The Donkey
The Donkey lived in a town with no water. Each day he walked far to drink from the river. The sun took a lot of his energy, and after a long walk back home each night, he would go to bed thirsty. “Perhaps,” said the Donkey, “I won’t get so thirsty if I didn’t have to walk so far.”
The next morning the Donkey did not walk to the river. He stayed in the shade. He was very thirsty but had no water, so he laid his head in the dust and closed his eyes. He dreamt of the river, dreamt of it running over his lips, over his tongue, but never down his throat, never quenching. He dreamt of a cool place to live. He dreamt of cool friends. He dreamt of a cool life.
The Donkey awoke late in the afternoon. The air was cooling as he followed the setting sun to the river. Soon the moon lit the way. He met cool desert creatures who bustled about, out of the sun. They lived underground in the damp. Their minds were occupied with fancies beyond a drink of water. “They are happier than the animals in the town with no water,” said the Donkey.
Wet was in the wind on his nose. “Finally, I smell water. It should not take all of my time and energy to have a drink,” said the Donkey. “I want to live underground with the cool animals, close to the river.” He was very, very thirsty and thought of many ways a donkey might live underground. “I would need a very big hole,” said the Donkey, “but how would I keep my ceiling from falling in on me? I am much bigger than all of the cool animals. I will never be cool.”
His hoofs sank deep into the riverbank sand. He lowered his head. The river ran over his tongue, down his throat, filling his belly. It was still dark, so after another long drink, he laid his head on the riverbank and dreamt that his hooves where shovels and dug a hole so deep that a roof was unnecessary. He slept peacefully at the bottom of his hole until the sun was high into the next day.
He was not thirsty when he awoke on the riverbank but took a drink anyway. The river slashed over his hooves. He waded in up to his knees, then his belly. The Donkey was smiling when the river ran over his back. He was smiling when his hooves could no longer touch bottom. As he paddled though the water, he remembered his dream. He wish that his hooves were shovels to help him swim. “Oh, no,” said the Donkey. “How am I going to dig my hole? I only have these hooves.” The Donkey went straight to digging his new home.
His hooves struggled to kick out the dirt. The sun beat on him. “It is too hot to sleep in the sun,” said the Donkey, “but the water is close, and I can drink and swim as I please. After the first day of digging, the sun was hard to take, but his hole was two feet deep. That night, cool creatures bustled about. They watched the Donkey sleep in his shallow hole, fascinated to see such a large animal try to be cool.
Then next day, he could not kick the dirt enough to get it out of the hole and only dug one foot deeper. By the end of the day his hair was bleached and brittle. “I can’t spend another day in the sun,” said the Donkey.
On the morning of day three, the Donkey awoke to the clap of thunderclouds. The sun was shaded, but rain pour on him. It filled the hole and his hooves only splashed the mud. “I dug only two inches today,” said the Donkey. He laid his head in the cool mud at bottom of his hole. “It will be too hot to stay without a roof. I must go back to the town with no water. I will need shade.” He closed his eyes.
The Donkey slept. He dreamt of swimming in the river and cool nights with his cool, new friends. He dreamt that his hooves were shovels again, and dug a neighborhood for the cool animals, then his shovel hooves dug a whole city. He slept and dreamt and slept and dreamt and slept and dreamt. When he awoke, it was still dark, so he closed his eyes again.
When the Donkey awoke again, it was still dark out. “I feel like I’ve slept for days, but the sun would have surely woke me,” said the Donkey. “I have a lot of energy, and I can take a long drink before my walk back to the town with no water.” The Donkey picked-up his head. “The stars are not out. It must be cloudy.” As the Donkey stood, his nose touched something dry and flakey in the dark. He pushed further out and mid-day sunbeams shot down into his hole. “It’s not night time!” said the Donkey. “I have a roof of sticks and leaves!” The sunbeam cut away when he put his head down. “I’m going to rest for one more afternoon, and tonight I will thank my cool, new friends. We’ll do all the things animals do when they aren’t thirsty,” said the Donkey. He was smiling as he laid his head down in the damp. “I’m finally cool.”
TGS
