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May the Asses of Unicorns Guide You Always

Q: Is there really a true message in this god-awful, photoshopped picture?

A: Yes, but not in any magical way.  Go on, assess the process by which certain asses assimilate to life in captivity, captivating those who plod down from civility to pause, peer and ponder on problems other than the mundane.  Meditate on mediating what your mind can’t mend about domesticating:  suppose you dwelt on the other side of this cage?

Or, dilute the prose a little–I admit, there’s just a fence–but still a petting zoo, in the same sense.  If people could line up, wear their smiles and sign up for pats on the head to help get them through the day, I suppose, if they chose, being on the wrong side might actually pay.  Yet, as it stands, they are just creatures, scraggly cute things with normal features.  No charm nor trick about them, except that they are tame.

They haven’t horns to work your miracles, though they might-could deign to break things of yours if you plead a little.  Yes, please kick-smash grandmama’s porcelain ponies.  We don’t need no stinkin’ unicorns when these are phatter phonies.  Because what you can do, for free, is watch donkeys, pet them, and smile wistfully while they play.  Maybe now you feel better about your day?

photo:  Cute little donkeys at a petting farm in Washington, DC.

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Filed under: Animals, horses, randoodles

About the Author

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I've always wanted a place to share my weird, wild, nature-loving, talking animal, multicultural and multilingual fantasy fiction stories online. I also have a fashion blog!

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