It doesn't matter how happy he is, how committed to his mate he might be. Somewhere inside every Western Pennsylvania man is a guy who wants to be Jackson the bull elephant.

When he (the man, not the elephant) picks up the newspaper on a bright summer day and reads that two more females have arrived at Jackson's place in the mountains, he will put the paper down, stare off into the middle distance, and think:

Good for you, Jackson, my brother. You got it made in the shade.

Jackson's been a hero of mine at least since 2005. That's when the Pittsburgh Zoo set the African elephant up on 724 rolling rural acres in Somerset County. At first I was a little concerned about the set-up; it sounded a little too much like a bed & breakfast, which generally has females thinking about craft shows and apple-churning festivals rather than wild weekends.

I never should have doubted the big fella. He's 101/2 feet tall at the shoulder, weighs anywhere from 11,100 to 11,500 depending on whether he's doing his aerobics or not, and his dance card stays filled. He has fathered five calves at the Pittsburgh Zoo, two more on a trip to Disney in Florida (where most visitors leave only with a stupid hat), and two more through artificial insemination.

Now a pair of twentysomething cows have waltzed in from Philly. Bette and Kallie found themselves out of work when the Philadelphia Zoo closed its elephant exhibit, but these cows landed on their size-ZZZ feet here.

They arrived three weeks ago but Monday was the first day they were able to get outside and roam around a 3.5-acre paddock. The Philadelphia Inquirer reported the "Philly Girls'' now have nine times the space they had in the City of Brotherly Love.

Jackson is separated from them, but a door is kept ajar between his quarters' and the girls' so they can touch and smell each other with their trunks. Along with playing trunksie, they've been trumpeting back and forth and, on Monday, they saw each other for the first time.

Specialists will be brought in to evaluate the elephants to be sure they are able to breed safely. At that point, it would be up to the elephants. Jackson certainly doesn't need any coaching and Bette doesn't appear likely to play hard to get, given her display behavior on Monday. As I watched the pachyderms strut on the PG Video, I felt as if I could tell what Jackson was thinking:

"I could write a book that would make everyone forget Horton, Dumbo and Babar if only I had opposable thumbs."

I realize that what I'm doing here is called anthropomorphism, projecting human characteristics on our four-legged brethren. I have no real idea what gets a massive mammal in the mood, no clue what elephants might see as the equivalent of an Barry White album.

But I find myself thinking about how nice it would be living the life of Jackson. Just check any pachyderm dating service, from elephantharmony.com or six-tons-of-fun.net. The choice is pretty much Jackson or nothin'.

OK, so maybe those sites don't exist. That doesn't lessen my envy. Is it any wonder Jackson saunters when he walks?

There is a cautionary tale for zoo animals in Jackson's position, however. It was widely reported last week that a male sea lion had died of exhaustion after a marathon mating session at a zoo in Germany.

Mike the sea lion, originally from California (natch), was already a father of 12, with children from Berlin to Spain. But the 550-pound, four-flippered lothario passed away July 21 "after an extended session with females at the park in Nuremberg proved too much for his heart.''

His mates, Farah, Tiffy and Soda, had no comment. But the story suggested that "mating season is a common time for fatalities when bulls often stop eating for days to devote themselves fully to mating.''

Jackson, fortunately, is a multitasking seducer.

"He doesn't like to stop eating,'' the zoo's director of marketing, Connie George, said.

Immediately before and immediately after he does what he does best, Jackson will be eating his carrots and hay.

Jackson is living the dream. The only thing missing is the remote.