The Donkey And The Dirtbike
It was the dawn of 1976 and I don’t think that there was anyone out there happier about it than me. We had just been through the harshest winter in recorded history, and the idea of putting away the snow shovels and parkas was a welcome thought indeed.
February 2nd found us all outside, huddled together in anticipation of our annual family event. We all watched with fingers crossed as we arched our backs against the icy wind while stomping our feet and patting our hands together to keep warm. Suddenly, we heard a rustling sound. Could it be? Yes! My Uncle Mike emerged from his cave to see his shadow, a harbinger of good fortune, warm weather, and prosperity for the year to come!
April soon turned to May and the fields and roads dried up as the time for planting drew nearer. One day I was busy trying to pry my brother’s head out of the chicken fence before the heinous birds pecked his face away when I heard a strange sound off in the distance. It was a high pitched revving sound, an engine of some sort. Suddenly from around the old shed flew not one, not two, not three, but four brand new dirtbikes! It was my friends Larry and Doug, and their two little brothers!
They all pulled alongside where I stood, and as Larry lifted his visor I said, “Wow! Cool bikes! When did you….how did you….” I was utterly speechless!
“Our Dads’ went into town and bought them for us! You should ask your old man to get you one! Then we could all go riding together!”, was Larry’s cheerful challenge. And with that they all sped off, tires spitting gravel as they laughed and cheered.
I finished up my chores for the day and I even took the extra steps to put in a fresh bale of straw in the calf pens, a job Dad usually had to force me to do.
That night at the supper table I nervously pushed Mum’s bark mulch meatloaf around on my plate, trying to work up my nerve. Finally, I could contain myself no further.
“Dad,” I said, “Doug and Larry’s Dads bought them these really cool dirtbikes, and I just know we’re going to have a good year, so, I was wondering, well, could I get one too so I can go riding with my pals?”.
Dad looked annoyed as he picked up the large wooden spoon and spanked another huge pile of mashed potatoes down onto his plate.
“Those dirtbikes are the most dangerous things on the planet! I’m not getting any son of mine one of those bloody suicide machines! I’ve got a better idea! Your Uncle Mike and I will drive into town tomorrow and get you a nice safe horse! You’ll have just as much fun and your Mother and I won’t have to worry about you killing yourself!”.
So the very next day Dad hooked up the old trailer, sobered up Uncle Mike, and off to the city they went. I can’t say that I was anxiously anticipating their return, but curiosity soon began to get the better of me. As daylight began to fade into dusk, the old phone on the wall began to ring.
“Hello”, Mum spoke into the receiver.
It was Dad.
“Hey, it’s me. Listen, your brother and I found the boy a good horse but we’ve decided to stay in town for the night, as my eyes aren’t what they used to be and, well, you know this old truck. We’ll be back at first light, don’t you worry, we’ll be fine”.
“OK. OK. just don’t be too late”, was Mum’s reply.
I had to know what was going on.
“Are Dad and Uncle Mike alright, Mum?,” I asked.
“Yes,” Mum answered. “They’re at some stripper bar getting drunk and gave me the usual bullshit about bad eyesight and the truck breaking down. They should be here tomorrow around noon”. So off to bed I went.
The next morning I was roused from my slumber by the sound of a loud horn. Dad and a bleary eyed Uncle Mike stumbled out of the old truck and as I approached I could see the trailer rocking back and forth accompanied by a loud braying.
“Come on, son! Come and check out your new horse!” , grinned Dad, and just as he spoke the old trailer was rendered to splinters by the vile beast it had encaged.
As the dust cleared, I was able to make out the figure of, no, it couldn’t be….could it? Then it became all too obvious.
“Jesus Tap Dancing Christ you guys!”, I moaned. “That’s not a horse! It’s a fucking donkey!! What the hell were you thinking? Does this look like a fucking horse to you?! Did the loud braying not tip you off? Or were you totally oblivious to these big red letters painted on its side that say DONKEY FOR SALE?? Anybody with an eye and an asshole can tell that this a is not a fucking horse!!”.
Then Dad sheepishly looked at Uncle Mike. “Well, let’s get this thing in the barn before somebody sees us. Come on, Mike, I’ll pull, you push”.
Finally, I’d heard enough. I decided to go back to the house and see what was for breakfast, while these two Mensa candidates figured out what to do with that mangy mule.
