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The young man beside me visibly relaxes. Quickly, he assures me, “He may be stumpier than a horse, but I’ve worked with him quite a bit since the boss put me in charge here and he’s built like a Volkswagen, I promise you that.”
I’m frowning, attempting to parse out his verbiage as he moves to release Paco from the stall. It’s a surprisingly involved process. Itrequires the untying of a hefty hemp rope and the unlocking of a heavy metal chain.
“He’s kept very secure,” I murmur thoughtfully.
The livery man glances at me quickly. “Uh, yeah. You know how donkeys are.”
I shake my head in disagreement. Then I verbally add, “I don’t.”
The man blinks. Then smiles. “Well, you’re about to find out, sir. They’re great.” Then his eyes slide to the side, to Paco, and he wraps his arm around the lower half of the animal’s muzzle and directs it to the stall’s front wall. He begins fitting the creature in a series of leather straps. I’m very interested as I watch the process because although I’ve seen many Western vids with similarly outfitted animals, none of the vids offer close inspections of where and how each piece of saddle rigging fits.
At first the animal is permissive enough. His tail flicks rapidly, but his attention is on the world outside of his stall and he appears eager to interact with it. But soon he begins swaying his body, stamping his compact hooves. Snorting.
Then, as the saddle is settled over his back, he sucks in a rapid, massive breath—and holds it.
The man quietly whispers, “Come on, Paco. Don’t be a smartass.” He attempts to heave the cinch strap tight.
What I believe is the cinch strap anyway.
“What is a smartass?” I query.
The man’s brain explodes in the area for alarm. Also in the area for shock. He shoots me a startled look. I wonder if he wrongly assumed I was hearing impaired.
Or perhaps he simply wasn’t aware that the acuity of a Yonderin’s aural faculty is greater than a human’s.
“Uh,” he finally manages to reply before turning back to the donkey. He pets the animal's neck. “Donkeys are animals known as ‘asses.’ Due to some aspects of their personality, people started borrowing—”
“What aspects?”
“They’re stubborn. But really smart. They’ll figure out ways around what you’re trying to get them to do, because they’resmartasses. The word smartass became a thing. It’s sorta rude to say—”
“Derogatory?” I question.
“Yeah. People use it for things other than donkeys now. But it started with these guys, I’m pretty sure. Same withjackass.Andpain in the ass,because donkeys are so smart they cause trouble, like when they suck in a ton of air so their stomach is inflated right before you try to tighten their cinch.” He nods his head at Paco’s saddle. “If I left it like it is, he’d exhale and the cinch would loosen, and you’d be on the ground when your saddle slips. Hang on.” He closes his hand into a fist and punches the animal in the belly.
The donkey’s body jerks. Either from being punched or because, immediately following the punch, the man jerks the leather tongue of the cinch savagely.
Frowning, I watch the saddle’s rigging constrict the creature. “I’ve never seen this method of saddling,” I share.
The man’s brain activates in an area where I’m unfamiliar with the corresponding emotions or physical responses. “Yeah? Well, trust me, this is how you have to do it with Paco.”
I experience a feeling of distaste. I imagine that my sidekick Bosco wouldn’t have required such repugnant saddling procedures.
“All done,” the man announces. And rather than rounding the creature on the side closest to me, he moves around the animal’s other side, sliding under the short neck—nearly crawling to manage this. If I hadn’t spent my life hunting prey, perhaps the human’s avoidance of me wouldn’t register as prey-like behavior.
“I know that hunting humans is illegal,” I assure him.
The man freezes—again, like prey—but almost as suddenly, in the same fraction of a breath, he rears back. “WHAT?”
“Yonderin are warned that we aren’t to hunt humans. From scanning your brain activity, I received the impression that I was spooking you.” I wave my hand slowly outward to indicate regret. “If I was, I apologize. I have no intention of breaking the law and hunting you.”
I give him a smile that I’ve identified as a reassuring one.
Unfortunately… my offering doesn’t seem to be effective. The human doesn’t seem reassured at all. The man’s eyes have widened to a degree I didn’t know human eyes could widen. His facial features have slackened to the point that his lower mandible has dropped open. He’s gripping the animal’s reins tightly in both hands, and he’s keeping his hands up in a defensive position.
The donkey tosses his head, jolting the human. This seems to reset him because he shakes himself and exits the stall—backing out of it, eyeing me warily as he does—leading the donkey along by the animal’s reins.
Wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, he says, “Let’s get your payment squared away and get you outta here.”
