I saw elephants for the first time in KM52 when I was a little kid. A Hmong rice paddy owner paid some Lao elephant owner to have the elephants drag some giant logs from the hills to build a dam, so that the stream would run into his rice field.
The elephants looked powerful. But the logs were so heavy that the elephants would not be able to budge now and then. Then the owner would take a knife and stab the elephants by the root of the trunk. The elephants bled and cried but would keep moving the logs along, because they were all chained up.
My toddler friends and I just stood in the distance watching. An elder calmed us down a bit, saying that the moon rise each night would heal up the elephants' wounds. I thought that was so magical.