Well Mourned

2/28/2017

When Packy the elephant was delivered at the Oregon Zoo in 1962, he made news around the world: the first elephant born in the Western Hemisphere in 44 years! After living to be the oldest Asian male elephant in North America, his death was mourned deeply.

I had the honor of writing and officiating a memorial service for Packy, attended on a rain-soaked Saturday morning by 500 and viewed, via live-stream and since, by more than 73,000. (Scroll down for a video link and the printed memorial program.)

While Packy's pachyderm family filled the neighboring yard, Packy was honored with a Rose Ceremony led by the Royal Rosarians to Beethoven funeral music performed by the trombone section of the Oregon Symphony. Longtime TV news personality Tracy Barry and the Zoo's elephant curator Bob Lee - Packy's lead caregiver for 17 years - brought tears to many cheeks as they eulogized their old friend. Thomas Lauderdale, of the internationally acclaimed ensemble Pink Martini, performed an original new composition for Packy and led a rousing musical finalé of the folk classic Green, Green.

Love notes covering a life-size photo of Packy

After everyone joined voices in a customized Litany of Remembrance (see program, below), I closed with the poem We Give Thanks for the Animals, shared with me by Seattle Celebrant Danna Schmidt. The Rosarians formed one final honor guard for Packy, then participants of all ages had a piece of cake in his memory (Packy loved his cake!) and told their own stories.

As The Oregonian reported: "even in death, Packy continued teaching lessons." One dad who brought his two young daughters "saw it as a gentle way to introduce his young ones to the idea of mortality. 'It was a rare opportunity to introduce them to the concept of death in this kind of setting,' he said. 'It was a very tasteful ceremony.'"

Excerpts from my memorial remarks:

We’re joined today in our tears and our tributes by tens of thousands around the region and across the world who have been sharing their favorite Packy stories on-line.

Everyone has a story about Packy. The older among us remember his birth, like Joyce Ritter who was in the 5th grade and called the first elephant born in the Western Hemisphere in 44 years, “the biggest news ever”. She says, “When you were a kid growing up in Eastern Oregon, you dreamed about the day you could go to Portland to visit Packy.”

For nearly 55 years Packy inspired millions of children and adults to learn about elephant and animal conservation – a critical mission, with as few as 40,000 Asian elephants remaining in their rapidly vanishing native range. And it’s not just we, his adoring public, who learned from Packy. Conservation scientists attribute much of what we now know about elephant care to Packy. The list of discoveries is as long as his trunk, including breakthroughs that are helping to reduce human-elephant conflict in Asia.

With songs, books, Rose Parade floats, and even a beer named after him, Packy has been synonymous with Portland for more than half a century. And so it was only fitting that the Royal Rosarians, the official greeters and ambassadors of goodwill for the City of Portland, claimed Packy as one of their own, knighting him on his 50th birthday as Sir Knight Packy.

The English poet John Donne called the elephant, “Nature's great masterpiece… the only harmless great thing.” As we begin our memorial program, let’s imagine ourselves watching Packy at play, release ourselves from the concerns of the world outside Elephant Lands, and focus our gratitude on the well-lived life of this beloved pachyderm.

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This is the fourth ceremony I've been privileged to create with the caring stewards at the Oregon Zoo. See also Elephants Never Forget (the dedication of their new habitat), Honoring Cultural Survival (the rededication of two historic totem poles), and A Place of Honor (the reinterment of remains of residents of the old county poor farm).

CLICK IMAGE FOR VIDEO OF MEMORIAL (live feed difficulties resolved by 3:45)

Funeral for a Fish

4/13/2016

When I arrived to take my nine year-old niece to school yesterday, she had a job for me. "Emerald died," Josie reported. "We have to bury him."

Emerald was a beta fish. She told me that his once-splendid tail had fallen apart and that the other fish in the tank had been attacking him. She had already laid him out in an Altoids tin and had a grave marker ready (recycled from the burial of Saski, her very first fish).

Her dad tried to give me an out - he knew I'd had a full load of family, friend, and client funeral services in recent weeks. But Josie already had me by the arm and said conspiratorially, "After all, Aunt Holly, it's what you're good at."

We dug a shovel out of the garage. Josie was pleased we'd found the yellow handled one; they'd used a trowel for Saski's burial and she had yet another tool in mind for whichever burial would come next. The idea of every one of their garden implements being employed in gravedigging seemed important to her.

