Henri and the Magnificent Snort

Sips for Elephants

Article by Samantha Childs

It’s an interesting thing, being alive in this world and knowing that your time here is finite. What do we do that matters? Today I saved a fat, furry bumblebee from a busy Dublin sidewalk, and it felt like the most real thing I did all day. I took him into someone’s front garden, where a wild snapdragon flower was growing out from the wall, and felt my heart soften watching him navigate the two fuchsia buds.

In Ireland, where I have been living this year, flowers bloom from the most unlikely places. They sprout out of ancient stone walls, out of cracks in roofs, between steps and the pavement. I love their tenacity. I love knowing that so much of that beauty is there because of... poo. That flowers grow from seeds eaten by birds and fertilized by their droppings – that they grow from this mess and make the world more beautiful. I like to think of this when things in my life feel a bit… “pooey.”

I once was the proud human of the greatest dog who ever lived. (I know that many humans feel that way about their dogs, and I love that about humans. I love that we can all be right.) My dog’s name was Henri. To others, he was a French bulldog. To my heart, he was my little soulmate. I loved this dog more than I have words to express. He made me feel more important, more loved, more special than I think I have ever felt in my whole life. Every time I walked into my front door it felt like Christmas. I would take off my bags, sit down on the floor, and he’d come running to me and put his arms around my neck and we’d hug, our hearts pressed together. I was his favorite person. I can’t think of a greater compliment in the world. Even just the way he would look at me – it melted me to tears.

Seven years ago, Henri died a traumatic death because of veterinary negligence. For six years, I was involved in legal proceedings, hoping to prevent what had happened to him from happening to others. It was brutal. Animal rights cases in California are extremely difficult – animals are treated as property by the law – as though animals are inanimate objects and not valuable in their own right. In my case, the opposition brought a witness who said that Henri’s death had saved me money because I would no longer have to spend money on buying him toys and food. This is what people are up against when they try and protect animals. My case was so hard, but at the same time, I felt like I had a shot in hell. Not a clear shot. Not an easy shot. But I felt I had a chance. Which was more than so many people. So, I followed my heart. Even when I was told I was going to lose. Even when I was pressured to give up and be silent. Sometimes I questioned if I was crazy. But then I would think about how 80-year-old me would feel looking back on my life. And I knew that older me, would be proud of myself if I tried and I lost. So I kept going. I cried a lot. Went to the beach and let the cold water wrap around my calves and ankles. Screamed. Ran. Slept. Thrashed about under my sheets. Cried some more. But, I kept going.

During the lawsuit, I would see signs posted around my hometown in Southern California saying to “Pick up after your dog.” It felt like they were speaking to me, and that I was supposed to clean up this mess that had been my dog’s death. It wasn’t for my dog – he was gone – but for others. I felt a responsibility to other dogs, and to protect their lives. I wish someone had done it before it had happened to mine. I would see discarded plastic poop bags left on sidewalks or on the lagoon hiking path near where I lived, and I would pick them up and carry them to the trash. It felt like the lawsuit, like I was carrying the poo for other people. Sometimes it felt like a burden and an annoyance. How could someone leave this behind? Why did I feel the need to carry this? Other times it felt like an honor. To be able to be someone who could do something.

Since moving to Ireland, I pick up trash that others seem to walk by. The Grand Canal is a block from my house, and every day it is littered with bottles, empty cigarette packets, food containers. I go there to feed the birds – a swan (that an old man told me is named Daphne) and a few families of Moorhens and today three ducks – and have times when I feel furious by the trash others leave behind. Don’t they care about the beauty? The weeping willows and budding wildflowers and baby birds and fish and cranky swan and the grey heron that sometimes trolls the water’s edge? And then I had thought, maybe they don’t. Maybe I am the one who gets to appreciate it the most. Maybe I get more out of it than others – maybe it is my gift. And I felt something in me soften. Last week, I went to the beach with a friend. While walking over to a dumpster to throw away my trash, I picked up trash that others had left behind in the sand. People here often look at me like I’m strange when I do this. “You’re just supposed to leave no trace,” my friend said. “I want to make it better,” I said.

In the end, after years of court proceedings, a jury found in my favor – coming back with a verdict of negligence and concealment – and the vet surrendered his license. I cried, sitting outside on a stone wall. I felt so close in that moment to Henri. I felt so proud of him. When I think of the scene now, me on the stone wall, I imagine myself as one of those flowers, growing from the poo.

