Monash the Miniature Elephant

There's an elephant in the flower bed. Or, at least, there is according to my sister Flora. I can't tell - the flowerbed is pretty overgrown with grass and piled with rocks and twigs, but it kind of looks like something is moving in there.

"His name is Monash", Flora says. She wants me to capture him. What do we do then? Put him in an aquarium? I shake the bushes to move him out into the open. He's probably scared. There's his call, a high-pitched, twee trumpeting from the tulip forest. And there he is, no bigger than a mouse. A two-inch African elephant.

I feel kind of mean, pushing dirt and rocks with my hand like a bulldozer, to scare him in the corner. But it works - Monash is cornered and I scoop him up in my hands. He sits clamly in my cupped palms, lifting blades of grass to his mouth.