The Elephant and The Donkey, Lynne Martens

      The elephant lumbered along the dusty trail, dropping dung and deep in thought. He was pondering his very massiveness—his brawn and heft and felt good. His flaring ears swatted away the swarms of pesky flies from his face and his trunk batted aside scratchy overhanging tree branches with efficiency and grace. As he approached a dense patch of branches and bush, his huge eyelids hunkered down into half mast (his mighty eyeballs were easily irritated).       After cleaving a path through this thicket of vegetation, the elephant ran straight into a donkey’s ass. The donkey spun around to face the elephant, backing off only slightly. His nostrils flared in contempt. “Hey, hose nose, watch where you’re going!” he yelled.
      The elephant was stunned. He’d never seen a donkey in his neck of the woods, though he’d heard about hordes of their numbers in North American cities.
      “Look, buddy, you’re in my way and in my territory,” the elephant blared, having recovered his heft and moral authority, not to mention his ascendancy. He thumped his trunk menacingly. “Move your prickly ugly hide.”
      “Look who’s calling the kettle black,” the donkey spat out, but he moved aside for the giant beast. “Go ahead, pea brain,” he continued. “Shit your way through the jungle, slick the trail with excrement.”
      “Sticks and stones, buddy,” the elephant trumpeted loftily. “I can crush you with one stomp of my mighty foot.”
      That said, the elephant raised his chubby right leg, exposing the enormous fleshy width of his hoof. But the donkey did not quiver in terror. Instead, he turned his backside to the elephant and bucked his spindly hind legs furiously, digging out a spray of dirt and dust that sprayed right into the elephant’s eyes. The elephant shook his head and thumped his trunk and stomped the earth noisily, to no avail. He was blinded by the dirt.
      “Take that, you stupid lunk of lard,” the donkey brayed, his lips stretched into a lurid grin.
      With that, he galloped down the trail, his hoofs spitting out dirt, his heart filled with satisfaction. But the elephant was in no sweat whatsoever. He knew the donkey’s victory was temporary. His dirt-clouded eyes would clear if he worked his tear ducts properly. And, hey, everyone knew who was boss. HIM. Appeased, he drew himself into deep thought again and resolved the following: the next time he encountered a donkey’s ass, he’d kick it to kingdom come and then throw a Grand Ole Party.