beast of burden

strength, vitality, just pure domination. the association is American Gladiators or Darwin. rarely do donkeys come to mind. but be afraid. Very.

on that small trek home, i ride along without care, usually taking in the peaceful calm that settles over the village around midday. i turn towards and pass the house of the school director and laugh at two donkeys playing, one child and its mother. suddenly, they began to move. it's a sense of something brutish. then, i spot a younger male donkey with lust in his eyes head straight for that ass. she panics and pushes the little one along.

"don't worry child. mom is here" she seemed to say.

the younger donkey pushes closer, coming along side the mom. she can't buck him from the side. he slams his head into her side. they're in a full gallop now. her heart raising. his hormones the same. they've circled the director's house twice. i'm just watching.

then a cry pierces through the turmoil and i turn to see a much larger male raising towards and beyond me. i'm a mere portion of scenery to his focused and flared view of events. his passions strides past the mare and slams into the side of the young buck. he's shocked and suddenly distraught. again, the young one races, this time, the chased.

nothing here surprises me. it's a typical scene. those slow moving beats of burden suddenly hitting thirty clicks an hour to trample another's hormones. they often race through the night. race after race. but this had surprise intertwined.

the older ass was hardly satisfied with the fatigue of the younger. out of breath, the young one slows and is suddenly caught by the jaws of the brute. on the flank, the back side of the thigh, teeth are gripping. the move paralysis him momentarily. he tries to buck but can't move his gripped legs. he only causes them to hang now completely from the jaws of the dominate male. they dangle in the air, in a semi-bucking action, unable to touch the ground. the young one is trapped and left without option. he gives up the struggle. victory is the elder's. yet this is not satisfying. lessons need be learned.

in the vice of teeth, the elder drags the poor boy. his front legs sliding in the dust, surrounding them in a cloud of fine brown. panic rises in the younger's eyes. stiff panic. then, action. a mistake. he tries to turn his moment toward the teeth, gnashing with his own. without unlocking his jaws and with a sudden rearing spring, the elder pushes the torso of the buck into the dirt, the legs flipping upward. the buck is pressed into the dirt with a sharp angle, jack-knifing his body, spine drilling him downwards. the pain is obvious in the wiggling struggle. there are no more bold movements, just jitters of fright in the beast. he knows surrender only fails him. the elder wants blood.

from exhaustion the teeth loosen. the fight is already minutes old (years for pulsing testosterone). the buck kicks and frees himself to crumple fully into the ground, a mere mass. the jolt of teeth along his mane catches him into a sudden rise. there is no more fight in him. his body speaks of regret and submission. his now the parade toy for the older general. and parade they do. the elder marches him around, displaying his pride.

it was then that i realized, i had caught my onlookers. those eyes down the way were watching this foreigner so preoccupied with the mundane actions of an ass. i left the submitted and parading for home, the facade of slow treading beasts of burden forever crumpled and driven into the dirt.