Born into Burden

Nothing in Javy's life had ever been handed to him on a silver platter. To eat, he needed street smarts, foraging for his food and devouring the scraps that others left behind.

Javy towered over the other males in the pack, so he was destined to carry the burden of a family of 10. Even sleep was hard to come by. He spent months a year dodging bullets and arrows, knowing that headhunters might be around the corner.

It was all about survival.

Many thought his behavior was barbaric. Javy lived getting branded with names like "desert rat" and "giant rodent." Numerous people thought he was a pig, and his natural stench certainly didn't help the stigma.

But they didn't understand that he never had a choice.

Javy never chose the life of scavenger, where he had to work for his food, search for shelter daily from the brutal heat and protect his family from peril. He was bound by birth to lead this life. It was a cruel existence. And Javy lamented about every day being the same as the one before.

But one day wasn't the same.

On an early Arizona morning in February, Javy trekked out to rummage for food with his family trailing behind him. Finding a healthy small cacti, he planted his two back feet and drilled his front right hoof into the hedgehog until it crashed into the desert sand. Javy then stepped aside to let his family burrow their snouts into the green tunnel and indulge on the cacti's fleshy insides.

He was always the last one to eat.

Before he could kick over another one, a hot bullet plunged into the side of Javy's son, who sent out a deafening squeal of pain. His insides erupted, and he fell to the ground. Shrieking in panic, Javy's family scattered and thrashed around wildly.

Staying calm, Javy scanned the area. The threat had eluded his poor vision. Damn it, he should've felt it. Especially in Tucson, where his kind was considered the most popular big game prey.

Javy gathered the group and led them to safety inside a small cavern. He watched from a distance, as his son's carcass was carried off. His family settled down and plopped themselves onto the cool rock surface.

There was still a lot of time to kill before they could go out again.

Waiting for the sun to set, Javy mourned the loss of his son. Even though Javy didn't get to eat that day, somehow his grief superseded his hunger.

In his anguish, Javy evaluated his life. Perhaps if he had been born something else, somewhere else -- in a different environment -- his son wouldn't have died. That life wouldn't be this hard.

Was the struggle worth it? Just to die at 10 years old?

Some days, it wasn't.

But Javy just kept putting one soiled foot in front of the other. It's all he could do. After all, the survivalist lifestyle was the only one he knew.

Still, he wished he could run. And be something else, somewhere else.

But there was no time for introspection, as the sun fell behind the mountains That familiar feeling pulsed through his body. Javy's stomach yearned for food, and his eight remaining family members relied on him to provide their most basic needs.

So he ran.

His footsteps pounded against the ground at 35 mph into the night. His tusks streaked in the blackness, leading the herd for another feeding session, in which he would again be the last one to eat.

Javy dashed into the darkness, with only his instincts guiding the way.