She led me to a spot underneath a rhododendron bush where Saski had returned to the earth. We dug the grave, trying not to bisect any earthworms. Josie picked up each of the worms that wriggled to escape, comparing their lengths. After placing Emerald's casket in the ground we gathered petals to decorate it. She told me stories about Emerald and told Emerald stories about Saski, so that they might find each other in the spirit world.

But there was something missing. The ancient Egyptians sent their dead along with something from their lives so they wouldn't feel lost, she told me. She ran off to get a few pieces of gravel from Emerald's tank.

After those were placed I asked if she had a song for Emerald. She gave it some thought and then began a soft song of love and farewell. I joined her for a few final rounds. We covered the grave, placed the marker and some flowers, and went inside for breakfast.

Elephants Never Forget

12/29/2015

As a Celebrant I've served young and old, living and dead, humans and pets - but never before have I celebrated a family of pachyderms!

Portland loves the elephants who for more than 50 years have thrived at the Oregon Zoo. This month their new habitat opened, four times the size of their previous space and setting a new standard for elephant health and well-being.

I was asked to help create a dedication for the grand opening, one that honored each member of this beloved family, that showcased their individual attributes along with the features of their new world-class home.

I know the question of housing any animals in a zoo is unsettling to some, and these Asian elephants are certainly far from their native lands. But the Oregon Zoo has done a remarkable job in support of this endangered species. Some of their research discoveries have even been applied in Asia to reduce human-elephant conflict.

East African mother mourns her baby (c) BBC

The three-generation-strong family of elephants at the Oregon Zoo proves the adage that home is where the herd is. The seven (five of whom were born in Portland) are inter-related and inter-dependent. How this matriarchal society lives can teach us more than a thing or two.

The entire herd shares in the care and tutelage of their young. Chendra, rescued in Malaysia orphaned and hungry with a gun shot wound to her left eye, earned her full place in the herd when she became doting auntie to baby Lily.

Elephants join dolphins, apes, and humans as the only animals known to recognize their reflections in a mirror. According to Scientific American, elephants can recognize and keep track of the location of as many as 30 companions at a time. The researcher says, "Imagine taking your family to a crowded department store and the Christmas sales are on. What a job to keep track of where four or five family members are. These elephants are doing it with 30 traveling-mates."

There are numerous accounts of elephants grieving: shedding tears, standing vigil over their dead for as long as three days, traveling long distances to visit the bones or dying grounds, moving the bones, perhaps even trying to bury' them.

Shine welcomes Tusko back to the herd

We don't yet know how grief is affecting the Oregon Zoo elephant family, but it followed immediately on the heels of the joyous habitat grand opening for the elephants' human family.

On December 22 the Zoo announced with great sadness the death of Tusko, at 44 one of the oldest and largest male Asian elephants in North America. A former circus elephant, he suffered from a decades-old leg injury and had been in poor health.

Six months earlier Tusko had been able to rejoin the herd after more than a year of medical treatment. The Zoo reported that the rest of the family greeted him with "a chorus of chirps, trumpets and thunderous roars". Apparently when Sung-Surin (known as Shine) first walked up to Tusko, "her roars sounded like something out of Jurassic World."

Tusko's return was particularly important to his male offspring Samudra, as Sam learns how to be an adolescent bull. Tusko made his mark on the new habitat, too. The builders counted on him to "Tusko-proof" many of the new features, knowing if they were suitable for this gentle giant, they would work for the rest of the herd.

The obituary released by the Oregon Zoo recognizes Tusko's legacy and the interdependence of his elephant and human families: "Tusko's energy, strength and spirit live on in the personalities of his two Oregon Zoo calves, Samudra and Lily, as well as in the new Elephant Lands habitat, the design of which he helped inspire."

The humans who worked with, cared for, observed, and learned from Tusko over his decade at the Oregon Zoo were deeply saddened by Tusko's physical decline and death. It's not hard to imagine that his deeply connected elephant family is now mourning his death too. Tusko, no doubt, will be remembered.

Elephant Lands Dedication

Home is truly where the herd is. As we welcome our herd into their new home, we begin with Rose-tu, who shares a name with the City of Portland, and is named after her mother and grandmother. To Rose-Tu, the devoted mother of our Sam and Lily, we dedicate our state-of-the-art barn, which has everything you and future mothers need to take care of your babies.

To our youngest, to underscore the investment our region’s voters have made to the future of the herd. To rambunctious young Lily, great-granddaughter of our first elephant Rosie, we dedicate our splash pool and water cannon. We know how much you’ll enjoy playing in the shooting stream of water and how much your family – and all of us – will enjoy watching you do what elephants love to do with water.

