Boris stood in the shade and looked out over the field. This was his domain, his kingdom. He ruled with an iron fist, everyone followed his words and did what he said. Life was good for Boris, it was good to be king.
The shade of the tree protected Boris from the sun's harsh rays. His tail flicked only slightly, it seemed that even the cow flies knew better than to bother the king. Boris looked out over his herd, surveying his subjects. As the bull, they all had to obey him. He led them where he wanted to go. Whether to the stream, or to the tree, they followed him. Maybe tomorrow he would go to the far corner of his kingdom. "Yes," he thought, "I want some of the sweet clovers that grow there." His herd would be in for a sweet treat tomorrow. He was such a good ruler.
Bending his head down to graze a little, he saw the shadows flick by. The bane of his existence. He tried to ignore them, maybe they would go away today. Although, he had his doubts. Boris knew that there was only a slight possibility of this happening, and yet he still hoped.
Sure enough, they didn't go anywhere. As Boris continued to munch on his cud, he heard them call out, "Oh, Kingie-Poo, How are you? Do you feel that old age creeping up on you?" Boris really wasn't old for a bull, but he wasn't young either. He was still fertile, managing 43 calves this season, with 23 bulls. Boris was proud of his prowess. Some of the cows were real cows, and it was all Boris could do to do his kingly duties and service them. But he didn't like it any. "Sigh, the duties of a king," he thought morosely.
But the taunting didn't end there, those vultures liked to draw blood, so to speak. Boris knew the taunting wasn't over, he was doing his best to ignore it. "Hey, Bull-King, don't eat so much, you will get fat and die from a heart attack. That will do us no good, we like a good heart!" Boris swallowed hard. "Damn," he muttered. Now he couldn't finish eating without more taunts about being fat.
Boris didn't think that he was fat, but he was real sensitive to criticism. Which is why those vultures taunted him. They knew it would piss him off eventually, and then they would roll in hysterics while he just got madder and stormed off. "And the problem with storming off," Boris thought, "was that the only place he could go in his kingdom where they wouldn't bother him was out to the arid land. The middle of his domain, where no trees grew and no water ran. The grass was always dry and brittle from the constant exposure to the sun and other elements. It was always so hot there, Boris' delicate skin just didn't do well with lots of sunlight. It got all dry and ragged. Which then became more fodder for those damn birds when he did retreat to the comfort of the shade. They would just taunt him endlessly.
Boris sat there, staring at the ground, listening to their jeers. The vultures were going on and on about how if Boris didn't eat, then he would waste away to nothing and die, and kind of meal that would be for them. Boris sometimes wished he was deaf, so he could just shut them out. You couldn't win with those two. If you did one thing you were wrong, but if you did the opposite, you were still wrong.
Boris wondered how he was going to get rid of those vultures. He lowered his head and ripped up a mouthful of grass. He pondered this issue as he chewed. "Oh," he whined inside, "if only I could get rid of those two, then life would be so much better."
To be continued....
No comments:
Post a Comment