My donkey was not happy. With every step, he let everyone know it.
Earlier, my brother, my wife and I had walked through a mountain village in Ethiopia with our guide. In the pre-dawn light we approached a group of tethered donkeys. They had been arranged to take us up to an Orthodox Monastery, perched high above on a mountain ledge.
The donkeys looked as us. Then they turned plaintively towards me as one, as if to say “Please God, not the big feller”. As we mounted up, my donkey let out a loud hissing sound like air escaping from a tire. He then added some frustrated stomping and braying for effect. The guides giggled. My wife and my brother giggled. The donkey and I did not giggle.
We plodded off in the dim light. Each step brought an exaggerated, labored wheezing sound from the donkey. Imagine a goose being struck by a truck. That was the sound he made with every step. At this point, the guides and my family began laughing outright. I named the donkey “Grunter”.
We started the steep ascent to the monastery. Grunter now added to his symphony by loudly passing wind. He wanted us to think it was from exertion. I think he was just an attention seeking ass. Regardless, it was loud. It was foul. And it was frequent. This went on for 30 minutes. The guides began laughing so hard they could barely walk. My wife and my brother were forced to mouth-breathe from the stench.
We finally reached the summit. The monastery was stunning. The morning sun shone over an endless view of the wild Ethiopian mountains. We stood in quiet wonder. Timeless. Holy. Beside us, monks wrapped in simple blankets were deep in morning prayer.
The donkeys saw us approach them to begin our descent. Grunter tried to bolt. Inspired by the peace of the monastery, and simply resigned to the obvious drama that awaited us, I opted to walk down.