We stood at the edge of a dusty corral baked by the equatorial sun and ringed by chest-high posts as thick as telephone poles. On some posts, workers had perched plastic jugs of goat's milk, each holding a couple of liters and equipped with red nipples the size of a man’s finger.
Across the corral, a young elephant ambled into view, head bobbing, trunk curling, ears flapping, trundling along as fast as its tree-trunk legs could carry it. Another followed, then a steady stream, bumping and jostling, kicking up orange dust — a joyful stampede of 2,000-pound toddlers.