While I was in the throes the lawsuit, I needed to think about something good outside of the case to keep me going. So I thought of what I would do with the money if I won the lawsuit.

This is what inspired my vision: My favorite sound in the world used to be the sound of Henri drinking water. He slept in my room (in my bed) and I’d keep the sliding glass door open to the balcony, with his water bowl just outside, and at night, I’d wake to hear him lapping at the water. I would lay there feeling so happy, knowing that he was being nourished and that soon he’d be climbing back (up his little doggie steps) into bed with me.

After Henri died, I thought about his water bowl and back to a special memory from my childhood. When I was fifteen, my family went on a trip to Namibia to see desert elephants. I’ve always loved elephants. The magic of them -how they look like mythical beings mixed with dinosaurs and at the same time seem so similar and relatable to humans. On this trip, my family was taken to see a newly made elephant watering hole. It was in the middle of nowhere – just desert and no people around for miles. Yet next to the structure was a plaque… with my dad’s name on it. My dad is a private person, and when he donates money he almost always does so anonymously. But they had surprised him with this plaque, and I loved it. I loved that my dad was helping elephants have water, and that the only beings around to read his name would be the elephants.

And so that inspired my idea. I wanted to give the money from Henri’s lawsuit to build a watering hole for elephants. I wanted to create a giant “dog bowl” that would be visible from heaven and would help elephants and other wild animals be able to nourish themselves, the way Henri had nourished himself with his water bowl. And I wanted a plaque by it that said “The Henri Childs Water Bowl” for the elephants to read. I would think about this water bowl and the elephants during hard times (and there were many) in the years and years of the lawsuit. Elephants became a bit of a sign for me during the case.

After winning Henri’s lawsuit, I contacted Big Life Foundation and told them my story and asked if they had need for a borehole for elephants. They did. In the Nairrabala Conservancy, which is a wildlife migration route north of Amboseli Park in Kenya, the land had no dry season water. This is where Henri’s water bowl would be constructed. Further, the water would not only help the elephants and wildlife, but would also be piped to the Maasai residents, so both humans and animals would be benefiting. I donated every penny of what I received in the lawsuit to Big Life Foundation. When the wire transfer of the last of the money went through, I sat and cried. I felt so grateful. I felt like life was flowing through me – like life was happening through me. I got to be a part of something so much bigger than myself. I felt like flowers were blooming through all the parts of me that before had only hurt.

In Ireland, it is considered lucky if a bird poops on you. It's such a positive attitude, and it makes me smile. But maybe it is even deeper than this. Maybe it is the same with life. When life poops on you, through hardship or tragedy, it can feel awful and unbearable and like the whole world is that poop. It is all you can see. But at that moment, you are existing in a snapshot. You don't know the whole story yet. You haven't seen what is going to blossom. You haven't yet seen how life can transform unimaginable brokenness into unimaginable beauty.

Losing Henri was beyond painful. Going through the lawsuit stretched me in ways I couldn’t have fathomed. But what beautiful flowers came from that soil. Henri didn’t get to live forever and neither do I, but what an unfathomable thing to be a part of life. To get to leave behind parts of yourself that continue to grow, continue to nourish. What a magical world it is, that you can be a 25-pound dog in California and positively impact the lives of elephants and animals and people living across the world in Kenya. I watched a video of the Maasai people blessing the construction site before the digging started and just stared at my phone in wonder. How incredible that so much pain could turn into something so mind-blowingly cool. What a magical world it is where you can be a scared and grieving girl and still help make the world a better place. I hope to one day visit “The Henri Childs Water Bowl.” I hope that Henri sees it from heaven and feels proud.

There can be great heartbreak in this life. But wow - the beauty that can grow from a broken heart. It makes me weep with gratitude. To be alive. To get to feel it all. What an incredible gift.

If my story moves you and you feel you would like to be a part of The Henri Childs Water Bowl, I would love to include you in the mission. By donating any amount to Sips for Elephants your money will be funding the work of the rangers who look after the elephants and wildlife who drink at The Henri Childs Water Bowl.

Also, if you’d like to donate in honor of your dog and want your dog to be featured on Henri’s Instagram and website please DM me at @henrilefrenchie on Instagram or email me at henrilefrenchie@gmail.com with a picture of your donation and picture of your dog posing with their water bowl.

Thank you, so much, for being an animal lover.

I wish for you that beautiful things bloom from every place your heart has ever been broken, and that you feel loved by life beyond your wildest dreams.

SIPS for ELEPHANTS