Lily is not the only young elephant who loves water play. Her big brother, Samudra, loves to swim. In fact, his name means Lord of the Ocean. To Sam, the very first third-generation elephant to be born in the United States, we dedicate the new 160,000-gallon pool, so you can swim to your heart’s content and expend some of that new adolescent energy.

This is for Tusko, the gentle papa of Lily and Sam. To you, Tusko, we dedicate Forest Hall, our new 43-foot tall indoor facility. Despite your gentle nature, you did your part to make this habitat great by “Tusko-proofing” its features during construction!

And now for Auntie Chendra, who was found in Borneo — orphaned, alone, and hungry. Chendra, to you we dedicate our natural habitat timed feeders; with your new family, in your home here at Elephant Lands, you will never be hungry again.

To the herd’s matriarch, Auntie Sung-Surin, we chose a fitting tribute for this daughter of Packy and Pet. Sung-Surin, to you we dedicate the outdoor shelters because your name in Thai means Sunshine and we know you prefer to stay dry.

This community loves elephants, in no small part thanks to Packy, the oldest male of his kind in the country, born 53 years ago right here at Oregon Zoo. His birth made international headlines, and ushered in a whole new era of elephant care and welfare. To Packy, our icon and your herd’s venerable patriarch, we dedicate the square footage of this new habitat -- four times the size of your previous home -- a space large enough for your family to stay together. For home is where the herd is.

~ dedication delivered by Metro Council members at Elephant Lands Grand Opening, December 15, 2015

Click image to watch a two-minute montage from baby Lily's first three years, including when she meets her dad Tusko for the first time, the herd's entrance into their new habitat, and good times with a pumpkin!

Bacho (who loved broccoli)

9/27/2015

I meet so many amazing souls in my work these days - many of them already deceased. I meet them through the stories and memories of their loved ones. I see them in the grief and in the joy with which they are remembered. They come to life before my eyes in the small rituals or elaborate ceremonies that bear witness to the fact that their life mattered.

Recently I had the pleasure of meeting Bacho, through the gorgeous eulogy written by his person, Alice Hardesty. In addition to writing this thoughtful tribute to Bacho, Alice told me, she organized "a celebration of his life with 22 friends who especially loved him, with champagne and cake. I prepared a multiple-choice quiz about his loves, dislikes, and funny habits, which allowed people to know him even better. Everybody had a great time and it was SO healing - a real celebration."

Below, excerpts from Alice's observations about life with and without Bacho, and the quiz that testifies to how well remembered he is.

"Bacho, my lovely companion of nine years has ended his time on planet Earth and begun his journey into the unknown — at least unknown to me, although it may be well known to him by now.

"Bacho was a two-year old golden retriever, border collie mix who came into our lives only a month before Jack died. Our German shepherd had succumbed to cancer in March of 2006, and soon after that Jack started to read the ads in the local paper: 'Wanted, good home for our dog.' I was hardly ready for that because I was still grieving, but Jack seemed determined to have another dog. I can’t help but wonder about his prescience. Did he suspect that I would soon be alone?

"Since that time, Bacho and I have been inseparable. We walked together every day, starting before breakfast, again in the afternoon, and a short walk before bed. Whenever I would travel, I left him with friends or hired a pet-sitter. I never boarded him in a kennel. During these walks he would meet other dogs, toward whom he was usually indifferent, but if their owners offered attention or, better yet, treats, he would show great enthusiasm, sitting in front of them, tail sweeping the sidewalk. When people would come to he door he would never bark, but instead whined until I let them in and he could make a fuss over them. He would continue whining for a while as if he were saying, 'Oh, you lovely person. Where have you been all my life?' Thankfully, he was never challenged to be a watchdog....

"My whole routine has changed. I don’t know how to start the day. It used to be that when I first began to stir in the morning, a head with a long nose and two big brown eyes would jiggle the mattress, and a tail would thump softly against the bed. Now there is only stillness.

"Sometimes the loss of a beloved pet is a strange sort of gift in that it brings up old losses that may have been floating beneath the surface for years, losses that are deeper and often more complex, losses that may need additional grieving. Losing Bacho has reminded me of the deaths of both parents and my relationships with them. And losing Bacho has naturally rekindled the grief of losing Jack. As a healing ceremony, I have placed their pictures together and say their names as I light a candle every evening. Added to my awareness is the loss of my youth and the inevitable trajectory toward debility and death. These are not happy thoughts, but they are necessary ones so as not to be dumb struck by the process when it happens.

"In the meantime, I am learning to walk the neighborhood without a dog, and I find that quite often people smile at me anyway."

Please read the full eulogy and visit Alice's web site.

