Rumble In The Jungle

The dogs were spotted as soon as we got out of the car. 

The watchers, three Guatamalan donkeys, adjusted their body language. They meant business.  

It is a lesser known fact that donkeys have a strong distaste for those of the canine persuasion, and are in fact used by farmers and ranchers the world over as a form of protection for herds of sheep and cattle.

In this case, the national park we were camping at came with it’s own sheep herd. And these burros were not disposed to making a distinction between Finn, his new packmate, Lucas, and their wild predatory brethren. They trotted over, wearing equine colours, heads down, faces grave and stern.  

Had I read somewhere that a donkey can kill a dog with a good swift kick?  

The dogs reacted and barked defensively.  

Undeterred, the park ground bullies trotted up. We tried to shoo them, to no avail.  
Matt put Lucas in the van and Finn took it upon himself to jump back into the truck. 

  
Photo by Bea. findingourroutes.com
Round One : Los Burros
The donkeys, their work done, went back to their peaceful grazing, maybe seventy five yards away. We all got to work preparing supper.  

From behind the stove I heard a commotion. The bad burro brothers were back! They were surrounding my dog! He was in danger!

I leapt from the Poptart, transforming mid air into Danger Doug, or Captain Canine, or something like that. I hit the ground running. Straight at the donkeys.

“GET AWAY FROM MY DOG!!!! AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

The bad burros were taken by surprise and retreated as I followed in hot pursuit, hissing and spitting. Unbeknownst to me, Finn had found his courage anew with my onslaught, and had leapt up to give the intruders a taste of their own medicine.

Round Two: Daddy and Finn

I returned to finishing the simple quesadillas. Night was coming on. Dusk settled in as I went about chopping tomatoes for some pico de gallo to go with the quesadillas. Dinner was nearly ready when a commotion erupted. Finn was up, his chain tensed. A heavy dull shuffling pounded toward us from the far side of the pickup.  

In the twilight, I could make out the form of the lead donkey – obviously back to avenge his wounded pride. His eyes were blazing with the fires of hell as he rounded the front of the truck. He would have his day, and his dog.

Brandishing my chef’s knife, I charged toward the lowered head, roaring my challenge. Beside me, Batdog also sprung into action.  

The intruder turned tail, but not before Finn took a flying leap at him, grabbing him by his donkey throat! “And don’t come back! My daddy and I don’t want your kind around here!”

Game, Set, AND Match!