I walked up the porch steps, and opened the screen door to see Mum at the stove stirring a pot of what looked like tile grout.
“Hey, Mum, any porridge left?” I asked.
“Porridge?!? What are we made of money? I want you to take this over to your Grandma. She called and said she’s not feeling well”, then handed me a wicker basket with a checkered cloth on top. I lifted the edge and peered inside. Just as I thought – two bottles of vodka and a carton of cigarettes. Chicken soup for the soul, alright.
“It’s cold out”, Mum warned. “Better bundle up. And be careful! Mr. Harrison said he saw a wolf lurking about!!”. So I pulled on my red hoodie and headed off to Grandma’s house with basket in hand.
I set off along the path and it drew me deeper and deeper into the forest. ‘A fucking donkey’, I muttered. ‘What a couple of world class morons!’ . I reached into the basket and tore the wrapper off of one of the packs of cigarettes, and as I placed one between my teeth, I pulled out my Zippo from my breast pocket and snapped open the lid to expose a willing flame. The tip of the Rothmans crackled as I drew its welcome smoke into my healthy pink lungs. Ahhhh heaven, I thought, as I took a generous swig of Granny’s vodka. I knew I could polish off a quarter of that thing, water it down in the stream, replace the cap, and old Granny would be none the wiser. The trick was to give her the fresh bottle first, and by the time she mowed through that, she’d be so bombed I could give her paint thinner and she wouldn’t know the difference.
After about an hour of walking I had finally arrived at my destination. Odd… the front door was wide open. That wasn’t like the old bird, as she had a penchant for passing out in front of the TV naked and harboured an irrational fear that someone would happen by and snap a photo of her that would end up in one of those GILF fetish magazines.
I cautiously walked into the kitchen and there was Granny, sitting at the table with her back to me.
“Oh, there you are”, I said with a sigh of relief. “I was worried something bad had happened to you”.
“Goodness no, my child, I’m fine…just fine!”, she replied, and turned her head and flashed me a wide grin that exposed pearly white teeth.
Now, the thought occurred to me to say something pithy like, “Oh Grandma, what big teeth you have!”, but I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck yesterday. This was clearly a wolf, dressed in her mustard stained sweatpants and worn out old Pink Floyd t-shirt. The dead giveaway was the teeth – the sparkly white teeth. You see, Granny wouldn’t know a toothbrush if she tripped over one, and her chompers were stained a lovely hue of brown from years of drinking black coffee and chain smoking. They looked like two little rows of baked beans. The second tip was that when I told her I was worried about her, she was actually nice to me, something my real Grandma would never do.
I reached into my vest and pulled out a fresh cigarette and sparked it up, and as I shoved my lighter back into my pocket I took a deep puff and looked at its glowing ember as I exhaled the thick smoke from my lungs.
“Listen up, wolfy boy”, I sighed. “I’ve had a really shitty day and I’m in no mood for any of your ‘All the better to eat you with’ crap. So I’m gonna make this real easy for you. You come into town with me, I’ll see you get a fair trial. And nobody gets hurt. We got a deal here or what furball?”.
Suddenly the beast leapt up on its hind legs, tore off Granny’s nightcap, and hissed, “Not today kid! I ate your shitty old Grandma, and now I’m going to eat you too!!”.
But that morning good fortune had smiled upon me. You see, Granny always hid her weed under a loose floorboard in the kitchen, and as luck would have it that wolf found himself standing directly over top of it. Without even thinking I stomped down on my end of that plank and it flew up and nailed him right in the acorns and he folded up like a Grade Four love letter.
Suddenly the wolf began to choke and gasp for air, so I grabbed him by the throat and spun him around and started to administer the Heimlich Maneuver, and after three or four good cranks to my surprise out popped Grandma! And she was big mad…
“What the fuck kept you, you little shit head?!!? I could hardly breathe in there! And where’s my vodka? And you bloody well better not have drank half of it and watered it down in the stream like you always do! Now gimmee my smokes and make me a damn coffee!!”.
All of a sudden a hunter burst through the door with some of the local farmers.
“There! There it is! The wolf that has been killing our sheep! Oh, thank you, my dear boy! Thank you! A curse has been lifted from this land! Let us all rejoice!”.
Soon word of my exploits spread throughout the land, and from that day forward, I would become known as…..
That kid whose Dad was too cheap to buy him a dirtbike.
THE END
