In 1977, a bone projectile point was found embedded in a mastodon rib near Sequim, Washington.
To scientists, it appears as if the American Mastodon has finally gone searching for his totem. As of late he has not been sleeping, has not been eating, and, as is his custom, has been consuming copious amounts of the Mexican cactus's beautiful blooms. And though he has been ruthlessly hunted by paleo-Indian tribes for eons, the Mastodon still appreciates and respects the cultures of aboriginal peoples the world over. This respect includes a particularly fond fascination with the ritualistic use of the peyote plant in some Native American tribes, and the participants' subsequent search for a spirit animal. The American Mastodon laments the passing of this tradition, and feels as though were this still a popular rite of passage, he could perhaps be a totem to a soul-searching young Redskin now.
And though he wishes sometimes that things are as they were, millenia ago, he also realizes that time is flowing like a river, to the sea. Truthfully, the American Mastodon realizes that he does not need to appear in the form of an apparition to a young Indian to be of some good in this world. Rather, he hopes that his significant monetary donations to various Children's Hospitals, his relentless pursuits in the laboratory to discover a cure for the HIV virus, and his commitment to ridding the world of adult illiteracy will suffice in the eyes of his fellow Mega Fauna, principally the giant beavers (Castoroides), giant moose (Cervalces), and American scimitar cats (Homotherium serum) he has come to call his "friends".
The American Mastodon realizes he's a bit loopy today. He's swimming in the ether, and isn't sure if that bone projectile point in his side is real, or if it's from all that peyote.
Evidently people living in a shrub-tundra landscape had killed and butchered the animal near a pond about 12,000 years ago.