The Elephant Salesman (Part 3)

"I'm ready to take that letter now, Charles," said Mr. Pickles.

He gripped the quill pen with his trunk, lifted it out of its stand and dipped its nib into the inkwell.

Dearest Veronica,

I write to you from the Amazon, and boy do I have a tale to tell! I’ve sold my first herd of elephants! If you’re as excited as I am please feel free to jump up and down and scream your enthusiasm. But not too loud. You don’t want to alarm the neighbors.

Knowing you, you’ve probably ripped this letter in half when you raised your arms in that triumphant cheer of yours. So after you’ve taped the pieces back together, make yourself a cocktail and compose yourself. I’ve got so much more that I want to say.

I love and miss you much, my angel. Kisses to you my sweet darling. But I’ll save the mushy stuff till later. It’s slowing my enthusiasm and causing Mr. Pickles to blush.

Yesterday, as we continued our way down the Nile in our Leopard-skin canoe, we met a man by the name of Josef Netherland. He was traveling down the Amazon in raft that was being towed by a dozen Siberian Huskies! Can you believe it? And boy, can those dogs paddle. I’ve never seen anything like it!

At odds with my admiration for the Huskies, Mr. Pickles grabbed a tow line that was attached to our canoe and jumped into the river. Goodness, what a splash he made! He managed to lower the tide by several fathoms and caused a dozen or so crocodiles to wash up on shore, perplexed as to how they got there.

I wasn’t aware that elephants swam. But swim he did. He held that tow line between his teeth and paddled like it was no body’s business. It was a breathtaking spectacle. Mr. Pickles racing side by side with the Siberians. First keeping pace, then taking the lead like he owned the river and no one was going to beat him on his home turf.

Mr. Netherland was so impressed that he insisted on purchasing Mr. Pickles on the spot! He explained that he ran an adventure camp in Nome, Alaska that specialized in dog sled racing.

‘But elephant sled racing!' he said. ‘That’s going to put my profits through the roof!'

I told him that Mr. Pickles was not for sale. He being, not only my sample, but my secretary and companion. I further told him that Mr. Pickles’ family herd back in the Congo was most defiantly for sale.

Of course, he would have to buy the whole herd. They were not to be separated. He was delighted with the proposition and we signed a contract that very night. No traveling by monsoon or sand storm on this trip. We are flying first class.

And when Mr. Netherland heard that Mr. Pickles was not happy about flying in the storage compartment, he charted a private cargo plane so huge that Mr. Pickles could jump rope and throw javelins if he wished to do so.

Tomorrow, Mr. Pickles and I are off to the Congo to pick up his family herd and escort them to their new home in Alaska. I will write to you when all is settled.

I should be home in a months time. I can’t wait for you to meet Mr. Pickles. I think your going to love him and I think he is going to love life on the Hudson river. He’s very fond of the water.

All my love goes your way, hold it till I return.

Yours for the taking,
Charles