On a peaceful morning in the zoo, the old janitor was still diligently walking along the cages to sweep and clean the dirt floor as usual. The rain from the night before had covered the tiled floor with moss, making it more slippery than usual. He walked slowly, holding a broom in his hand, whistling softly as a habit he had developed over many years of working here.
Then—whoosh!
With a misstep, his foot slipped hard on the wet moss, causing him to fall to the ground. A sharp pain ran down his spine, making him unable to stand up. He tried to stand up, but his trembling hands were not enough.
At that moment, in the next cage, the large elephant he had cared for for many years noticed. The elephant immediately made a worried “woo…woo…woo…” sound and ran quickly to the edge of the fence. But seeing that he still did not move, it immediately put its long, strong but extremely gentle trunk through the gap in the cage, wrapping around him.
The elephant tried to lift him up, little by little, so carefully that it seemed as if it was afraid of hurting him more. Thanks to that warm trunk, the janitor slowly stood up, his eyes red with emotion.
Before he could say anything, the elephant continued to gently touch his back with its trunk, rubbing the exact spot where he had fallen, as if to comfort and console him.
It was not just an act of 本能, but also the care of a creature for the person it loved—the person who fed it every day, talked to it, and took care of it with all his heart.
In that peaceful moment at the zoo, there seemed to be no boundary between humans and animals. There was only love, attachment, and gratitude that did not need words.