The Death of a Pet

5/4/2014

Joe Yonan and Red (c) Washington Post

During my Dad's brief retirement before brain cancer took him at 63, he started each day sharing the milk from his cereal bowl with his four cats. Now, plenty of people put their bowl or plate down for their pets once they've finished their own meal. But for my Dad, the cats drank first. And if they drank too much, leaving his cereal soggy but no longer afloat, he would simply refill, offer them a last chance at a few more laps, and only then eat his breakfast.

Some of you are recoiling - but I'll bet more are nodding in recognition. For many of us, our pets are our family. My Dad and his wife considered my cats their grandchildren; their cats, my step-brothers.

Last week in his Washington Post essay, "The death of pet can hurt as much as the loss of a relative," Joe Yonan discussed the "sense of surprise and even shame" that occurs when people find themselves grieving deeply for their pets. He also addressed the sometimes unhelpful reactions from others in the face of deeply-felt grief over the death of an animal.

Thankfully, many of my closest friends, family members and co-workers have been wonderfully sympathetic, and for that I’m grateful. Others have seemed reluctant to talk about my grief, and I suspect that it’s because they’re trying to stay in denial about the prospect of losing their own animal or trying not to remember the death of a previous one. My least-favorite reaction comes from those who are aiming to be supportive but regularly ask me when I’m going to adopt another dog, a reaction that seems tantamount to saying, “Get over it already. He was just a dog. Isn’t one as good as another?”

That can lead to what psychologists refer to as disenfranchised grief.

“Simply stated, many people (including pet owners) feel that grief over the death of a pet is not worthy of as much acknowledgment as the death of a person,” researchers wrote in a 2003 article in the journal Professional Psychology: Research and Practice. “Unfortunately, this tends to inhibit people from grieving fully when a pet dies.”

Yonan goes on to note the importance of ritual, citing Joan Didion's distinction between grief as passive and mourning as active. In fact, it may be the loss of the pet-imprinted rituals (like my Dad's morning milk feast) that's so profoundly disorienting when one of them dies. As Yonan writes, "I spent so much time taking care of Red, and Gromit before him, that when each one died it didn’t merely leave a hole in my single-person household; it was as if someone had rearranged my life, excising without my permission many of the rituals that had governed it."

I recently heard from Kristin Zabawa, a former zoo-keeper turned photographer who helps ease this transition by shooting "Soul Sessions" of people and their animal companions in the days before their deaths. This is the kind of healing attention that can turn grief into mourning, capturing the joy amidst the despair.

Kristin says, "Every session with animals who are close to death has a deep resonance of love and presence, as people wordlessly say good-bye to their animal. I feel honored to be invited into this family circle for the time that I am with them." See some of her beautiful work in this post from her blog.

What rituals have you used to mourn the death of an animal companion?

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For more resources on pet loss, see Dove Lewis' wonderful blog by Enid Traisman.

Pet Love, Pet Loss

8/18/2013

Smitty & Homer

This month I've been enjoying vacation time off the grid, out in the woods. Re-entry is hard.

My prime consolation as I journeyed back to a busy life in the city was anticipation of a reunion with my two furry companions, Homer and Smitty.

More than 70% of Americans have a pet, and six out of ten of us consider our pets to be members of our families.

Loving our companion animals is a joy. Losing them can be devastating. Memorializing them well can help us heal.

Hadley Mae (? 1997 – May 24, 2013)

This week I share, with permission, one of the most evocative eulogies I've ever read. This tribute to Hadley Mae, written by my favorite blogger Andrea Carlisle, illustrates the tender power of remembrance.

It begins like this:

"One morning back in 1998, a young stray cat found her way to the side door of a high school in a Portland suburb. The elderly janitor happened to come out to deliver something to the dumpster, spotted the small cat patiently waiting for the door to open, and befriended her.

"It was cold and rainy, so he took her inside and down to his office in the basement. After a few days of research, he concluded that no one was looking for a skinny cat with two cracked teeth, a soft, multi-colored coat, and a long, be-ringed tail with a velvety black tip.

"The cat and janitor took to each other. While he did his paperwork, she sat on his lap. When he went off to polish floors, she kept his chair warm. He couldn’t bring her home, so he tried to make her the official school cat with a permanent residence in his office in the basement."

Read more...

Portland pet lovers are lucky to have a nationally renowned pet loss support program at Dove Lewis. Founded and run by certified grief counselor Enid Traisman, the program offers a variety of resources including art therapy workshops and a lovely advice column written by Enid. If this topic touches you, I encourage you to follow Enid's blog.