Richard the Brayed

Yucca. My Ford hatchback has three gallons of water left. Wolf bones and seashells from millennia form an archipelago of misery and arid dearth.

Death Valley, where nothing grows, no one moves, and shade is as rare as Pringles in an organic farmers’ market.

Time moves slower here, with a thousand years passing like a day. My mustache is long and my patience broad, for like evolution, big things happen quick—before you know it.

 I was changing the toilet paper in the single-stall outhouse of the park when I saw a donkey.

At least, I think it’s a donkey. What else could it be? But it’s moving unnaturally fast, racing toward me across the salt flats.

I finish my business in the outhouse and head down toward the flats.

The donkey has a pack, but as it runs, items tumble off one by one as it picks up speed.

As the distance closes, the donkey looks bigger—and this isn’t just perspective. It’s big. Very big. Like, bigger-than-normal big. I stop and take a step back.

This was a bracio-donkey, a rare creature descended from the Pleistocene! But there’s no time to stand in wonder; this ass is coming right at me.

Since I have no arms—and wouldn’t want to kill a rare species anyway—my only chance is to lasso the brute and hop aboard. I kick up my spurs (well, Nikes) and as the donkey brays in my general direction, I pull the old Cretan dolphin flip and land on its back

No sooner do I look behind than I see this mega-donkey has littered the whole park with detritus from its travels.

But the detritus is a problem for another day or another ranger. I have to focus on this beast that puts my Ford hatchback to shame. Grateful for my college rodeo days, I ride the beast like Paul Atreides on a sandworm on a desert planet.

I struggle to gain control as it barrels toward the visitor center. This is bad, really bad. I pull back on the lasso that rings its muscled neck, trying to slow it down, but it isn’t working. All I can do is hold on tight and shout.

As we crash into the visitor center, the donkey stops on a dime (which throws me right onto the welcome couch in style), takes a curtsy, and begins to sing the most brooding fado straight out of a Lisbon nightclub. Am I in Shrek Part III, or is this a heat-induced delusion? Does it matter?

Since I’m “in charge,” of course I make this seem like my big idea. “Welcome to Monster’s Death Valley Theme Park 2030, featuring our star attraction: Don K. Hottie!”

The visitors all applaud, and I feel like the belle of the ball…

The applause and whistles eventually wane, and the donkey turns to me, whispering, “My real name is Richard. I’m an agent from the future, sent to provide a distraction. There’s a man at the back of the crowd who plans to steal precious artifacts before flying above the park, dropping anarchist propaganda and purple glitter to protest government control of nature.”

Richard starts another number, this one more upbeat, while I follow the perpetrator and nab him in the act, making the giant donkey and me both heroes of the day.